Saturday, June 26

(Im)mature for Your Age

I want to preface everything I’m about to say by proclaiming my love for Sister and Stepmother, but…

There are some things about Sister that bug the crap out of me. And most of them are tied to her inability to act her age.

Age: 9 and ½

Offenses: drinking out of sippy cups, having to have special food made for her because she refuses to eat what the rest of the family eats, not being able to use a knife, thinking her height is an excuse to not get things for herself, needing to bring toys to restaurants, talking like a baby, not being able to walk the 1 block to the bus stop alone…

The list goes on, but those are the only things I can think of right now.

Now, I realize that my childhood was very different than her’s. I had an older sibling (Brother is 2.5 years older) and a single Mother, so I guess I developed some independence earlier than most, but still.

By the time I was her age I certainly wasn’t drinking out of sippy cups or having my own dinners prepared. I was traipsing all over my neighborhood to visit friends with my only restriction being the time I had to be home (usually 5:30). And once we moved (when I was around 7) Brother and I were expected to walk the 3-quarters of a mile home from school everyday…by ourselves. I never even remember being allowed to bring towns to Church, so restaurants were definitely out of the question.

At the age of 6 I flew from the Dirty Dirty to the Big Apple to visit my grandparents by myself. At the age of 7 I (with the help of Brother) escaped from mall cops. Around age 8 I knew how to, and regularly did, cook myself scrambled eggs. Mother leaving Brother and I home alone for an hour or two at a time was not a terribly uncommon occurance.

Like I said, Sister and I grew up differently. With a single Mother who was putting herself through school (again) we were forced to be more independent as she had less and less time to dote on us. And with an older brother I was expected to mature at the same rate as him.

Stepmother is a stay-at-home mom and Sister is an only child.

Night and day, I understand.

But this morning when Stepmother left to do errands Sister expected me to make her breakfast. She balked when I suggested that she was fully capable of pouring her own bowl of cereal. That certainly wouldn’t have flown in my house.

So I gave her a step-stool and told her to call me if she was injured.

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