A Room of One's Own

Here's the reality: I share a room with my sisters. Always have, since I was a young'un. Not a big deal when there are only three of us, but there it is. As is my prerogative as the oldest, I got to choose which bed I wanted, leaving the sibs stranded with the bunk bed, so things really aren't all that difficult for me. I have my own uninvaded corner of the room and I keep it quite well.

But here's the truth: the Bankstons spoiled me rotten. In the five months I lived with them I had my own room all to myself. My own bathroom, too! When I was younger I always though I would never be able to survive in my own room, all alone, that it was always such a comfort to have both my sisters right there. But once I experienced this luxury at the Bankstons' . . . oh, there was no going back.

So now I don't live with the Bankstons, I suffer through nights in the same room with my sisters, and it's so much harder than it used to be! Having to cope with different bedtimes, ambient noise, disruptive chatter, lighting discrepancies, and general space-invasion conflicts, my lands! We always had these problems before, we three stubborn young ladies, but now that I have known the tantalizing prospect of an end to these unpleasantries, oh, contentment is so much harder!

This is just another reason why I have nothing but pity for only children.

You know what I mean? Never having to share their parents' attention, never having to yield to another's moment of triumph, never having to make peace with those people who are required to love you yet never seem to want to? Generalizations, of course, and not every only child is a victim of the stereotype of maladjustment, but it seems to me that we learn so much from living with others [do not even get me started on youth trips] that is difficult to learn any other way.

There is just something to charitable and privileged in my current living arrangements, despite all the late night drama and moody morning accusations. I plan to put on my resume: "plays well with others. qualifications: oldest of four." Ah, ohana.