Bubble, Husband a.k.a Tom
Billy, 1st son, Photographer
www.billymichels.com
Scott, 2nd son, Rock Star
Mandy, Darling daughter
Erin, Billy's progressive girlfriend
Tatiana, Scott's wife, Artiste
www.tatianamuska.com
Matt, Mandy's progressive boyfriend
Cadence, Grandaughter extraordinaire
Desmond, Grandson extraordinaire
Gladys, Scott and Tatiana's "spunky" canine
Murphy, Billy and Erin's "playful" canine
Puss in Boots, Our cat
Millie, Mandy's cat
Archive of Essays
Christmas Thoughts
Journey to the Pew
Before Men Hugged
Love, Carol. Dot.Com
Ringing Pocketbooks
Grandparenting 101
The Bragging Absolution
Identity Verification
And I Have a Ton of Sippy Cups!
Flunking Dog Bath
Wrapping It Up
"Are we there yet, Son?" A Story of Role Reversal: Traveling with Adult Children
From my earliest memory, I was bitterly disappointed that I did not have brothers and sisters. When I was young, everyone I knew had at least one sibling, and the lucky ones had several. I was repeatedly embarrassed when other kids discovered this defect in my character. They’d look at me strangely, amazed that such a perversion could exist.
Of course, until I was twelve, I wore glasses, often with patches, to correct a lazy eye. So perhaps the kids were looking at me strangely because of my glasses and crooked eyes, not because my parents wouldn’t or couldn’t have more children.
Other girls frequently expressed great envy, wishing they could be rid of their siblings so they could garner all their parent’s attention and wouldn’t have to share their bedroom with a bratty big sister. Boys thought it was weird, too, probably thinking what a great life I had because I could get everything I ever wanted. I didn’t think I was on Easy Street in the toy department, and would have gladly exchanged all the things I ever owned for a little sister.
I pretended I had brothers and sisters, and chatted and played with them until I was far too old for such self-entertainment. I made lists of every person I’d ever heard of, from extended family members I hadn’t met, to the man who ran the gas station in my grandmother’s town. It would seem, in retrospect, I was very lonely.
As a young adult, my “defect” took the form of a need to be perfect. I felt pressured to never disappoint my parents because, of course, they had no one else upon whom to focus. I didn’t realize until I was a parent myself that no matter how many children one has, one focuses as hard on one as on another.
Now, as a very senior only child, I still regret not having siblings to populate my life, but I am also able to see my condition from another, even positive, point of view.
My relationship with my parents was a lifelong source of love and strength. Because I didn’t have to share them with siblings, I was lucky to have them all to myself for the last years of their long lives. My beautiful, graceful mother was probably the most intelligent woman I’ve ever known. She and I shared so many happy hours over the years that the memories still warm me many times a day. Would I have been that close to her had she had more children? I don’t know.
And, because of my “defect,” I believe that I am a better friend. Perhaps because I have no immediate family, I’ve become deeply attached to a number of wonderful folks. I realize now that the melancholy I felt growing up has been replaced by the security and affection I can give and receive from some very special people.
I have sisters and brothers after all. The ones who have chosen to be my friends.
Carol Michels writes humorous essays about her life and family. She is working on an historical fiction, set in the 1890's, about the romance between a Spanish Princess and a society clothier from New York