While it remains unconfirmed, I believe myself to be an accident child. My siblings were all born about a year apart, and they are now (nearly) 30, 31, and 32. I can’t imagine any sane people thinking, Welp, they’re 5, 6, and 7 now, our lives are a total shitshow, and you know what I think we need? NeWbOrN! So either my parents are clinically crazy–which is not out of the question (jkjk M&D)–or I just ended up being an accident. A really, really awesome one, but an accident nonetheless.
There’s a 5-year difference between me and child #3, whom I suppose I can refer to by his name: Shorty. I kid, I kid, his actual name is Ben. Ben and his fiancee (Fiancee?! Still very strange to say.) came out to California to visit right before I left for Portland and spent a week enjoying the Cali sunshine. I was pretty busy working and stuff (meh) so we had limited time to hang out, but the time that we did have together was pretty cool.
As I’ve (sort of) matured, I’ve come to realize how valuable my relationships with my siblings are. I always like thinking about how siblings are the only people who will know you from when you’re a child to when you’re old. My brothers and sister knew me when I was a little baby sleeping soundly in the crib (over which my father lovingly put the sign “Poopyhead,” but that’s for another time), they know my amazing, kickass current self, and they’ll know future Theresa. It’s kind of crazy to think of Ben when he was just the dorky kid with glasses who listened to his portable CD player too loud and rode home on the same school bus as I did. That guy is nearly 30 and in grad school now and planning a wedding.
Despite the fact that he’s kind of grown up and I’m sort of trying to be an adult (not very much, but anyway), the most important thing my relationships with my siblings reminds me of is that we’re young. Anytime I see them I instantly feel like I’m 8 years old again, and we all sort of act that way, too. I mean, sure, we had a great time driving through wine country, but another night while we were waiting for a bus to take us home, Ben picked up a sandwich that someone had set on a public trash can (clearly for a homeless or hungry person) and started attacking me with it while I repeatedly yelled out, “Don’t touch me with that sandwich bomb!” That is grown Benjamin and Theresa, and yes that really happened.
Our parents must be proud.