Role Play

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I just finished The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown. It was an interesting novel that explored the role of sisters. As the author says in the very beginning, "We loved each other, but we didn't like each other very much." The basic premises is that the sisters have cast themselves into various roles and these roles do not compliment each other. It is not until the end of the novel (when one sister is told to stop creating her history from the remnants of her sisters' stories) that the women break free from the roles they have assigned to themselves and realize that they do like each other. (Could there be any other ending?)

But it did get me thinking. I'm a sister - the oldest of 4 girls. And we each have our own roles that we have been assigned. Whether we assigned them to ourselves, or each other, or our parents had a hand in it, I'm not certain. But here they are, from my perspective (my sisters will probably - and loudly - disagree):

My youngest sister is just that - the baby of the family. She's not just my parents' baby, she is our baby too. Baby of the family as in, "Let your sister win, she's the baby." Or "Can you help your sister with her homework, she's the baby." She got away with murder; where I had to sneak out of the house and back in, she simply walked out and said "I'll be home later." Because of the "baby of the family label," we tend to forget that she is quite capable of doing for herself and is a strong woman because of it.

The third sister is the athlete and class clown. As such, she is also the first one to call us on our bullshit, the one most likely to speak up about a family issue instead of tiptoeing around it. She doesn't do drama - doesn't have the stomach for it. She firmly believes that it's better to say your piece, forgive, and move on. And that sometimes, it's better to tell a joke and change the subject. Because of this, we forget how smart she is - sometimes I think she forgets it too - and how kind and generous she is.

The second sister is the smart one. I know this because standardized tests when she was in second grade told my parents she was a genius. (And it is because of those same fu#$ing tests that I firmly believe parents should never see the results.) And these tests were held over her head her entire life - if I ever hear "Why don't you just apply yourself? You're the smart one!" one more time I might scream - and it was never even said to me. (It wasn't until typing this right now that I realized that even though she had high test scores, I am smart too. How is that for a mind f@#$?) We forget that she is not just the smart one, but also funny and always there for you when you think you don't need help but you really do.

And then there is me. I'm the responsible one. The one who is always in control. No one let me win or helped me with my homework; as the oldest of 4, I had to learn to do because my parents had 3 other kids to worry about.

I was taught not to rock the boat, that it was better to stay quiet than to tell my parents when I was upset (as many a teenage fight can attest to, where I ended up apologizing profusely and telling my parents that I was wrong, even though teenage Shannon still believes she is right).

And as for smarts, one time my father actually said to me after I boasted about how smart I was (I had gotten an A in Geometry, which - if you know anything about my math skills - was unheard of): "Yes, you work hard, but your sister is the smart one according to the tests you guys took in second grade." It should be noted that at the time, we were in high school.

I am so responsible that too this day, I cannot talk to my mother about the high school crap I pulled; she doesn't believe it. When my sisters and I were talking about it the last time we were all home together, she smiled at me and told my sister, "Well, she says she did." Seventeen years later, and she still can't see me.

Why this depressing trip down memory lane? I'm pregnant, and will be giving my daughter and son a sister. And expanding our family makes me worry, more than I always do. I don't want my daughter to have to grow up too fast because she is the oldest. I don't want my children to be "the baby" or "the athlete" or "the class clown," and I want all of my children to be "the smart one."

This stupid novel made me realize that I don't want to assign my kids to roles that they may never be able to break out of.

When my husband and I were talking about it, he asked me what I wanted for them. My answer? I want them to fail. I want them to learn from their mistakes and then succeed. I don't want things to be too easy for them, and I don't want them to be afraid to do things because they are afraid to fail.

So that is the question I am pondering - how do I get my children to realize that no matter what they are good at, what they are bad at, who they are, I love them because they are mine?