Are You a Firstborn?
Then watch the kids while mom reads this article
Hi! This is part of my “What You Wanted Me To Write” series where readers tell me what to write about. No topic is too hard! Today’s suggestion? Responsibility. Read the rest of the topics here.
This article is dedicated to Raquel and firstborns everywhere who have at one time or another asked, “Why always me?”

When I was nine, I remember my mother leaving.
“I need to pick up some milk from the store.”
She grabbed her keys, kissed me goodbye, and left me alone for twenty minutes.
Or as alone as one can be when she has a seven year old brother and five year old sister specifically created to wreck havoc in her life.
For about twenty minutes I was responsible for keeping my siblings alive and breathing. If my mom came back to screaming children, it would be my fault. If she returned to find toothpaste all over the walls and a jalepeno plant at the bottom of the pool, I would be to blame.
Looking back, it was quite a responsibility to place on a nine-year old child that still struggled to tie her shoes.
But it was a responsibility I embraced.
Why?
Because to me, what mattered was that I was “ in charge”.
Fast-forward ten years and my youngest sister is now nine years old.
Once again, we are out of my milk and my mom sets out to find us some.
But no sooner does the garage door break into its creaky melody then my sister’s feet come pounding down the steps in quick succession.
My mom breaks into a run.
“Mamma, don’t leeeaave!”
Mom’s escape plan has been foiled. She comes back in.
“I am only going to be gone for half an hour.”
She might as well be reasoning with a girl who thinks her mother is leaving on the Titanic.
“What if you don’t come back?” My sister wails like a Woman of Jerusalem.

Seeing Mom is making little headway, the family swoops in to help.
(We want milk, after all.)
“Listen, I’ll play with you!” I say.
“We can go on a walk.” My brother says.
“Check out these yummy snacks I bought.” My dad says.
I doubt Solomon in all his glory had as many flatterers and courtiers as my little sister has when she throws a fit.
But we are all ignored.
Either my mom gives in and throws my sister into the car with her or my sister is left at home, where we are treated to thirty minutes of dire predictions on our mother’s fate at the store.
So why are we so different?
Why does one of us embrace the responsibilty of leadership at a young age and the other find it hard to be away from Mom for an hour?
Am I better than her?
No.
After all, she is the one who knows the difference between a Dodge van and a Chrysler. She is the one who can actually hit a volleyball. She is the one with five thousand freckles; all I have is five thousand in student debt.
But I have learned from a young age to shoulder more responsibility.
I never chose it but, as a firstborn girl, it was always my fate.
The fate of the firstborn is not just to accept responsibility but to want more of it.
I didn’t just want to be alone for twenty minutes; I wanted to live alone at Boarding School for five years, from the age of twelve to seventeen.
I didn’t just want three younger siblings to care for; I wanted to nanny for families of five and six kids.
I didn’t just want the responsiblity of getting good grades; I wanted the responsiblity of getting good grades in subjects like Chemistry and Biology that I found difficult.
This is not just me, by the way.
If you are an oldest girl or boy, you can probably emphasize on some level.
(If you can’t, you better use the comments section to tell me what is wrong with you.)
Does it cause problems sometimes?
Sure, and many firstborns, including the Requester of this article, can sometimes rebel against all the responsibility.

But we firstborns are strong because we are responsible.
Remember, firstborn: those times you were left to take care of the children, single-handedly make dinner, or drive your little siblings to the four corners of the earth-those were the times when you were developing skills that will make you a leader, helper, and a changer of the future.
Oh, it seems we are out of milk again.
This firstborn is being called for duty.
Oremus Pro Invicem
Teresa
Do you think you have a question so hard I cannot write on it?
Or have a topic as basic as buttered bread but you want me to write a personal anecdote on it?
Leave them in the comments! I am up for the challenge.
