Before you read this story, I just want to let you know that the WordPress blog, Magnificent Nose, is featuring Flash Fiction this week. I have a guest post today, “Poetic Justice?” Hope you’ll check it out, and keep going back. It’s a great blog.
Yesterday I wrote about twins. In that story, I made a very brief reference to my being an only child. Today, I’m thinking about what that means. Can’t speak for everyone else out there without brothers and sisters, but I love my own company. I never feel lonely. I do like being alone. Not all the time. But probably more than many.
And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if my being an only child has a lot to do with it. It would make sense.
Because I have no siblings I spent a fair bit of time alone, growing up. Yes, my parents were there. Yes, I always had lots of friends, lots of friends coming over to my house to play, to study, for meals. I always had lots of parties, lots of sleepovers. But eventually they went home, to their own houses; and then it was back to just me and my parents. We had a large, extended family. Lots and lots of cousins (many of whom are very close to my age) and aunts and uncles and grandparents. We were together very, very often. Most weekends, in fact; and often, during the week as well. But eventually we all went home, to our respective houses; and again it was back to me and just my parents.
I spent a lot of time with my parents’ friends, especially the women. I often said I had my own relationships with them. I loved my conversations with them. They never treated me like a child; and I guess because of all the time I spent with adults, I was more sophisticated Continue reading