If you met me in person, you would realize in a matter of moments that I'm an only child. This epiphany would not occur because of those tired impressions of an only child being selfish and spoiled. Instead, you would realize that something's just not right with me -- it's as if I missed the day in school when they taught peer socializing.
"Mena has a hard time relating to children her age." This was the lame old mantra that each of my teachers seemed to pass to the next.
"Mena likes to police the other children."
"Mena won't stop performing."
"Mena's a tattletale."
"What's with Mena?"
I'll tell you what's with Mena. Mena had parents who told her, still tell her, that she has a brother named Larry. This started when I around 5 or 6. I wanted a baby brother and they invented Larry to fill the void. Larry wasn't around, they'd explain, because he liked to cause trouble. They got rid of Larry and therefore got rid of the problems. But Larry had reformed, and he was itching to come home.
"It's a matter of time," my dad would say.
My parents are a textbook example of why it is important to mature first, breed later.
Larry was a big joke to my parents, or rather, my dad. Let's say I had a temper-tantrum:
Dad: Larry would be disappointed if he knew that you were behaving like this.
Me: Larry's not real!
Dad: Larry wouldn't want to hear you say that.
I, of course, would just give up. I never really believed them, although in the back of my mind I always wondered "what if?" Of course, Larry was just another way of saying "one was enough" (Me of course being that one).
In a strange way, Larry seems very real. In fact, when I got married, I kind of felt like we were missing someone.
Of course, my dad felt it too, and beat me to the punch.
"Too bad Larry wasn't here to see this."
i'm afraid
Posted by: mina | December 24, 2001 at 09:25 AM
Larry wouldn't want to hear you say that
Posted by: matt | September 16, 2002 at 02:09 PM