My Mother was 41 when I was birthed. My Dad was only 30. She had been previously married, and had 2 sons with that guy. My brothers are 21 and 22 years older than me. I didn’t grow up around them, and they were out of the house around the time I was born. They grew up together, and I grew up pretty much on my own with just my folks.
Some would say that hampered me emotionally. No older siblings to hang out with, or to talk to about the various curiosities (sex, girls, why am I growing hair on my body? etc.)
I actually grew to like it. A lot. I didn’t mind being the only one at the house. Just my folks and I there. No one hogging up the bathroom, no sibling rivalry. Yeah , I was spoiled like every other last child, but I tried not to let it go to my head. I didn’t want to become a selfish jerk. I know there’s also only children that later on in life want to have a big family. Not me. I think it’s a good thing only having one. All attention can be focused on one, and no one feels neglected.
I’m glad though that I have my brothers. I may not have grown up with them, but I always cherish the time I get to spend with them whenever they come over. It’s also fun telling people that my brothers are 46 and 47. I’ve had people tell me two things after this. 1. How old are your parents!? 2. You’re brothers are older than my parents!
Rene’s song of the day: “Can’t Help Myself” by The Four Tops
Thanks for reading my blog and see you next time!
Behind every great book adaptation is a forgettable first try. — By Ryan Covey