I’m an only child–an anomaly in my generation. In 1949, when I started seventh grade at the newly created Durand Junior High, I was the only one in a class of thirty-three students who didn’t have a sibling. My companion was Tony, an English bulldog. I envied friends who had sisters to share their lives.
When I was growing up on the farm, I enjoyed solitary pursuits such as reading, drawing and putting picture puzzles together. Outside, Dad put up a swing by fastening some hay rope to a tree branch and fashioning a wooden seat for me. I rarely had neighbor kids to play with. I spent so much time with grown-ups that I felt like I was a little adult who grew into a big adult.
I didn’t learn about competitition, jealousy or compromise until I attended school.
I rarely had a chance to compete in board games. Once in a while, Mom played Checkers with me but she always won so it wasn’t a lot of fun for me. As I got older, Mom. Dad and I played Pitch, which worked well three handed. To make the card games more interesting, we each threw in ten cents a game and a nickel a set. When we called it quits, I was sometimes the big winner ending with less than two dollars more than I began because the game depended on luck as well as skill.
When I married, I had to learn to share, make-up after a spat, negotiate and plain give in to another person.
As I raised three kids, I saw the big difference in only children and families of siblings.
Committees continue to drive me nuts. Discussion of action seems to be endless. My feeling is let’s just do it.
Do you know any other only children?