My U Author

Only Child: Writers on the Singular Joys and Solitary Sorrows of Growing Up Solo by Daphne Uviller

My rating: 1 of 5 stars


"In this collection of original, frank, personal accounts, twenty-one of today's most celebrated writers -- all of them only children -- reveal the pleasures, peculiarities, and pain they faced growing up, and growing older, without siblings. More than just stories of head counts and birth order, these essays air the dirty laundry, reveal the singular joys, and grapple with questions of love, loss, and solitude. The authors will make other onlies grin and grimace in recognition and show the rest of us what it's like to be a party of one."
~~back cover

I must be weird. None of these stories resonated with me. And yes, I'm an only child, and have hated it all my life. I was forever trying to find a family that had more relatives than mine (we were a singularly small group: I'm an only child, my mother's only sibling was childless [that makes me an only only, you know.]) I always longed for a big family: lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, and Cecil B. DeMille Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas with mounds of presents under the tree. My father had several brothers and a sister, but they are all back in Ohio and I've never met any of them, so that doesn't count..

None of the stories came close to talking about what it's like to be the point of such an inverted pyramid. All eyes on you, all family aspirations yours to fulfill, yours to fail and let the whole family down, etc. I hated it! As I grew older and began to find out that my family of origin was skewed heavily towards major personality disorders, I wished even harder for a sibling. "I didn't do it, your father didn't do it, and the dog didn't do it." Useless to protest that I didn't do it either -- my goose was already precooked. If I'd had a sibling, we might have compared notes and come to the conclusion about how skewed our family was -- and maybe it wouldn't have taken me so many years to find out, and even more to try to begin to undo the damage.

As we all got older, it would have been lovely to have a sibling, someone to share the burden of caring for them as they declined in health, and proceeded towards leaving this world. Lovely to have had someone to help me clean out the trailer, stuffed with the accumulated detrius of years and years of hoarding against the next Great Depression.

Some of these stories touched on that aspect of being an only child, but most of them ended happily ever after: reconciliation with their aloneness, happy families with their parents. That wasn't my experience, although I really hoped I would read about others who felt like orphans long before their parents' deaths made that status a reality.