Vicarious Parenting: The Onus Placed Upon the Shoulders of a “Senior” Sibling

Parenting has been a mysterious and perplexing endeavour that even the most compassionately adoring, and diligently prepared couple can never completely and thoroughly take the entire multitude of necessary precautions for. No level of experience with the anticipation for the impending occurrence of the dreaded birth of a independent, living, breathing specimen emerging as the progeny of the highly coveted reproductive cycle can provide adequate premeditation for the often erratic and unpredictable eventuations that will spawn in commensurate evolution to the personal and physical development of the ominously-arrived child. Prudent prospective parents do at least attempt to take the imperatively mandated provisions to ensure as cogent a continued facilitation of the incoming life as possible; Financial stability, a tranquil and safe domestic living environment and atmosphere, and of course the highest priority of them all-The toys-are all vital and crucial components of the creation of a pleasant and endearing habitat for the accommodation of an infant.

But they are almost completely irrelevant in contrast to arguably the most essential aspect of the duty of raising a child-RAISING the child. It is no revolutionary revelation that the application of appropriate affection, attention, generous compassion, and discipline are all the hallmark pillars of the monumental responsibility of cultivating one’s offspring as they grow into the world; The world will not compromise and bend to the will of an individual. It is very much vice versa. Every single human being on the planet has at least a modest assortment of distinguishing elements of characteristic minutia that differentiates them from the sundry of their peers in this world, and even identical circumstances can foster mildly unique results, on account of the inherent traits that would dictate the reaction and response to certain scenarios and transpirations. Vastly different circumstances will almost assuredly breed completely divergent and disparate facets within a person’s identity, and can in extreme instances, could render the coalescence of the traits as they interact with one another totally abstruse and foreign to each other.

It defines humanity as a species, and so when a child is born, the projection for the trajectory of the progression of their life could not be precisely predicted bay even the most enlightened mind on the globe. That lends some very existential and hopefully congenial perspective on the dynamics that becoming a parent for the first, or even the fourth time would impel. So frequently welcoming another life into the world is celebrated, as it should be. “Parenting is the most rewarding experience in life”; And that is where the boundaries of my personal grasp of parenthood reach their full extent. At the grand old age of nineteen years old, I am well aware of the naivety is possess, and of how my entire life is ahead of me. But as anyone in my family can attest, virtually every person who has interacted with me for an extended duration of time would consider me more “mature” than the mere unit of the measurement of my age would denote.

I’ve been around the block more times than some others of my age, and gained some sagacious insight and perspicacity into the intricate complexities of life through my ridiculous lack of wisdom. It is our mistakes that define us and inform our growth just as much, if not more than our virtuous assets, after all. And I sure have made my fair share of fallacious decisions. An environmental aspect of my life that has shaped me into the less than admirable person that I am today, perhaps more so than I’d care to admit, is the dynamics of my relationship with my sole full sibling. We are constantly at odds with one another, and although it is an over-saturated “cliche” of inter-relations between siblings, in all candour, we probably disagree and feud with each other approximately ninety per cent of the time. I’m not the only one to claim that, were we not blood relatives, we would likely not have any association with the other.

That is not professed in spite, but we are just completely different people in all honesty, and only really find common amicability on about two topics of discussion; And even when we agree, the discussions are always high tension affairs. This has eventuated in a total negligent dereliction of the acknowledgement of each other’s presence most of the time, and a typical day is spent with him permanently frequenting his bedroom, and myself inhabiting the various other rooms of the house. We live with our mother and our cat and dog, and there is the constantly propagated philosophy of a “functioning family unit” imposed upon the household mentality-But we really could not be further from it. Such disillusioned disenfranchisement from the other members of the home has allowed some enlightened perspective of objectivity, and that is the greatest derivable feature of optimism from the situation in which we are placed in.

That is not the only dimension of my domestic experience with my kinsfolk however; The birth of my brother when I was but three years old may have dictated his presence in my life for almost as long as I can remember, but for over half a decade now, my father’s side of the family and I have accommodated the family of his partner of approximately seven years. At his house, himself, my “stepmother” and her children around the same age as my brother at fifteen and sixteen years old respectively, have lived together as another family unit casually subsisting and going through the motions of life, as we have all acclimatised to each other. And of course, we are all one large, sometimes happy family ourselves when I visit on a bi-weekly basis. For six years now, the additional implementation to the household of two twin girls have offered some diversity to the equilibrium of the gender ratio, and this is where the most influential element of my competence with the introspective observations of parenting have sourced from.

