“Morgy what are you gonna wish for?” said my mom in a high pitch voice as I stared wide eyed at my purple and red cake with only two candles sprouting from the top. “Barney!” I say with a mostly gummy smile. My mom rolled her eyes as she heard the words escape my mouth – she always hated Barney. Even from the start, we didn’t always agree.
When my sixth birthday came around, all I could talk about was a dog. It was my number one priority. Looking back it is kind of selfish, but what else can you expect of a five year old. That year I obviously wished for a dog, and in the following month received a white fluffy, crazy, ball of fun. My mom didn’t like him at first, but since he was my favorite dog from the pet store, she learned to love him. I named him Buster, after Buster Baxter from the T.V. show Arthur.
Looking back, eighth grade was the best year of elementary school for me. No homework, great friends, and no worries. I don’t think I went a day without laughing. My wish for my thirteenth birthday that year was to always be that happy, for the rest of my life.
Freshman year started off as a boom of excitement. I had a good group of friends and my first real boyfriend. It would have topped eighth grade if my mom hadn’t been sad for four of the months. Five weeks after it happened, I would find my mom weeping while looking at pictures of him. I knew I missed my puppy, but I never realized how much Buster had meant to her. That year for my fifteenth birthday I decided to stop making wishes for myself, and I wished that my mom would find happiness again.
This year I’m gonna turn eighteen. It freaks me out to say the least. I feel that those numbers mean I have to act mature because I will be considered an adult. Some days I just don’t feel ready for that. Every other word I hear come out of my mom’s mouth is “college.” I cringe at the sound of the letters leaving my mom’s lips. To make matters worse she wants, no NEEDS me to go to DePaul University. We have daily fights because I know I want to go to Madison. I applied to DePaul last week, unwillingly. I don’t know what I’m going to wish for. This year has been stressful enough and I don’t want to make more decisions than I need to. My plan is to not plan for once. To close my eyes, and hope that something comes to me as I blow away my childhood.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Only Child Syndrome 3rd/ final draft
Red and black decorative pillows submerge my body as I lay comfortably on my queen size bed while flipping through my baby book. I stop momentarily on a family portrait. Me, Mom, and Dad. I envision the day I leave for college, and tears start to bubble at the bottom of my eyes. I shut the book quickly. I wonder if I’m ready to be on my own.
First day of senior year, room 342 5th period:
The teacher hands out the expected “fill your name in the category that fits you” bingo sheet for the “get to know everyone” day.
Girl I don’t know very well: “Is it weird,” sounding somewhat upset, but interested.
Me: “Is what weird?”
Girl I don’t know: “Being an only child… don’t you get lonely?”
Me: “Oh, not really.”
When kids find out I’m only child they ask me questions about it as if it was like a punishment or something. I don’t get why they think it’s so weird. In fact I think it’s an advantage…sometimes. Yeah I guess I wouldn’t mind having a sibling. If I had to choose I’d want a big brother for sure. I think I’d get annoyed with little kids constantly running around the house 24/7 and mucking up my stuff. And if I had a girl in the house she’d probably borrow all my clothes and I’d eventually get way too annoyed to be able to stand her. Yeah I think the only sibling I could really get along with would be an older brother, if I had to choose.
Before my mom’s first miscarriage:
Mom: “Morgan would you like a little brother or sister?”
Me: “No I have Peter Rabbit,” I say with a grin as I hold up my favorite stuffed animal.
She had four more after that. Sometimes I feel guilty about it even though I know it’s not my fault. I don’t know why.
6:50 PM September 3rd, what I do instead of studying:
Today I got bored and went on Wikipedia. I typed in “only child syndrome” and found this nice little tid bit of information. “In Western Culture, only children are often subject to a stereotype that equates them with spoiled brats.”
Am I Spoiled?
Yeah.
Can I be a brat?
Sometimes.
Hm. I guess Wikipedia isn’t as unreliable as I thought.
Only children are always getting ripped on. Maybe I just feel that way because I’m one of them, or maybe not. Even MY OWN family has talked smack about me before I could even defend myself.
Sometime in March, just after my second birthday:
Lenny (my grandma on Dad’s side): “She’s going to turn out awkward and her social skills will be poor if you don’t have any more children. Mel, all my other son’s have two children…” Lenny tells my mom with fake compassion and a large undertone of arrogance.
Cool. Even my own grandma judged me for being an only child, before she even knew me… not that she knows me now or anything.
Mom: “I don’t see that as a problem. I’m an only child and I turned out just fine,” said my mom with annoyance and dignity.
Do I feel I’m an awkward person?
Sometimes.
Last week I drove my 1999 Champaign colored Camry to lifetime, alone. I changed in the dressing room into my black mesh shorts and yellow tank with a white built in bra, alone. I walked up the two flights of stairs too studio one for my first yoga class, alone.
