#Yearof50. Entry 2: Only Child

I was an only child for 9 years. In 1980, our family grew when my sister Angela arrived, followed by my sister Marsha in 1982. I’ll defer to my mom to fact check me, but I’m pretty sure I was ok with having siblings arrive. I was drafted for babysitting duties from an early age and tried my best to help my mom.

In some ways, I helped raise my sisters and I took that responsibility seriously. I have fond memories of treasure hunts I created for them, and they really loved wheelbarrow rides (especially when it crashed). I remember my sister Angela would talk to me a lot while still in that toddler gibberish stage. She seemed to want to share with me, even though I had no idea what she was saying. She certainly had a lot to say, though. She hasn’t changed. She still likes to talk and share with me.

At least now I understand her. My sister Angela is the heart of the three of us. She truly does give herself away. She works in healthcare, and as our dad was dying, I learned more from her about empathy and care than I could have ever imagined. [...]

My youngest sister Marsha has the sharpest mind of the three of us, and a wicked sense of humour. She’s a remarkable green thumb, too, with a magazine-quality flower garden that would knock your socks off. Marsha suffers no fools and is more self-assured than I’ve ever been. I’ve always respected her for that.

I’m not sure what characterizes me amongst the three of us, but I hope I have been a good big brother. It’s a role I truly cherish. I hope they both know what they mean to me. Our paths have not always been smooth but they will always have me in their corner. I love them both with all of my heart, for they are a part of me.