Siblings
Siblings are a wonderful thing to have when you’re growing up.
You never have to worry about going somewhere new and not knowing anyone.
There’s always someone to play with.
And there’s always someone else to blame things on.
In this picture, I’m the one on the far right in the red pants and the light blue hooded sweatshirt (I don’t dress much better at 62).
Those other people are my siblings.
Growing up, we all lived under one roof with only one bathroom.
We ate supper together every night–all eight of us if dad wasn’t working, seven if he was.
We took turns setting the table, clearing the table, washing dishes, and drying dishes.
The oldest, Mike (#1), shared a bedroom with Paul (#5) who is standing in front of him.
Sue (#2-in the red hooded sweatshirt) shared a bedroom with Marcie (#6) who is standing in front of her.
I (#3) shared a bedroom with my sister Lou (#4) who is on the far left wielding a stick.
We six spent countless hours in a station wagon together going to and from Vermont (where this picture was taken).
These people have been my closest companions through it all: thick and thin, hell and high water, potty training and chicken pox.
No one understands your growing up experience like your siblings do. There are some things only a sibling understands.
No matter how hard you try to explain.
The social and cultural references of the country or region you grew up in, maybe, but not those of your family unit.
Like your DNA, each family is rather unique.
My siblings have at times lifted me up and other times broken my heart.
They have been both fierce competitors and loyal companions.
They have made me cry and they have made me laugh so hard I passed a bowl of Cheerios through my nose.
We have a shared history. We share a set of parents. I have shared secrets and pranks and alliances with every one of them at one time or another.
Throughout our childhood, we picked on each other mercilessly, and looked out after one another.
We each stood in the shadow of the siblings born before us (except for Mike, the oldest, who had to be the trailblazer by default) and we each carved out our own way.
We were all raised by the same parents in the same house, and we could not have turned out more different from each other.
Or more the same.
When I started writing this, the six of us had not been together in just over five years–since we buried our parents.
As I finish this, I have recently returned from having a week and a half get-together with my siblings. All six of us were there for four of those days.
It was so good to be all together, it was almost magic.
And so I find, as an adult, that I appreciate my siblings for a whole string of other reasons than I had growing up (and I’ll share those with you next week).
If you are lucky enough to have siblings, and you’re lucky enough that they’re still here on earth, don’t just cherish them.
Go get them and give them a hug!
~~~
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I didn’t have siblings until I turned 17. My parents adopted my brother and sister after I graduated high school. They moved in with us at Christmas in 1973. They were brother and sister and were 9 and 10 at the time. They even changed their given names. My sister changed her name from Beatrice to Sandi and my brother went from Shawn to Joseph III. We have kind of drifted since both are parents are now gone, but Joe lives near Boston Ma and Sandi is a high physics teacher in Hamburg and lives in West Seneca. But I know of the ups and downs. Through thick and thin. We were last together in August 2011 just before we moved my dad to move in with me and my husband. My mom had passed in 1980 due to diabetes related complications.
Wow, Deb. I’m so sorry to hear that your mom died so young. It’s nice that you have siblings though, no matter how late they came to the party. My youngest sister and I are also seven years apart; she was born a week and a day after my seventh birthday so I’ve always kind of thought of her as mine! It was the best thing I’ve done for myself in years-getting together with my siblings. We talk often enough, but being able to hug them and look into their faces made a world of difference to my well-being!
It has always amazed me how we each have our own version of shared childhood stories. But like you said, same parents, same house, same rules. Yet our recollections of events are as different as we are, and eerily the same as we are too. Talk about a nature vs. nurture conundrum. ((snicker)) I wouldn’t trade you guys for anything! <3
Me either…siblings are forever!
Bah-Humbug, and Happy New Years, sibs. As I sit here blazing a new trail…I’m sure I was born a poor Polish child and not to sure about much after that, the seminary, the military, the 1st wedding, my most HAPPY day, the birth of my daughter (not the wedding),the visit to Georgia that lasted 5 years, the 2nd wedding, 23 years of…what ever, and the MOST blessed time with Mema & Pops before they passed. Seems to be a pretty wide trail. I look back from time to time and the 5 of you are still chasing me. It has been one hell of a ride that I wouldn’t trade for all the riches of the world. I love you all and look forward to the next gathering of the L.C.C. Sooooo… BLYB Mike
You’ve been a wonderful trailblazer, Brother! And it has been a hell of a ride! I wouldn’t trade it for anything either. ❤️❤️❤️