SIBBS Newsletter, Autumn 2020

SIBBS Newsletter, Autumn 2020 | www.tcf.org.uk 12 may be nothing that defines us and forms us more powerfully than our relationships with our brothers and sisters. I’m sure it’s all a bit bleak when you’re reading this as an only child. There exists some widely-accepted temperamental templates for the eldest sibling, the middle child, and the baby of the family. They are, more often than not: the serious and conscientious first-born, the disordered middle children who have to fight for attention, and the wilder, more self-assured last-born. It is customary that parents will dote on the first product of the familial assembly line, investing more money, time and film rolls in their first-born. Just leaf through my family’s photo albums, which contain an extortionate number of grainy snapshots of my sister’s every move and achievement. I wonder if we fit the templates, whether my older sister was shyer and more intelligent than me. But I can’t remember; all I have are toothy grins on glossy photo paper. When I came along two and a half years later, the scrapbooks are more neglected; amusingly, the novelty of a baby seems to have worn off. Being an only child also has its unfortunate stereotypes. Already, I bet phrases containing the words spoiled, selfish, or bratty come to mind – just type in only child to Google and your first few options will provide you with a plethora of typecasts. I’ve found myself self-interrogating throughout my life and making a conscious effort to not live up to these labels. I remember the first time that someone told me that I didn’t seem like an only child. What an intense relief. But I didn’t begin my life as an only child, and I don’t even completely feel like one despite the appearance of my family now. Which begs the question, how do we quasi-siblings define ourselves? I read an article which called it Sudden Onset Only Child Syndrome. I remember the companionship of having an older sister, someone both to look up to and quarrel with. Someone to make the mistakes first. Someone to guide me through life. I also remember the unique loneliness that arises alongside only-child-hood, which is all the more painful when that loss stems from someone granted then suddenly snatched away. The only child will certainly develop strange and all-consuming hobbies or solo imaginative games to keep themselves entertained on long days alone at home on the weekends. As a child, I would while away hours re-organising my collection of china animals and writing lengthy stories about mermaids. As a young teen, when my friends were busy on the weekend I took this as a very personal insult. I wanted someone to play with, no matter what age I was. I’ve always been fascinated with other people’s siblings which have come into my life. I am always enthralled by boyfriends’ brothers or sisters. I have been secretly, and somewhat embarrassingly, infatuated with the idea that these boys had older siblings, particularly sisters, who I could be close with. Us only children will, every so often, get lost in fantasy. We wonder how the terrain of our world would be altered if we had a sibling, or if our lost sibling was here today. Would we be totally different? What would our sibling be like? We craft the perfect sister in our heads; she is caring, she is taller than me, we share our closets and love the same things.