The Youngest Sister of Brothers

 It wasn't until I was in my 40s that I began reading and learning about "family of origin" and the ways that our experiences as children keep being replayed over and over again in adulthood.  (Or rather how we keep replaying them or looking for them or confusing them with "real time" events -- you get the idea.)  Anyway, I am the youngest sister of three brothers.  When I tell this to some folks they remark, "Oh, they must have really looked out for you."  Uhhh ... no.  I guess we grew up in a household where it was every person for themselves.  And the brother nearest my age was known to deny that I was his sister when we were in middle school (but hey, that is probably classic middle school shenanigans).

A number of years ago, when the health of our mother was failing, it was my brothers who carried the weight of caring for her.  They banded together like a team. This was as much by my choice as theirs.  I had done a lot of heavy lifting when our father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and later died from complications of that nasty disease.  It seemed like I had to "go it alone" for the most part where my dad was concerned, so I felt like with my mom, I just wasn't up for it.  Especially not my mom.  We spent a lot of time together in my 20s and 30s and even 40s.  We were tight.  But then as difficulties arose with some of our children, I found my mother to be more of an advocate to them than a support to me.  She loved her grand children fiercely and some of the difficulties we were experiencing with our teens was just too much for her.  Heck, it was for me as well. 

But I digress...

I started this post with the idea of talking about my brothers.  It came to mind as I finished an autobiography by Bernie Taupin.  If you are shaking your head and reaching for your phone to google Bernie Taupin, let me make it easier for you.  He is the lyricist for Elton John, one of the first pop stars that caught my attention (when I was in elementary school no less.)  It happened like this ...  

The Christmas I was in either 4th or 5th grade, my brothers pooled their money and bought me three remarkable gifts.  The first was a bowl of goldfish.  I loved them!  And I would go on to keep goldfish for many years to come (but alas, they never seemed to last long). The second was a turntable with two small "built in" speakers.  And the third were two vinyl albums -- Elton John's Greatest Hits, Vol. 1 and Jim Croce's Greatest Hits.  I became completely enamored with Elton John.  Plus the lyrics to the songs were always so intriguing to me.  

All of these memories came flooding back yesterday as I was listening to Elton John on Spotify.  Truly, Bernie Taupin's lyrics were not meant for 11 year old girls.  I can remember pouring over lines like, "Levon sold cartoon balloons in town, the family business thrived, Jesus blew up balloons all day, sat on the porch swing watching them fly, and Jesus, he wants to go to Venus, leave Levon far behind. Catch a balloon and go sailing, while Levon, Levon slowly dies."  That's some serious churning and angst for a 5th grader!  And who is this Alvin Tostig guy named as Levon's father in the refrain?  Was he real?  He sounded so real to my 5th grade sensibilities.

This next song wasn't much better: "Prima donna Lord, you really should have been there, sitting like a princess perched in her electric chair, and it's one more beer, and I don't hear you anymore...."  I had no idea what this reference to a "prima donna" meant.  I guess she was a ballerina?  And why is she sitting in an electric chair?  Churn, churn, churn.  I better listen 50 more times so I can figure it out....

This stuff really formed me, I think.  I used to believe it was my father playing "show tunes" on the piano at night that contributed so much to my musical interests, but I realize now it was these two albums -- especially Elton John. And surely my fascination with writing and the choosing of just the right word is a product at least in part to spending so much time examining song lyrics.  (I am still fascinated with song lyrics and love the fact that I can now google, "Who is the song ___________ about?" Lol.)

When I was growing up, before our parents divorced, before the goldfish and the albums, my brothers had a habit of picking on me.  I guess I was an easy target and an annoying little tattle tale, so I probably brought much of it on myself.  I remember crying incessantly once to my mother about my mean brothers, and waling, "I hate them, I hate them!"  I remember her telling me, "Someday you will be glad you have brothers."  But I howled all the more, "No I won't! I won't ever be glad!"

Today, I understand that having brothers had a huge impact on the way I think and behave and process information.  To this day, I feel very at-home and at the same time on-edge in meetings with men.  Being around them is familiar, but not always relaxing.  (I guess I just don't understand them!)  Sometimes I have to remind myself, "These are not your big brothers.  No one thinks you're stupid.  No one is making fun of you."  Other times, like this week when I was on a staff retreat and was playing a game called "Seven Wonders" with five male coworkers, I couldn't have been happier.  It felt so comfortable, so normal.

Where does my competitive nature come from?  Probably from my brothers, with whom I spent a lot of hours playing spades, poker, Risk, Monopoly, chess, and backgammon.

Where does my love of music come from?  Well, I think we've already established they also get the credit for that.

My shyness?  Definitely from them as well.  I spent a considerable number of years afraid to speak at the dinner table, unable to match their "strong" personalities.

Yet likewise, my "strong" personality finds its source in them.  Obviously, I learned from the best.

So yes, mother, if you are reading this now, "someday" has arrived and I am grateful for brothers.  They have been a huge influence in my life.  At the same time, one of the greatest rites of passage was ultimately "breaking free" from their hold on me, imagined or not.  We haven't always agreed.  We haven't always been kind or supportive to one another.  We haven't always liked each other.  But we do love each other.  

They are my brothers, and I am their sister.  (Just not their stupid little sister.  Not anymore.)