Sibling Appreciation

When my brother was born, I cried.

My grandma brought two-year-old me to the hospital and my mom showed me a new, tiny baby and said, “Look, Leah. This is Weston.”

I barely glanced at the baby in her arms. Okay, this was Weston. That was what Mom and Dad said they would name the baby if it was a brother. But if it was a sister, they were going to name her Claire. So naturally, the first words out of my toddler mouth were “Mommy, where’s Claire?"

The confused conversation that followed went something like this:

Mom: “We didn’t get a Claire, honey. We got a Weston.”
Me: (sobbing) “But I wanted a Claire!!!!”
Grandma: (leading me out of the room)

I can just imagine how fun that was for my parents. When my other brother was born, I was six years old. And there were probably two reasons why I didn’t cry about his gender: a) I had already been disappointed once, and didn’t expect much this time around; b) I had found a patch of poison ivy the day before, and I was so swollen that the only way my mom could recognize me was by my dress and pigtails. I bet that was fun for my parents, too.

In spite of my sobs and shenanigans, respectively, at my brothers’ births, and despite my intense disappointment at the realization that I would have to tough it out as the “only girl,” I’m glad I got two brothers. After all, would I have learned all the original Pokemon by name if I had been blessed with a Claire? Would I have watched Power Rangers or learned to play baseball? I doubt it. I might have had a better handle on fashion, but I would have missed out on frog-hunting expeditions and learning how not to be grossed out by fish worms.

So here’s to you, Weston and Daniel. Thanks for teaching me that there is more to life than Barbies and French braids. Thank you for teaching me that being older does not mean being taller. Thank you for demonstrating that yes, a 12-year-old wrestler can flip his 18-year-old sister over his back, and with little difficulty. Thank you for sharing your love of all things amphibious and all things sports, even if it didn’t always rub off. At the very least, I think frogs are cute and that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are a million times cooler than Polly Pocket.

What makes you thankful for your siblings? Whether it’s your little brother, big sister, or some variation on that theme, take some time out this week and let them know why you admit to being related to them—or just let them know you thought about them today. Because even if you didn’t get that Claire you wanted… well, having a Weston worked out pretty well after all.

End note: This story is the basis for the URL of my blog. It is not, however, related to the title of my blog. "Sister for Sale" takes its name from a Shel Silverstein poem, linked here.

Further note: apologies to Lydia. This is not new material.