On February 14th, 1995, at the early hour of 1:43AM at Magee-Womens Hospital in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, my mother and father brought their first and final child into the world. 8 pounds, 9 ounces, 21.5 inches long, and a set of lungs much akin to my mom's.

The rest of my family was either impatiently waiting in the hospital's designated area or in various locations unknown (probably my hometown Masontown, PA, and whereabouts).

Why do I mention the rest of my family, you ask? Because, at least for my mother's side of the family, I was also the only nephew (there weren't any nieces either) and the only grandchild...for twelve loooooooong years. So, yes, I perpetuated the stereotype that I--as an only child--wanted for nothing. And, for the most part, this fact is even true now.

However, now a 21-year-old, I look at being an only child in a different light, and no one should desire this lifestyle.

To be clear, I am not upset with my parents at all for not giving me a brother or sister. I know they tried and failed, and I know that weighed heavily on my mother who wanted another child and wanted to give me a sibling. But, being an only child also weighed heavily on me.

Allow me to explain...

To state the blatantly obvious, I didn't have a brother or sister. I was never able to protect my baby sister from all the boys chasing her. I was never able to show my baby brother the ropes. I never learned the importance of sharing, referring to both material objects and my parents' affection. I never learned what it was like to go without to make sure my sister or brother could have something in return. I never had the ability to use my sibling as a scapegoat to ensure I wouldn't get in trouble for my actions even if it was an accident.

Again, to clarify, I do have great friends who have, over time, become just like brothers and sisters to me (not to mention the fact that I have about 40 brothers in my fraternity that I consider to be my family). I cherish each and every one of them and thank them for everything they have ever done for me. However, there's still a distinct difference between having these relationships and having a blood-relative who you hate to love and love to hate.

Another blatantly obvious fact: my parents never had another child. Although they had models of how to be a good parent from my grandparents, every child is different in their own regard, and as such, they had to learn how to parent me on the fly. I didn't come with an instruction manual. They didn't have the ability to undo their mistakes, and being an only child, they didn't have the opportunity to fix the "mistakes" they made with me with another child. I was a learning opportunity that was never quite fulfilled.

All that being said, even though I was an experiment (in a way), I feel that my parents did a phenomenal job raising me. I have my flaws just as everyone else, but I am who I am because of them (with influences from the rest of my family).

Beyond the obvious, however, lies something slightly darker, which was briefly alluded to earlier. I was spoiled. I had everything I could ever want and never learned how vital it was to work for my possessions. But, that's not the sad part. In a twisted kind of way, my action figures and board games and video games and everything else took the place of my nonexistent brother or sister. I found solace in my toys because, while I was enthralled in one of my various make-believe lands, I felt a little less alone.

I'm not looking for pity. Instead, I wanted to end the negative stigma behind being spoiled as an only child. Perhaps, those items mean more than what they seem at face value. Perhaps, they're hiding a combination of loneliness and jealousy; at least they did for me.