My go-to fun fact is that I'm the youngest child of 7. This number impresses people, even though compared to families of 10 and the Duggars, it's not that special. After this fact comes to light I'm often asked "All by the same parents?" Yes. Or, "How old is your oldest sibling?" 42.
Yes, my sister is a full 20 years older than me. But, my closest sister is less than 2 years. See, there was a ten year age gap between my brother Patrick and my sister Anne. My parents had kids about 2 years apart of each other, so they all had buddies. But, there is still that gap.
I always enjoyed having older siblings. I remember playing dress up in Emily's clothes, and having Patrick babysit us. Anne loved to ride with Scott on his dirt bike, and I still have the same children's book Niki gave me when I was in pre-school. It was always cool to go visit Matt when he worked at "On the Border." And, when all the siblings came together for birthdays and holidays it's a laugh fest. I love my family.
One thing that I've noticed, however, is that though we lived in the same house, under the same parents, our memories are wildly different.
I like to tell the story of how our neighbor behind us introduced herself to Mom. She came over with a cake to welcome the family to the neighborhood, but had to ask: How many kids were here. She had just witnessed the refrigerator box roll down the hill with what seemed like a dozen feet dangling out of it.
I've been told this story so many times, and I've told it countless times, that it's become a memory of my own. I think I can remember when Emily had that horrible 80s haircut, and when Patrick didn't stand six feet tall. But the truth is, I wasn't even an idea. Hell, Anne wasn't even an idea because she was a surprise baby. This is my older siblings memory.
My memories include when Patrick lived in the downstairs room, and how Christmas was just Anne and I running through the halls shouting about Santa. I recall getting the cordless phone, and a laptop. My siblings played with refrigerator boxes and complained that the two babies were being spoiled.
There are hundreds of pictures from the 80s and 90s, pre-Anne and Paige, with horrible carpeting, retro toys, and my siblings. There are hundreds more of Anne and I wearing swimsuits in the middle of winter, playing in the yard with our gray faced dogs.
The dogs are another topic of memory that differs. Much like the refrigerator story, I have assumed these memories as my own. Lady was a gift from Dad when Mom was sad that her baby (at the time that was Patrick) was growing up. She gave him the gift of Anne. And Grace came from another family at Immaculate Conception who's dog had puppies. Patrick brought her home. Even the cat, Alley Cat, came from Scott picking her up behind the school. But Anne and I spent our early childhood with these animals, and we were living at home when they all passed. My older siblings got the animals in their prime, Anne and I watched them fade.
There are stories of Lady digging a whole straight through a wall in the basement, a hole I could walk through, but I wasn't there when it happened. I just experienced the aftermath.
It's somewhat unique when we gather to share memories about the house. Niki can recall when there wasn't a wall between the kitchen and the computer room. We all remember the wood burning stove rusting on the back porch, but Anne and I don't remember when it sat in the living room on a stage of bricks. When we dig out Christmas decorations Scott thinks of when the train set was new, Anne and I think of all the times we struggled to find all the pieces and get the train running.
Side note: there is an ornament on our tree that I hate. Well, I love it because sentiment, but let me explain. It's a family tree. It's shaped like a tree and it has matching hearts on it with all of our names. Well, almost. Since Anne was a surprise her heart is mismatched and glued to the trunk of the tree. My name is not on there, because there is no more space on it. I do, however, have a mug in a tiny mug set we have hanging in the kitchen. It says "Shannon" but I'll take what I can get.
Our house was three bedrooms and two baths. We added a bedroom in the basement for the boys. I can go through who slept in what room from a certain point. But that only includes the shifting and shuffling Patrick, Emily, Anne, and I did. I can see pictures of the same bunk bed Anne and I shared with my brothers, all young and camo-clad, but I don't recall them ever inhabiting the last room I called my own.
When I was young I remember the bushes and trees outside. I used to climb the tree in teh front and hide behind the bushes on the sides of the houses. I made a reading nook below the tree outside my window. But when I go home I notice how big the bushes have grown, and how the once small tree outside my window has grown to nearly block the view of the backyard. Nature doesn't hide the passage of time, and for a sentimental soul like myself, these changes can be hard. If I were to turn my back to the window in my room and look at my room, I wouldn't see what I left behind two years ago. My nieces now inhabit the space. It's full of toys I never played with, books I never read... the only thing that's the same is the (VERY) purple walls I painted myself. I'm sure my siblings felt a similar disparity when they visit the house.
That's something we have in common. We all know the home, we all know our parents, but we knew them at different times. The world changes, and there's nothing one can do to stop it. Carpet is ripped up, rules get a little looser, technology advances, pets are born and die, recipes become healthier, and kids grow up.
As I said, I'm very sentimental, so memories mean the world to me. I love hearing people's stories, but I think I love my sibling's stories most of all. They're relatable, because we are related in such a close manner, but at the same time bizarre and foreign. Their upbringing was very different from mine and Anne's. I smile at most of it, because honestly, yeah the babies did get spoiled at times. But, I also have severe FOMO. I wish I had been around to sneak into Niki's room and mess up her stuff. I wish I could've witnessed the partied Scott and Matt threw. I wish I'd been there when Lady jumped through the garage door and broke the glass. I wish I'd been a set of feet in the refrigerator box.
Side note: If my life was a science fiction film, after hitting "publish" I would be transported back into time and I'd have Emily's awful 80s haircut, but I'd be rolling in that box and probably elbowing someone in the eye. Ah, who am I kidding, I'd be the one who was elbowed.
Anyways. I do wish that I was there with my older siblings. I think it would've been fun to see the neighborhood when the trees were saplings, and the neighbors house non-existent. I'd even like to know what it's like to share one bathroom with five other children. But, I am also very happy with my own experience as a young McWilliams child. I got to hang out with my favorite cousins (that's a whole other subject, they basically had a whole other set of cousins to enjoy), and I didn't have to live through the dial-up internet days for very long. Now, I just get to experience what it's like sharing one bathroom with Emily and Niki. I think I like this situation better. It means less childish fighting and more candy for Easter.
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