It takes two to tangle

Posted May 19, 2009 by Mike Winter

Updated May 19, 2009 at 03:59 PM

  My daughter is currently an only child. That’s always been a mixed blessing for Tess. On the plus side, she has her parents’ undivided attention. On the minus side, she had her parents’ undivided attention. When Christmas rolls around all the presents under the tree (with the exception of the ineptly wrapped bottle of “Lovely” and the deluxe caulking gun) are for her. Her crayon masterpieces of butterflies being petted by princesses on unicorns or rainbows emerging from the heads of smiling sunflowers face no competition from rival masterpieces for prime refrigerator door display space. Her dolls can lounge around the house without fear of being coerced into new living arrangements or having to fraternize with G.I. Joes. And she never has to worry about a little brother or sister eating the last cookie.

  Of course, she has no one to share her outrage when Daddy eats the last cookie. Nor can she blame an errant sibling for painting the bathroom doorknob purple or wrapping the cat in toilet paper.

  On more than one occasion, I’ve pondered how our lives would change with an addition to the family. Obviously there would be new challenges. Twice the work load. Twice the worries. Twice the chance of at least one of my kids becoming President, an astronaut, or president of the astronauts. The possibilities and permutations seem endless. There are other considerations as well. Is Tess lonely? Is she growing up egocentric, self-centered, adept at entertaining herself?

  I remember what it was like growing up with three other siblings. As the oldest I was, of course, their king. Revered by my younger brother and sisters, respected by our parents, held up as a shining example of all that was good and just and noble in the world, I lived an ideal childhood… for the 2.34 minutes I was allowed to use the john each morning unharassed. Then my sister would start pounding on the door, threatening to tell mom I cheated her out of her turn to be first in the bathroom, my brother would accuse me of hogging all the hot water and my youngest sister would slip notes under the door promising to throw my homework out the window if I didn’t exit immediately.

  Good times. I couldn’t image growing up any other way.

  Still, memories fade, incidents blur and details become muddled. As unlikely as it seems, there’s a small chance my childhood wasn’t quite the drama fest I recall. For instance, to this day I have yet to find anyone who will corroborate the recollection of my brother shooting me in the tuckus with a BB gun, even though I can still feel the stinging indignity of his savage assault to this very day.

  So it was in the spirit of a field biologist observing wild creatures in their native habitats that I approached a recent trip home to visit my family in Pittsburgh. Staying with my sister for a few days provided ample opportunities to study the complex interactions of my seven-year-old niece and her 12-year-old brother. The first thing that struck me was the almost intuitive way the two communicated. Without a word – seemingly without even a glance in each other’s direction – the two could launch into a series of taunts and torments that would leave either my niece in tears, my nephew exiled to his room or (most likely) both. It was like they were bats insulting one another at frequencies too high for the human ear to hear. I admit to being both disturbed and impressed.

  Then there was the way each child had developed a unique approach to sibling torture. My nephew seemed to favor a more psychological approach, offering a few choice comments or “innocent” observations in favor of a more direct assault. He was, for instance, able to effortlessly end a game of “Go Fish” my niece and I were play by walking behind her and casually admiring all the pretty twos she had. My niece, for her part, preferred stealth pinches and strategic tattling to gain the upper hand.

  Of course, no sibling squabble would be complete if it didn’t end with simmering resentments, claims of rampant favoritism and a sketch of a stick figure labeled “Mr. Poopyhead” dedicated to a certain older brother.

  So yes, my daughter is currently an only child. And no, she has never thrown a handful of playing cards across the room, burst into tears and tried to rip two fistfuls of hair out of another person’s head (as far as I know). Then again, she’s never played house with a little sister, never defended a little brother in the schoolyard from bullies, never taught an eager apprentice how to use their father’s ties as lassoes for corralling wayward seahorses in the tub. All of which is to say, the jury is still out on whether being an only child is a plus or minus. Maybe someday I’ll be able to compare and contrast the pros and cons in my own household. Until that time, Tess will just have to be satisfied tattling on herself.