Saying that our childhood was dysfunctional is like saying that ice cream tastes good. Dysfunctional does not even begin to describe the family dynamics in our house when I was young. Clem and I were close; closer than brother and sister. I don't know how to explain the 'specialness' of our relationship to someone who is not a part of my family. He was more than my older brother, my best friend, my protector, and, occasionally, my tormentor. Researchers describe how children attribute 'god-like' qualities to their parents. This didn't happen so much in the household where I lived. I had that kind of admiration for my older brother and sister. Us siblings (there are 6 total) became our own little family, as our parents drank, fought, fornicated, and focused on each other. We were neglected, to say the least. We were raised in isolation. Neither parent had much in the department of social skills.
The treasures that kept us kids together and remarkably well-adjusted for our upbringing are our intelligence and our senses of humor. Every last one of the children in my f.o.o. are incredibly smart and extremely quick-witted.
The fact that we raised each other, while being the offspring in an 'intact' household, is, I believe uncommon. When I say we raised each other, I mean that I was changing diapers at age 4, cooking family meals and doing laundry by age 7, doing yard work, gardening, and helping with mechanical repairs ever since I can remember. As soon as another sibling came along, we were, in turn, made to feel responsible for that sibling. The six children were only 10 years apart in age--Clem being 10 years old when Spec, mom's long awaited youngest son was born. The four girls make up the filling of the sibling pie. I am #3. Clem was 27 months older than me. Camp, my older sis, is 13 months my senior. We were close babies, Irish triplets, who grew up in a hurry in our loud, confusing, chaotic, Roman Catholic household.
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