The Golden Child
(I’m fine.)

My parents couldn't stand it when I first started calling my younger brother the Golden Child a few years ago. They were offended that I would display any hint of jealousy towards him, and shuddered at any sign of ill-will between us. But, I mean…a first born jealous of the youngest sibling? Shocker right? My tactic to prove his Golden-Child-ness wasn’t great at first. I came off as resentful and baseless with my complaints that he was allowed to throw multiple huge parties in high school but I was cut off at one. I’m over it now of course, but, between us, how unfair is that? The more my parents ignored my claims of favoritism though, the more obsessed I was with proving it was true. Deep inside I knew it wasn’t actually true–well maybe slightly–but what I was really taken with was the Golden Child Phenomena itself. 

I started by looking at the facts. By being the oldest of two siblings and the only girl, I was a shoe-in for the role of Daddy’s Little Girl, and I’ll admit I reap its benefits every now and then. My brother however has quite a few advantages under his wing. The youngest child being treated as the “favorite” is not news. Parents get to test how strict they’ll be with the first, then let go with the second and so forth. He’s also the only boy, and although I would never accuse my proudly liberal parents of any gender inequality whatsoever, things for boys are… easier. I would ask girl and guy friends alike, “Who’s the Golden Child in your family?” It varied–slightly–but my theory came down to this: it is typically either the youngest or the boy, and in case you haven’t realized, my brother is both. Yay me!

I’ve always loved to be the contrarian, sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously. Whatever favor my mom asked, my instinct would be “Why?” instead of just doing it. My brother is the opposite, he would just do it. He’s just easy like that. He’d also run away the second he saw an inkling of a brewing argument between me and my mother, or stick around only to tell me to shut up. My brother knows how to work my parents, I’m too cynical and argumentative to try. Hell, while I dutifully call my parents everyday and send one too many articles to read, the kid has managed to turn his sassy and dry attitude into an endearing personality trait, constantly the recipient of “Oh you know him”-s. 

If you’re starting to worry that I’m an abandoned-feeling daughter obsessed with getting her family’s attention (nailed it right?) please don’t. It’s my own fault really. The first words that came out of my two-year-old mouth to my mother when I first saw my brother were, “I’m the mommy and you’re the grandma.” I was obsessed with him. Luckily for him that’s not so much the case anymore, although the fact that I spend so much time debating his Golden Child-ness might imply the opposite (and be reason for a visit to a therapist). But in all seriousness, we’re both our parents’ Golden Children and there’s nothing I could ever actually complain about. Obviously my brother now insists that he really is the Golden Child, but only because I gave him the title. I made the joke first. I launched the crazy theory first. Thanks to him, I can take credit for creating the ultimate family inside joke.

My brother gives me so many reasons to be grateful. His Golden Child-ness is at the top of the list. (Seriously). Although I do get credit for the joke, I have to give him credit not only for letting me blabber on about my theory but for allowing me to be better because of it. I got to think more deeply about our family dynamic and how much I love it. It allowed me to find those qualities he has that I was jealous of within myself and use them for my own success. The Golden Child theory allowed me to think about why I am the way I am and realize that I’m pretty Golden myself.

 Now I get to bask in the joy of receiving laughs every time I mention he’s “El Golden” which is now what my parents call him too. I’m now confident enough to love that they do. And just to give myself one last pat on the back, because my stubborn self will take any chance to prove I’m right, my dad is the youngest of four and the only boy; I asked him if he was the Golden Child and he jokingly answered, “Well of course I was.” to which I was quite pleased. There is a theory and I proved it!