I`m the oldest daughter in a large family. There are a lot of us now in that big body of Baby Boomers, but soon we will go the way of the dinosaur because people now rarely have `50s- and `60s- size families with five or more children.
Recently, I began to reflect on my dubious position, perhaps because of the glare of approaching middle age, or maybe because the tables have turned and I now ask for advice from younger siblings.
Despite the many pieces of baggage oldests carry from their experience into adulthood, we all clutch the handbag of bossiness, especially daughters. This stems from having responsibility heaped on us at an early age.
I recall when I was 10 years old doing the whole bedtime routine of bathing, diapering and tucking in of three of my younger brothers. My own bossiness has its roots here as the benevolent (most of the time) dictator of my obedient (sometimes) underlings, Jon, Chris and Donald.
Later in life bossiness can translate into assets such as leadership and a ”take charge” attitude, or it may simply translate into becoming a crank and a pain in the backside. At this point, I don`t care to take my personal analysis any further.
Big sisters suffer numerous abuses and indiscretions from younger brothers and sisters. Here are a few from my own inventory.
– Freeloading.
– Having my name forged on a health club membership contract, then being chased by a collection agency for the fee.
– As a teenager, enduring disparaging remarks about my appearance in front of people I was trying to impress.
– Having parts stripped from my bicycle by younger brother-mechanics.
From experiences such as these, big sisters salvage a sense of humor and tolerance for anti-social behavior. Although we share common traits and experiences, I have noticed in myself and friends unique responses to growing up the oldest.
One friend traces her night-owl habits to her childhood when she would rattle around the house at all hours because it was the only time that the house was quiet.
My own reaction to growing up in a house at times whirling in chaos is compulsive neatness-a desperate attempt to now control my environment.
Being the oldest daughter in a large family also has had an effect on the size of my own family. With two children, it is small. I planned this on the theory that each of us is born with a finite amount of patience, just as each of us is born with 46 chromosomes. By the age of 29 I had expended 90 percent of my life`s allotment of patience on looking after my younger brothers. This left room for only 1.8 children. Besides, after having two sons, I began to get an eerie sense of deja vu. My own sons my suffer slightly as a result of my position as oldest when they must find their own transportation to any of their activities. I hung my chauffeur`s keys up 20 years ago when junior football ended. In fact, the sight of a station wagon sends me into a terrifying flashback.
I always feel an immediate affinity with any woman I meet who is the oldest in a large family. In fact, we usually discover that some of our siblings are interchangeable.
I wouldn`t go so far as to suggest that big sisters occupy a special place in heaven, but we deserve a place at the head of the table where, I admit, it`s hard to suppress the urge to shout, ”Get your meat hooks out of there!”
