Loosely linking in with my last post, the enchantment of being the eldest sibling.
What “only” children and eldest have in common that they came first. It’s indisputable. And in the latter case you will be resented – by those who come later.
Do I understand? Not really. But that’s because I AM the eldest (by a long margin) and have never had to walk in anyone’s steps.
My brother (number three in the line up) isn’t difficult. He is affable. My two sisters? Well, since they are my sisters I shan’t say what I really think. Except that when I have my mother (age 83) on the phone weeping over her youngest daughter’s negligence I feel like going ballistic. Obviously, that won’t help. So I don’t. But what do I do? What can be done?
My first instinct, but I am too far removed (geographically), to bang my fist on the table and ask questions. My sisters aren’t ticking alright. Both of them in their own way. Though one of them (the much adored by me till she sold me for a shilling) my parents always excuse. I understand my parents. I don’t condone it. But I understand. In all our lives there are people who get away with something close to murder.
Back to my youngest sister. She herself is the mother of four children – yet finds it in her heart to make that of her own mother a misery. How this will pan out once we gather around a grave I do not know.
I can see it now. They’ll be looking to me.