If I had to grow up as an only child, I think I would have eaten my heart out. I really do. I would be the most spoiled, rotten, greedy little child you could meet.
I know, it’s hard to imagine me that way.
But if I had to grow up as an only child, I don’t think I ever would have learned to share. I never would have learned to appreciate the difference from boyhood and girlhood, and I never would have learned to stick up for myself – and for others – if I didn’t have my little brother Owen in my life.
I would have roamed the living room in my underwear, stealing the remote from my parents, getting to lick ALL of the brownie batter from the bowl.
I would also be lonely.
I would have learned that sneaking up on mom and dad to scare them wasn’t much fun, that wheeling around in the driveway on my bike by myself was irritating, and that trying to play “teacher” with my dolls wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t teaching anyone anything. Stupid dolls.
It would have been miserable.
I still remember the day my mom asked me, “Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?”
What I heard her say was, “Do you want a boy or a girl?”
I had heard from my Busy-Bee Preschool Pals that having a little sister was bad news. She would steal my clothes and toys and keep me up all night reading her stories. This was critical thinking for my three year old mind.
So I said I wanted a little brother.
Well, I still had to stay up sometimes to read to him.
But it sure was fun snickering with him in church, climbing trees and dropping apples on each other for fun, and ganging up on mom and dad when they said it was time for bed – not that we got to stay up.
His support and trust was all I needed. So yes, I’m glad I have a little brother. He’s still a source of wisdom to me today.
I wuv yoo widdow bwubbwerz!