Throughout the
course of many centuries the story of sibling rivalry has recurred time and
time again in various types of literature. For instance, the Bible speaks of
the very first conflict: Cain and Abel. Roman Mythology also depicts the
contention between Romulus and Remus, Rome’s founders. Another sibling rivalry,
a little less well known, is the one that exists between my younger brother and
his older sister.
My parents happily
married in 1990 and struggled having kids, but in 1996 they were blessed with a
beautiful, baby girl named Chelsea Marie Woodrum. As the oldest child I was
given many privileges at a very young age, including: the knowledge of the
world revolving around me. That all changed when my mother gave birth to twins
in the summer of 1999. Unfortunately my younger sister quickly returned home
after a brief moment in this existence. My brother John on the other hand, is
still here today. Now, it would be rude and selfish for me to say I wish he
would have never been born, but three-and-a-half-year-old me had just had her
world turned upside down. Was I happy with this new “bundle of joy”? On the
outside my excitable eyes sparkled, but on the inside a storm cloud brewed
shrouding any trace of reflective light. A storm most commonly referred to as
sibling rivalry.
After the two
weeks of “new baby happiness,” reality set in, and my fake façade disappeared.
All of a sudden I no longer got what I wanted at all times, I did not get
attention when I cried because the baby would always cry louder, I did not get
all the play time I needed because the new preemie baby was too high
maintenance. In a matter of weeks and months I had gone from top priority to
back-burner status. The adjustment was difficult and overtime my jealousy grew
more and more. For a while I could not act upon my feelings of jealousy because
my parents would never let me play with the baby. As time went on and we grew
older, though, the baby became more accessible as his mobility increased.
Around the age of one he learned how to crawl, and with the expansion of his
crawling knowledge, my knowledge of horse riding increased as well. Wherever he
would crawl I would accompany him by siting on his back and enjoying the ride.
Overtime his crawling style developed abnormally and was different than other
children his age. In fact, his crawl turned into that of an army slither. In
his defense, he was on the frontline of a brutal battle against an overly
qualified opponent. After all, I was quite the tyrant.
“Was” being the
keyword in that last sentence. Looking back on the many memories my brother and
I have shared together over the past fifteen years causes me to reflect on why
our sibling rivalry still occurs to this day. Could it be that I teased him for
so long in order to make him stronger? When I look at my fifteen-year-old
brother today I see many admirable qualities that I wish I better encompassed.
My brother is athletic in ways I definitely was not in high school. He also
just recently won a debate trophy on the varsity level as a high school
sophomore, a feat I never experienced in any of my four years at high school.
Yet, despite these wonderful triumphs we still banter back and forth. Conversations
may not be as trivial as. . .
“She stole my
candy cane/G.I. Joe/Hot wheels.”
“Ew, Mom! He is
touching me.”
“Mom, she
hit/kicked/kneed me!”
“Dad, John John is
playing on the computer when he’s not supposed to.”
. . . But the
incentives and motivations to always be on each other’s nerves is ever present.
Tactics just change over the years as greater knowledge of what makes the other
tick is introduced and mastered.
Around the age of
two my brother began to learn basic life lessons, such as sitting up, laughing,
and slowly waddling around on two feet. As he progressed physically I
progressed mentally, contemplating more torturous designs daily as the storm
inside of me raged irrepressibly. The greatest extent of sibling rivalry that I
still clearly remember today is not the incident of my four-year-old brother
chasing me around the house and accidentally running into the television after a
quick sharp turn on my part. Or the constant incessant teasing about being a
four-eyed nerd once he started wearing glasses. The incident I remember clearly
and regret the most— if I had to regret one at all—would be the time my
innocent three-year-old brother sat before me thinking we were playing a game.
. .
Now, I must
reassure readers at this time that my sibling rivalry did not end the same way
as Cain and Abel’s or Romulus
and Remus’. No death has ever occurred throughout my despicable actions, unless
a blue Beta fish’s untimely departure counts. The most tortuous experience to
date took place on a calm autumn day in the year 2001. The location, my
childhood home, 1839 Chasewood Park Drive, Marietta, Georgia, 30066. Our quaint
little house was third on the right in a bustling suburban neighborhood. All
was quiet, until my dastardly deed was done and my claim to innocence foiled by
screams. My brother and I faced each other in our yellow, front living room,
two feet apart, as I selfishly fed him my broken off fingernails. Fingernails
that I told him were macaroni noodles. It is shocking that I was ever driven to
perform such a vile feat, but it is understandable given my circumstances. Siblings
can drive each other mad. Unfortunately, I did not escape a severe amount of
scolding that day once my brother began mildly choking. To some I might seem a
cruel and selfish child, and to others –oldest children everywhere- I may be
considered a heroine.
My brother is
alive and well today after many scarring life stories. In fact, he texted me
just the other day; something that never occurred until I moved out of my
house.
“Hey! I got my ACT
scores back and I got a 32 on the math section.” He gloated.
“Hey, impressive.
I heard from dad. I never received higher than a 29 on the math section, but my
composite score was higher than yours!” I said one-upping him.
“Yeah, yeah. I
know. I didn’t do too well on English and Reading.”
“We should work on
that, because I got sub-scores of a 32 and 33 in those sections. Everybody
knows that you are a total math nerd though.”
“Yeah, well
everyone knows you are an English geek.” He countered.
“I prefer: English
genius. Thank you very much.”
“Whatever helps
you sleep at night.”
Do I tease him to
discourage him? Not at all. I tease him to empower him and encourage him to
reach his potential. In all honesty, I thought my brother would score higher
than me on the ACT, from a composite standpoint, and I still believe he will in
the end. There is improvement needed though, and the best way for him to “want
it” is to create a fire in him that sets his sights on beating me. That’s all a
second child really wants, to beat the oldest child whenever possible. He has
had a lot of wins in his fifteen years and for all of those I am proud, but I
will continue to push him because I know his potential is great. Possibly even greater
than my own.
Many things have
changed in my relationship with my brother since that calm autumn day. I am
still the oldest and he is still my faithful runner-up, but the sibling rivalry
between us still exists and continues to be a trial. I long for the sole
attention of my parents and he longs to live up to my great successes in life.
Throughout the course of my eighteen years I have finally come to the
conclusion that our rivalry will never be won, but that is acceptable since it
means neither of us will end up killing the other. In fact, the way situations
and conversations have mellowed out between us in recent years almost has me convinced
that our relationship could end up being closely aligned with Shakespeare
siblings: Sebastian and Viola rather than legendary Cain and Abel. Love-hate
relationships are overrated anyway. John John is my brother now and forever,
and I couldn’t be more proud of the person he is becoming each and every day. A
person, I would like to think, I helped to mold and shape.
