I’m the oldest of 10 children. I have five brothers and four sisters, and this is only slightly above average size in my family. Children are blessings, bundles of joy that are prayed for, begged for, rejoiced over.
So naturally, there’s a lot of them.
From the time I was 2, I have been an older sister. I’m now almost 20 and I still have tiny people as siblings. The youngest are four now, and even though they are definitively the last biological children my parents will have, there are 16 years between my birthday and theirs.
I have been in charge of small children, in control of their survival and health, for probably more years than I should have been. I have a remarkable ability to track wandering toddlers, and juggling wiggling babies is second nature.
The other second nature I have walked away with- slightly related to the first and unavoidable, in my opinion- is a terrifyingly fierce protective instinct. A friend once labelled it a hero complex.
I love an underdog with every fiber of my being. People who cannot protect themselves instantly earn my protection, and I will fight to the hyperbolic death for their cause.
I don’t qualify myself as a nice person to most people. If you’re going to harass me on the street or waste my time with inanities, I’m not a nice person.
If being nice involves lying about my feelings on a matter, then I’m not a nice person. I will not tolerate your nonsense or laziness, and ignorance or cruelties will gain you my harshest words. Continue reading