I walked hesitantly into the class and noticed everyone in yoga pants and a large t shirt, dark colors. I stood out immediately—awkward feeling number one. Since I was a first timer I grabbed a sea foam green mat, scurried to the back of the room and laid it down horizontally. The room smelled of eucalyptus oil and semi dirty feet but I didn’t mind. The class began and five minutes in I realized my mat was laid out differently than everyone else’s. Even though it wasn’t a big deal – awkward feeling number two.
A lady about forty years old comes late into the class. She rushes to the back of the room and slaps her mat down next to mine. I hear a murmur and look over to her, but can’t make out what she’s saying.
Late Lady: “Are pshpshpsh your pshpsh?” she mumbles.
Me: “What?” I say in tree pose with my head cocked to one side.
Late Lady: “Are pshpshsph your pshpsh??” she mumbles again, but louder this time.
Me: “What? Sorry what are you saying?” I say nicely but annoyed because she keeps mumbling.
Late Lady: “Never mind…I’m guessing these are you shoes,” she says in a loud demeaning voice as she thrusts them rudely towards me and goes into child’s pose.
I didn’t mention that the entire room was silent with only sounds of rain drops faintly in the background. Everyone in the class including the instructor starred at me as if it was my fault the late lady had to yell like an ogre during their relaxation time. Thus—awkward moment number three.
I don’t know if I’m the awkward one, or if awkward situations just flock to me, but throughout these last 17 years, I’ve had a number of them.
The last time I REALLY wanted a sibling?
My parents went out of town for the weekend. I decided to, let’s just say…live in the moment. They found evidence of my moment, when they got home. There were two people home that weekend, myself and my dog (yes I consider him a person). Guess who they blamed.
Am I close to my parents?
Yeah I am. I think we have a closer relationship than most children and parents do. I tell my mom everything; friends, school, and even boys. I tell my dad everything too, minus boys. When I think about leaving them, my stomach starts to swirl and twist and my eyes well up again.
Being on my own scares me sometimes.
Things I need my parents for:
1. Love (self explanatory)
2. Advice (I suck at making decisions)
3. Support (without it I couldn’t function)
4. Laundry (no I do not know how to do laundry, I should get on that)
5. Dinner (I don’t cook…well)
6. Money (I enjoy shopping, too much)
Sundays:
The aroma of fluffy whipped eggs and maple soaked bacon fill the house. Its 10:30 A.M. and I am lying down with a smile on my face feeling fully content.
Dad: “Morg! Breakfast is almost ready come downstairs!” I hear my dad yell loudly, hoping to wake me up.
I slowly gather the strength to get out of my bed. Left foot, then right foot, hit the ground with a thunk. My nose and I follow the scent to the kitchen. I sit in the chair closest to the wall and sip on ice cold orange juice as my dad flips and cooks our breakfast at the stove. My mom makes the bacon, my dad makes the eggs, and I pour the juice. We are like a three person team. We try to do this every Sunday. People think it’d be weird being the only child in the house…but as for me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Lately I’ve cherished my family time more than before. I can hear the clock counting down in the back of my mind at all times. I know the same time this year I will probably be with some people, at some college, hopefully having the time of my life. But until I’m actually there, I will have this swirling painful knot in my stomach and lump in my throat. I never know when I want my independence. There are some days that I just want to be left alone, on my own, by myself. But then there are others where I crave human contact, conversation, a hug, anything that makes me feel that someone is there for me.
I don’t know if being an only child has made me be so indecisive or if it is just my personality. I know I will be ready to be on my own when the time comes but as for now, I am content with being seventeen, at home, depending on my mom and dad.
First day of senior year, room 342 5th period:
The teacher hands out the expected “fill your name in the category that fits you” bingo sheet for the “get to know everyone” day.
Girl I don’t know very well: “Is it weird,” sounding somewhat upset, but interested.
Me: “Is what weird?”
Girl I don’t know: “Being an only child… don’t you get lonely?”
Me: “Oh, not really.”
When kids find out I’m only child they ask me questions about it as if it was like a punishment or something. I don’t get why they think it’s so weird. In fact I think it’s an advantage…sometimes. Yeah I guess I wouldn’t mind having a sibling. If I had to choose I’d want a big brother for sure. I think I’d get annoyed with little kids constantly running around the house 24/7 and mucking up my stuff. And if I had a girl in the house she’d probably borrow all my clothes and I’d eventually get way too annoyed to be able to stand her. Yeah I think the only sibling I could really get along with would be an older brother, if I had to choose.
Before my mom’s first miscarriage:
Mom: “Morgan would you like a little brother or sister?”
Me: “No I have Peter Rabbit,” I say with a grin as I hold up my favorite stuffed animal.
She had four more after that. Sometimes I feel guilty about it even though I know it’s not my fault. I don’t know why.
