Lucy and Ethel used red herrings and tricks to get what they wanted. They were valuable tools for this baby of the family.
I don't know about the rest of you family stragglers, accidents, oopsies, last little deductions--whatever charming euphemisms your parents used for you--being the baby of the family, especially if one's parents are older, is about as much fun as a selecting a homeless person's funeral attire. In fact there's only one thing worse than being the baby of a family of four. That, of course, would be ending up the baby in a family of five. Two, four, five. It's all the same. The oldest(er)one(s) gets the emotional loot.
There are exceptions, however. My husband, the last born in his family, was able to saunter into life thinking absolutely everyone loved him--except for maybe his older siblings.
Black sheep
I've often wondered if the baby can also be the black sheep of the family. That seems kind of remote as most don't truly detach until they're well into their 30s. By then, black sheep activity has usually come and past. It's hard to get the black sheep reputation when you're old. It's almost as if your parents know you have the imagination to become a black sheep, what with all the benign indifference they've shown you, and if they let you become independent, you'll become a serial killer. Strange dichotomy: they want you leave but they keep you dependent.
I recall our talking once about my eventually leaving home. I think I was about 16.
All right, all right. It wasn't really like that. But you get the drift of my rudderless childhood. I suppose my parents felt I had enough examples around me of those who had become educated and went off to their lives and to work...to get married, which is what I think my folks wanted for me all along, i.e., to get married.
So, I got married
Remember when Lucy dressed up in the Carmen Miranda costume to fool Ricky and sneak on stage as a dancer so she could feel like she had a life too? That's kind of how I did things for a very long time after I got married. I was always trying to sneak onto some one's stage, scared to death the fruit would fall off my head and I'd be found out.
Giving myself a break
Then I finally realized, all the while I was simply unprepared for marriage, in particular and life, in general
When I watch myself in a Lucy get-up, I realize much of my conflict came as a result of the times in which we lived. My parents weren't the problem. After all, I certainly didn't have to be introduced to educational advantages. They were all around me in my own family. I knew deep down that if I decided to "be" something, my parents would've pressed the issue. They knew my personality enough to understand they couldn't drag me to anything I didn't want to go to. What my parents did to me really was normal for the times.
The pressure on young married woman to "become something" was insidiously powerful. Lucy, meanwhile, laughed in the feminists' ugly mugs by doing what she did best. Be herself. Maybe my own Lucy outfits help me be myself.
Time and experience relieved me from most of the old feelings of insecurity. Recalling respectable accomplishments(sailing in a 32-foot sailboat from Hawaii to Tahiti and back is one; raising my children as a single parent with no emotional help and very little financial aid is another) helps when I feel like an idiot who will never be anything in life, let alone the great writer.
I wish Mother and Daddy could be here to see what I'm turning into. I think they'd feel pretty okay about it. Certainly, they wouldn't be surprised. ..not surprised at all.
Now where did I put my Harpo Marx hat and horn?
Thanks for the read.
I don't know about the rest of you family stragglers, accidents, oopsies, last little deductions--whatever charming euphemisms your parents used for you--being the baby of the family, especially if one's parents are older, is about as much fun as a selecting a homeless person's funeral attire. In fact there's only one thing worse than being the baby of a family of four. That, of course, would be ending up the baby in a family of five. Two, four, five. It's all the same. The oldest(er)one(s) gets the emotional loot.
There are exceptions, however. My husband, the last born in his family, was able to saunter into life thinking absolutely everyone loved him--except for maybe his older siblings.
Black sheep
I've often wondered if the baby can also be the black sheep of the family. That seems kind of remote as most don't truly detach until they're well into their 30s. By then, black sheep activity has usually come and past. It's hard to get the black sheep reputation when you're old. It's almost as if your parents know you have the imagination to become a black sheep, what with all the benign indifference they've shown you, and if they let you become independent, you'll become a serial killer. Strange dichotomy: they want you leave but they keep you dependent.
I recall our talking once about my eventually leaving home. I think I was about 16.
A's Parent
Andrea, what do you want to be when you grow up?
Andrea
Medical doctor.
A's Parent
A's Parent
That's nice, Honey. Sure.
We'll talk about that in a couple of years.
Pass me that magazine, will ya?
All right, all right. It wasn't really like that. But you get the drift of my rudderless childhood. I suppose my parents felt I had enough examples around me of those who had become educated and went off to their lives and to work...to get married, which is what I think my folks wanted for me all along, i.e., to get married.
So, I got married
Remember when Lucy dressed up in the Carmen Miranda costume to fool Ricky and sneak on stage as a dancer so she could feel like she had a life too? That's kind of how I did things for a very long time after I got married. I was always trying to sneak onto some one's stage, scared to death the fruit would fall off my head and I'd be found out.
Giving myself a break
Then I finally realized, all the while I was simply unprepared for marriage, in particular and life, in general
When I watch myself in a Lucy get-up, I realize much of my conflict came as a result of the times in which we lived. My parents weren't the problem. After all, I certainly didn't have to be introduced to educational advantages. They were all around me in my own family. I knew deep down that if I decided to "be" something, my parents would've pressed the issue. They knew my personality enough to understand they couldn't drag me to anything I didn't want to go to. What my parents did to me really was normal for the times.
The pressure on young married woman to "become something" was insidiously powerful. Lucy, meanwhile, laughed in the feminists' ugly mugs by doing what she did best. Be herself. Maybe my own Lucy outfits help me be myself.
Time and experience relieved me from most of the old feelings of insecurity. Recalling respectable accomplishments(sailing in a 32-foot sailboat from Hawaii to Tahiti and back is one; raising my children as a single parent with no emotional help and very little financial aid is another) helps when I feel like an idiot who will never be anything in life, let alone the great writer.
I wish Mother and Daddy could be here to see what I'm turning into. I think they'd feel pretty okay about it. Certainly, they wouldn't be surprised. ..not surprised at all.
Now where did I put my Harpo Marx hat and horn?
Thanks for the read.
