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B'shalom, Avrum (avrum@veahavta.org) 
An Only Child
WHAT IS IT LIKE TO BE AN ONLY CHILD (scroll down) is by guest writer, Joan Ruzsa, who has written a few blog postings for Avrum’s Blog. She is an erudite writer and person with a very logical, ethical and soulful approach to her life. If Joan’s writing was a cottage, it would be on Georgian Bay.
This piece is thoughtful and insightful. Joan bravely allows you into her thoughts about being an only child. She writes about the things you likely would not consider if you are not an only child. I couldn’t imagine the pressue of being the only child, the singular offspring, with the responsibility of giving your parents pride and happiness.
You know, it’s a real test for a writer to write something about their parents of a challenging nature, that they might read. I wrote an article about my Father for the Canadian Jewish News, dealing with the difficulties between us. I was happy my Mom was in Israel when it was published. Well done Joan. You are now part of a unique club of individuals with the courage to bear themselves publicly and the ego to allow it.
Question Isn’t there some meaning attached to children and where they come in the family? As an example, the middle child is supposed to be the confused one, as she/her is the youngest of the oldest, and the oldest of the youngest. Someone just told me that the oldest sibling and then the one after that, don’t usually get along. Do you have any thoughts on all of this? I am the youngest and I often act that way still :)
Question: Did you ever wish you were an only child (if you were not)?
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What is it like to be an Only Child?
by Joan Ruzsa
The other day I was talking with the aunt of a friend of mine who recently had his first child. I asked her if she thought he and his wife would have more children. She said “Of course!” and then told me about a Greek saying that goes: “Having one child is the same as having none.” She must have realized by the look on my face that I am an only child, and tried to back-pedal by saying “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” I tried to imagine in what alternate universe this might be a positive statement, but it also made me think about the strong feelings people have about only children.
There are 2 schools of thought that I have encountered. One says that only children are all spoiled, selfish and entitled. The other ascribes to the theory that children without siblings are lonely, shy and socially maladjusted. You would have to ask my friends which one of these categories I fit into, but as this is my only experience it’s impossible for me to know how I would be different if I had had a brother or sister.
I can say that as a little kid I spent a lot of time playing alone. On the positive side, it helped me to develop a vivid imagination, and I am able to spend time by myself without feeling lonely. On the downside, it was difficult for me to make friends when I first started school because I wasn’t used to being around other kids. It took me a while to feel comfortable being around my peers. As an adult, it can be challenging for me to be around other people for too long without having time to myself, and because I live alone, I have to be conscious not to isolate myself.
On my mother’s side of the family, I was not just the only child: because my mom’s brother and sister never had kids, I was also the only niece and the only grandchild. This was a blessing for me in the sense that I received a lot of love and attention (yes, and gifts, I know that’s what you’re thinking), but it also meant that all of the hopes and the dreams of the family fell upon me. That’s a lot of pressure. I tried to be a perfect child. I was an over-achiever and did very well in school. I was quiet, I didn’t throw tantrums or act out, I sat patiently in restaurants, and my parents got a lot of praise for what a well-behaved little girl I was. Because I was shy and didn’t have a lot of friends my own age, getting the approval of adults was extremely important to me. I watched the way they behaved and tried to emulate them. The running joke was that I was “8 going on 40.” I was very conscious of trying to uphold a standard of behaviour that would make my parents proud. I was it, the sole product by which their parenting skills could be measured.
Part-way through high-school, I cracked under the self-imposed strain of trying to be the ideal daughter. In retrospect, my acts of rebellion were chaste and a normal part of adolescence. However, for my parents, who were accustomed to an acquiescent child who spent all of her time with them, adjusting to the somewhat surly, all-black wearing, punk-rock listening, cigarette-smoking girl who wanted to go out with her friends every night was a huge adjustment. They were extremely protective and constantly afraid for my safety. If I was half an hour late getting home, other parents were called or my dad would be driving around looking for me. Things would have been easier if there had been another child upon which to focus some of their feelings. If there had been an older brother, I could have said “Sure, I got drunk and I’m only 15, but remember when Brian smashed up the car?” Instead, all of their fears about car accidents and sexual predators and drugs and alcohol were focused on me. It was all out of love and concern for my safety, but at times it felt suffocating, like there was no room for me to make mistakes.