6:50 PM September 3rd, what I do instead of studying:
Today I got bored and went on Wikipedia. I typed in “only child syndrome” and found this nice little tid bit of information. “In Western Culture, only children are often subject to a stereotype that equates them with spoiled brats.”
Am I Spoiled?
Yeah.
Can I be a brat?
Sometimes.
Hm. I guess Wikipedia isn’t as unreliable as I thought.
Only children are always getting ripped on. Maybe I just feel that way because I’m one of them, or maybe not. Even MY OWN family has talked smack about me before I could even defend myself.
Sometime in March, just after my second birthday:
Lenny (my grandma on Dad’s side): “She’s going to turn out awkward and her social skills will be poor if you don’t have any more children. Mel, all my other son’s have two children…” Lenny tells my mom with fake compassion and a large undertone of arrogance.
Cool. Even my own grandma judged me for being an only child, before she even knew me… not that she knows me now or anything.
Mom: “I don’t see that as a problem. I’m an only child and I turned out just fine,” said my mom with annoyance and dignity.
Do I feel I’m an awkward person?
Sometimes.
Last week I drove my 1999 Champaign colored Camry to lifetime, alone. I changed in the dressing room into my black mesh shorts and yellow tank with a white built in bra, alone. I walked up the two flights of stairs too studio one for my first yoga class, alone.
I walked hesitantly into the class and noticed everyone in yoga pants and a large t shirt, dark colors. I stood out immediately—awkward feeling number one. Since I was a first timer I grabbed a sea foam green mat, scurried to the back of the room and laid it down horizontally. The room smelled of eucalyptus oil and semi dirty feet but I didn’t mind. The class began and five minutes in I realized my mat was laid out differently than everyone else’s. Even though it wasn’t a big deal – awkward feeling number two.
A lady about forty years old comes late into the class. She rushes to the back of the room and slaps her mat down next to mine. I hear a murmur and look over to her, but can’t make out what she’s saying.
Late Lady: “Are pshpshpsh your pshpsh?” she mumbles.
Me: “What?” I say in tree pose with my head cocked to one side.
Late Lady: “Are pshpshsph your pshpsh??” she mumbles again, but louder this time.
Me: “What? Sorry what are you saying?” I say nicely but annoyed because she keeps mumbling.
Late Lady: “Never mind…I’m guessing these are you shoes,” she says in a loud demeaning voice as she thrusts them rudely towards me and goes into child’s pose.
I didn’t mention that the entire room was silent with only sounds of rain drops faintly in the background. Everyone in the class including the instructor starred at me as if it was my fault the late lady had to yell like an ogre during their relaxation time. Thus—awkward moment number three.
I don’t know if I’m the awkward one, or if awkward situations just flock to me, but throughout these last 17 years, I’ve had a number of them.
The last time I REALLY wanted a sibling?
My parents went out of town for the weekend. I decided to, let’s just say…live in the moment. They found evidence of my moment, when they got home. There were two people home that weekend, myself and my dog (yes I consider him a person). Guess who they blamed.
Am I close to my parents?
Yeah I am. I think we have a closer relationship than most children and parents do. I tell my mom everything; friends, school, and even boys. I tell my dad everything too, minus boys. When I think about leaving them, my stomach starts to swirl and twist and my eyes well up again.
Being on my own scares me sometimes.
Things I need my parents for:
1. Love (self explanatory)
2. Advice (I suck at making decisions)
3. Support (without it I couldn’t function)
4. Laundry (no I do not know how to do laundry, I should get on that)
5. Dinner (I don’t cook…well)
6. Money (I enjoy shopping, too much)
Sundays:
The aroma of fluffy whipped eggs and maple soaked bacon fill the house. Its 10:30 A.M. and I am lying down with a smile on my face feeling fully content.
Dad: “Morg! Breakfast is almost ready come downstairs!” I hear my dad yell loudly, hoping to wake me up.
I slowly gather the strength to get out of my bed. Left foot, then right foot, hit the ground with a thunk. My nose and I follow the scent to the kitchen. I sit in the chair closest to the wall and sip on ice cold orange juice as my dad flips and cooks our breakfast at the stove. My mom makes the bacon, my dad makes the eggs, and I pour the juice. We are like a three person team. We try to do this every Sunday. People think it’d be weird being the only child in the house…but as for me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Lately I’ve cherished my family time more than before. I can hear the clock counting down in the back of my mind at all times. I know the same time this year I will probably be with some people, at some college, hopefully having the time of my life. But until I’m actually there, I will have this swirling painful knot in my stomach and lump in my throat. I never know when I want my independence. There are some days that I just want to be left alone, on my own, by myself. But then there are others where I crave human contact, conversation, a hug, anything that makes me feel that someone is there for me.
I don’t know if being an only child has made me be so indecisive or if it is just my personality. I know I will be ready to be on my own when the time comes but as for now, I am content with being seventeen, at home, depending on my mom and dad.
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