The drama of the only child

We noticed again at lunch that all four of us (Irina, Celia, Joe and I) were raised in homes where we were the only child--no brothers or sisters to be found anywhere. The cliche is that only children are spoiled but I don't think that applies to any of us. We all had slightly to seriously dysfunctional childhoods and none of us had the Barbie dream house (well, maybe Joe did). I think being an only child makes you more imaginative--you have to be because you're alone more than most. I remember wondering why anyone ever gave me board games to play because I didn't frequently have friends over and I didn't play Sorry with my parents; I would play the games with my pretend friends and I would always win because I was controlling all of the other invisible people's moves and could see their cards, etc. It's an advantage in some ways to grow up this way because it also forces you to be more imaginative and it made me into a big reader too.

I told Celia and Irina today about how when I was little, I used to want so so so so so so so bad to be Laura Ingalls that it HURT. I felt betrayed by God for not having been born her instead of me. I wished for her same crooked teeth b/c I thought they were so glamorous. Guess what? Be careful what you wish for when you're five. I also remember asking my grandma what it was like for her to travel across the country in a covered wagon. I didn't quite understand what she didn't like the question. To me, anyone above the age of forty was from the "olden days" and had probably used a butter churn at one time or another.

My mom kept my hair pretty short. I think that once or twice, I was mistaken for a boy. So, in order to be Laura Ingalls, I sometimes wore tights on my head with bows tied near the feet. I thought they looked like braids, especially since they had a seam down the middle, just like a part. I thought my mom let me run around like that, but she just now told me that she only let me wear them in the yard/the prairie. I'm sure that it caused cars to slow down on our street, as people pondered how tragic it was to see a little retarded girl with cancer.