You know when you’re at a concert and you’re so excited to see your favorite artist? But, before you can begin making Snapchat stories of the entire thing, you have to endure the obscure opening act? When you’re constantly overshadowed by your sibling, that’s what your life is. One, big opening act for which you can’t help but feel sorry. I’m the obligation everyone sits through while they’re chanting for the headliner to come out. Basically, my brother is One Direction, and I am the artist whose song is iTunes’ free single of the week. This is the tale of what it’s like to not be the “golden child.”
“No parent loves one child more than the other” — it’s something you hear all the time, or at least you do if you were like me as a child and constantly asked: “Hey Mommy/Daddy, who do you love more — John Nix or me?” It may be true that all parents love their children equally, but not all parents’ children are equal. There’s always going to be the more talented sibling or the one who’s better looking or more popular. And, unfortunately for myself, I am not that sibling.
The shelves of my brother’s room are overflowing with with trophies and plaques and mine have a few books I’ve never read and my $12 plastic Oscar I got from a street vendor in Hollywood.
I have the athletic ability of an overweight toy poodle and struggled to make sports teams. My brother plays for so many teams it’s hard to come up with enough excuses to get out of going to all the games. He wins awards and championships and even works out on his own time when coaches don’t require it. I take a stroll around my cul-de-sac once a week and reward myself with a powdered donut. He wins glorified popularity contests like “Mr. Sophomore Class” etc. (which probably isn’t the best idea for a high school full of teens with self esteems as low as their GPA). I win “most likely to make jokes to hide her insecurities,” ok not really, but everyone was thinking it.
I could make a case for myself by saying all these honors he receives are fleeting and superficial, but that wouldn’t be true. Next to his athletic ability, popularity, good looks, and hot girlfriend he also has…a heart of gold. Ugh.
Maybe I could be more friendly or get a personal trainer and try to compete with my brother in some of his accomplishments. But once you bring up what a great person he is there really is no hope for me after all. He wins service awards and is honored by faculty and staff for being a role model. His kindness and humility are directly proportional to his great ACT score and 100+ friends. He recently got back from a Christian camp helping teens with special needs, and I have been waking up at noon and watching "Pretty Little Liars" episodes I’ve seen before. To make it worse, he has the audacity to support me and act like whatever I’m doing with my life is worthy of being celebrated. What a jerk.
Being the golden child isn’t just reserved for things done outside of the home, but within the family as well. My childhood was full of “Addison get out of the video camera we’re trying to film your brother’s first steps” or, whenever he was upset, “Addison, what did you do?” I was sent to my room and had television privileges taken away from me so many times for “talking back” or “being a smart aleck.” My brother was never punished, because when he did make a mistake he profusely apologized and recognized his wrongdoing instead of saying “that didn’t even hurt” while receiving a spanking — which his only sister did. Grandparents praised my brother for his tender heart and wise-beyond-his-years observations. They praised me for … uh … routinely cleaning my plate.
School peers, teachers, family members — these aren’t the only people who love him. No, he is immediately loved by strangers upon seconds of meeting him. Cashiers, waitresses, sales clerks, all give him an extra smile or give him free coffee. A TSA employee who had just finished reprimanding me for having a water bottle in my purse, the very next minute, joked with my brother and said his rule-breaking was charming. Small children and babies give him googly eyes and their parents look at him as if he has just made their child laugh for the first time. Most kids run away from me because I guess it’s obvious they annoy me.
After reading this, if you still don’t understand what I mean, let me break it down for you: My brother is Jim Halpert, and I am Dwight Schrute. I am Detroit, and he is New York City. He’s a Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chip cookie baked to perfection, and I am a 100 Calorie Pack of cookies sweetened with Splenda. My brother is Kendall Jenner, and I am Kylie (before she got hot). He is a pepperoni pizza with a cheese-filled crust, and I am a calzone with black olives.
Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I’ve got my mom and my cat who love me. I would ask them to proclaim their love for me here in writing … but they’re hanging out with my brother right now.
