My earliest memory is from when I was 18 months old. I was napping in my crib when an arrow (just a normal kid's archery set type arrow) came through the window above me. I remember the glass flying through the air and landing on me, and I remember my mother running into the bedroom completely horrified and only half awake (she was taking her own nap). It turned out that some neighborhood kids were playing outside, and had a slight misfire with a new archery set.
No harm was done, but when I got older, I remember thinking that sort of thing must happen to kids who have older siblings all the time--the older kids being reckless and somewhat dangerous (especially if they were boys), and putting their younger siblings in jeopardy.
Kim and Birdie asked about my being an only child. I wrote a bit about it when I reviewed a book of essays by only children, but I'm happy to elaborate. My mother was only 19 years old when I was born, and my father left us both when I was not quite two years old. When I got to be about five years old or so, I would often ask my mother for a sibling--most often a younger brother (ironically, my father went ahead and gave me a little brother, but I didn't meet him until I was 23). She would always laugh and say, "Better start looking for another star in the East!" She didn't date much (not at all that I knew--it wasn't until I was much older that I realized some of her male "friends" were also probably lovers), and she didn't remarry until she was no longer interested in having other children (if she ever was; I don't actually know).
I often hear people worrying that only children are lonely; I was, I suppose, but not really. First and foremost, I had books. The way I read books is to disappear entirely into them (which explains my obsession with fantasy novels), almost becoming one of the characters. I devoured books, going to the public library weekly with my mother and checking out big stacks (still do). I read everything we had in the house; I vividly remember being home sick in middle school and reading Catch 22 and Slaughterhouse Five both in one day. I read things that many would probably consider completely inappropriate for someone my age (my mom didn't believe in censoring me). I read it even if I didn't understand it (Miss Lonelyhearts is a great example of a book I read and totally didn't get).
When I was five, my mom and I moved into what I like to call "the commune" (because that makes me cooler, I guess); a communal living situation with other single moms with only children. It was probably the closest I ever came to knowing what living with siblings was like. There were four of us kids--two girls, and two boys--with the other girl being the oldest and the two boys being the same age as the youngest. Frankly, I hated it. Sure, I had friends to play with. But the oldest girl often created factions in us youngsters, and you never knew day-by-day where you stood. Sometimes I was her favorite, and sometimes she wouldn't even speak to me. It was awful. It never occurred to me to tell my mom about stuff like that--the sort of thing that having siblings might have trained me for, I guess.
We only lived in that house for six months or so, although when we moved out all of us stayed in the same neighborhood, within a few blocks of each other (for a couple years, anyway). I ended up going to the same school as the oldest girl, although she was a grade ahead of me. For a while, anyway; I got bumped up a grade thanks to my excellent reading skills (meaning I did 1st and 2nd grade in one year), and she was FURIOUS when I ended up in the same classroom with her. Luckily, my mom put me in a different school for 3rd grade.
But I did have other friends, good friends, that I played with and loved. Plus I had my imaginary friends--legions of them--and we did so many amazing things. Huge, crazy, all day adventures sometimes. I remember having those friends well into middle school; I can distinctly remember hanging out on our patio at the last place we lived in Albuquerque, sitting on the air conditioning unit have lengthly conversations with my imaginary friends. I was 13. Sadly, when we moved to Michigan and I started high school, the imaginary friends just disappeared from my life. I can't even remember their names now, which makes me kind of sad.
I've said this before, but being an only child didn't effect me nearly as much as being a poor child did. Not having health insurance, eating pinto beans for dinner several times a week, having meat be a treat --that all had a much bigger impact on my than not having siblings did. One of favorite birthdays came the year my mom gave me a bottle of Suave Strawberry shampoo and a gallon of whole milk as my presents (we normally drank Carnation powdered milk). By poor, I mean POOR. If I'd had siblings, well--things would have just been harder.
Because my mother worked and went to school, I wasn't spoiled or smothered or anything like that--just the opposite, in fact. I spent a great deal of time alone, and was a typical "latchkey" kid (as they called us in those days). I rode the city bus by myself, walked myself to the bus stop alone, all by the age of seven or eight. I was very independent.
Funny, but that will the total opposite experience that Tori will have growing up, even though Tori will also be an only child. We have officially donated our remaining embryos to Harvard for stem cell research. I will not be getting pregnant again, and I won't be using a surrogate to have another child. Tori will be it. We've toyed with the idea of fostering kids, but if we do that it won't be until Tori is much older.
Tori is going to grow up with two parents, both working from home (god willing!). She will probably not walk to a bus stop or ride the bus alone until she's well into high school. She is much more likely to feel smothered by us than I was by my mom growing up--and I don't care. I'm quite happy about that fact.
It will also be the opposite of Charlie's only child experience. Weird that we married each other, isn't it? Charlie had an older sister (Tori is named after her) but she only lived for a few days because Charlie's mom took thalidomide while she was pregnant and Victoria was very deformed. So Charlie grew up alone, but his childhood was quite a bit different than mine.
Charlie grew up distinctly middle class, in an urban setting (back and forth between Philadelphia and Manhattan). His mother stayed home with him, which you would think would be ideal, right? Sadly, Charlie's mom should have been a work-outside-the-home mother. She didn't love parenting, and in fact once Charlie turned two she began hitting and beating him with regularity. I imagine he would have preferred having a sibling to help deflect some of the abuse.
The one thing Charlie and I have in common as a result of our only child status, I believe, is the ability to be completely in our own heads. Which can be somewhat challenging when, say, we're arguing. Or talking. Or eating dinner. Sometimes we'll be so up in our own heads that we don't even hear each other. But who knows? Maybe we would have been like that if we had siblings, too. I don't know.
I don't know if my story (or Charlie's) offers any insight or comfort to those contemplating only having one child. We have no way of knowing, of course, how differently we would have turned out with siblings in the picture. But I have to believe that I am OK, and am a good person who is happy in her life--and being an only child contributed to that feeling of well being. I do not think that being an only child contributed to my being an alcoholic--most recovering drunks I know are NOT only children. Perhaps being an only child gave me my love of books and words, but chances are it was not having a television when I was growing up that did that for me. I do not know, exactly, what impact being an only had on my life. But I love the person I've become (most days) and I wouldn't change a thing. I am the sum of my experiences. And that's a good thing.
I do worry, a bit, about when it comes time to help take care of my mom. I will have to shoulder that burden alone--but it will only be my mom (obviously, since my dad has passed on). Charlie is struggling with that right now with his mom. Tori, of course, will have both of us to contend with--but I hope and trust that our society will make some good changes that will help support her when it comes time to deal with her old parents (hey, I can dream, can't I?).
I'm not quite sure how to wrap this up; I have no pithy saying or wisdom to offer to those that feel sad that they can't provide their child with a sibling. I hope anyone feeling that way can make peace with it; it's not such a bad thing, after all. Any other onlies out there that want to share some hope?