Of course, there was always the constituting attribution of the responsibility of being the oldest sibling that was ubiquitous throughout my life; First with my brother, and then with the introduction of my step-brothers. In all candour, I could have and should have attended the duties with more panache and consideration, but I have been negligent enough of them to be ashamed. The only member of my family that I feel that I have allotted even a fraction of their due diligence are my sisters, and I seek to improve on that, and rectify the abandonments I have previously committed while I was still “maturing”. Their birth at my sensitive age of twelve years old was the pre-instigator for a monumentally significant advancement in both my development, and the expectation of it. And I now take great pride in the valuable insight into the perplexing facets of parenting that have effectively been demanded of me in the assistance of my father and stepmother as they managed their authoritative duties.

Navigating the labyrinth of bewilderment when acting as the conducive emissary for the translative interface between the girls and the world, in their infancy and now as their seventh birthday is impending; And running the gauntlet of guiding them through the gradual imparting disclosure of the information that is vital for their sensitising, accustoming assimilation into the world’s cold, cruel embrace has, like any other attempt at culturing the primitive or juvenile, presented a more than adequate volume of tribulations and adversities. I have attempted to perform as efficiently and equitably as possible in my brotherly responsibilities, and have of course run afoul of a pitfall or two; As a younger adolescent, I was incredibly resentful of the very lucid hypocrisy my parents exhibited, and continue to exhibit when unnecessarily lecturing and patronising me-And I was devotedly intent upon never emulating such blasphemy. I have inevitably succumbed to the wretched affliction that is the condescension of standing as the gradational standard of morals and philosophical ideology to offer as tutelage, and the latitude to the jurisdiction held over the counsel of such young rascals has enforced an element of an entitled superiority complex-Despite my internal reservations and protest.

As for becoming a parent myself; My interest in the relentless plight is very subdued, and as I am currently without a partner to induce fatherhood with and am not searching for one, the validity of any genuine credibility to my bias is probably not the most authentically legitimate-But all of my submissions are professed in complete earnestness, and when I emphasise that my lack of interest in becoming an actual parent is not due to unfavourable experience with my sisters, I consider that to be gospel truth. I do possess an immense degree of paternal instincts and tendencies inclined toward them, and it is one of the very few purposes in my life that I embrace the pressure of. I cannot refrain from reiterating the lack of satisfaction with my conveyance of everything I wish to impart upon them, which I am informed is not uncommon among true parents. To exemplify: They are very effeminate girls. They adhere to many of the classic archetypes of what their gender would determine they are. And while I have no qualms with “girly” girls, I just desired something more distinguishable in my sisters.

I myself am very partial to displays of inconformity to the orthodox mainstream mentality of especially urban society, and to see two of the people I care about most in the world invested in Frozen, Minions and the Emoji Movie jus leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The music they gravitate toward is the synthetically manufactured junk food sounds broadcasted over the radio and through those popular films, and I only wish they had a broader scope of interest. I personally favour rock and metal in most of the manifestations of their preposterous amount of subgenera, and would love for them to adopt some of the dulcet and visceral tones of the music into their palate, to “cleanse” it. And while I continually seek to impart the philosophies I deem appropriate and affable for them, I do experience contrition at the way I feel. When I see them embody some of the typical characteristics that many children encompass, and that I possessed in far too copious an abundance at that age(such as selfishness and attempts at deceit), I fear that I have contributed to the construction of a recipe for disaster.

I often feel like I am their harshest critic, but I am perpetually conscious not to become cruel and insensitive to them and the fact that they are only six years old. It is not a deliberation that I may be so pretentious and sanctimonious as to attempt to manipulate and mould them into who I want them to become, and it is not my intention proceeding forward. I hope that is not how I have conducted myself toward them. To demand something so despicably of the very fibre of their being would be disgraceful. I absolutely do acknowledge and praise the aspects of their persona that are universally admirable, and award them merit for that. Despite their constant whining, they are little bundles of euphoric joy, and the free spirits that they are are unintentionally symbolic and emblematic of the libration of youthful exuberance and the naivety of it.

They are objectively beautiful, no matter how irritating they can be. And I feel that many of these cognitive recognitions of the dynamic between us are communal with their actual parents, and the parents of other children. I feel that our situation is extremely comparable to a profusion of others, yet simultaneously completely unique and precious only to us. Whether this is indicative at all of my capability and competence as a potential future parent, or simply a dalliance with standing as an example for my youngers, remains to be seen. But what I maintain is an unequivocal truth is that, without a vicarious experience of parenting in what could be characterised as a “trial” period, I would not be the person that I am today. In teaching them a thing or two, I have learned compassion in a way I was never previously acquainted with, and for that, I am eternally appreciative and grateful.