At the same time, most of my friends had horribly contentious relationships with their siblings, some of which included emotional abuse or physical violence. I also saw instances of families with several children where at least one became invisible. Despite all the pressure, I felt lucky to be an only child. At least I wasn’t being ignored, right?
When I moved out at 18, my parents were heartbroken and terrified about me moving to Toronto. I felt like I was abandoning them, even though we’re only an hour apart. I am 36, and it seems impossible to me to ever move far away from them. What if they needed me and I wasn’t there?
Everyone in my family went to university. I felt like I had a responsibility to maintain that tradition, so I started school at 19, even though I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I dropped out part-way through second-year, and dreaded telling my parents the news. They accepted my decision but were obviously disappointed. I felt like I had let the family down, that I had ruined our perfect record of post-secondary education, and I don’t have a sister who can become a doctor and make up for me.
When I went back to college at 25 they were happy; when I chose to get involved in prisoners’ rights work, less so. They totally support me, but my mother worries that I will never make enough money or have a pension. She’s probably right. My father worries that something will happen to me when I go inside the prisons, even though I assure him many safety mechanisms are in place to make sure nothing happens to me. I love what I do, but there are times I wish I was involved in something more socially acceptable and mainstream, so that my parents would feel more at ease telling their friends what I do. I know they get a lot of blank looks or comments like “How can she work with murderers?’ or “Don’t you worry that she’s going to get killed?” (I actually witnessed someone asking my dad that at a Thanksgiving get-together.)
I have none of the normal trappings of success. I don’t own a home or a car or much of anything else, and I likely never will. It doesn’t bother me, but sometimes I wonder if they’re disappointed or concerned about my lack of stability and the typical landmarks of adulthood.
I’m not married and I don’t have children, and I don’t see those things in my future. Although my parents have never put any pressure on me in this regard, I sometimes worry that I have robbed them of the joy of giving me away at my wedding, or of being grandparents. There is no one else to give those things to them. And because I’ve never created my own family, my parents play a hugely significant role in my life, and I feel quite dependent on them. I can barely even turn my mind to the thought of them dying. Not only will I lose 2 people who have loved me unconditionally, raised me and supported me throughout my life, but I will also, in a very fundamental way, be alone in the world. It terrifies me, and I have no siblings with whom to share these fears, or eventually with whom to grieve that loss. What will my life look like when they’re gone? It’s unfathomable to me. I have great friends and extended family, but most of them have spouses and children of their own. Where will I fit in?
So what’s it like to be an only child? Like anything else, it’s complex. As my friends have children and make decisions about whether to have more than one, they ask me if I felt deprived being an only child. I never did, because I got a lot of love and attention. But I would be happy to go back in time and share that love and attention with a sibling, so that I could also share the pressures and responsibilities and fears and loss that come with adulthood.
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joan,
thanks for sharing your experiences as an only child. i am moved to hear about the pressure of being an only child and the fear of losing your parents. i grew up in a family of 7 children and i know that when my parents become ill, i will not be the only one responsible for caring for them. i know that when they die, i will not be alone to grieve them (as an adult & child), my siblings will be with me. i know that my parents worry about my future but i also know that i have siblings to shield me from their gaze.
your expereince sounds similar to my other friends that identify as an only child.
as avrum has said, it is a brave task to write of such an intimate experience. you are a teacher for me.
i love you
xo
Giselle will you write a piece for Avrum’s Blog?
i would love to write something for your blog. any ideas on what you are looking for? hope you are well.
g
Giselle, I’m so happy you want to write. Could you write a piece on: a) Training dealers to be activists (helping others); or b) Having an x-prisoner stay at your place. Your thoughts?
hello ladies ( and avrum),
thanks for your comments. i was talking about my personal experience, not trying to draw any general conclusions about only children. of course everyone’s experience of growing up will be different.