I'm Bossy? Take that back! NOW!
I have always denied that I fall into the "Oldest Child" mold. You know, the mold that claims that oldest children are bossy, assertive, nosy, not shy, and so on and so forth. Mostly I denied it because I was shy, and if I didn't fit one stereotype, then I must not fit any of them, right? Right? Why aren't you answering me? Say something!
And so I demonstrate exactly how I fit the stereotype: I am bossy. And nosy. But mostly bossy. My brother and sister are currently nodding emphatically, and whipsering subversive comments. To that, I just want to say, you can't overthrow the oldest sibling! I will always be the oldest!
I think another oldest child stereotype must be a dose of megalomania...
Anyhow, I think the first thing my brother and sister would do to prove I am the bossy older sibling in a court of law would be to gather evidence, because they are scientific, methodical people. And I know exactly what would be Exhibit A for the prosecution.
"City Hospital."
I know, that seems puzzling. But "City Hospital" is not a hackneyed CBS television drama, though it sounds as though it could be. No, "City Hospital" is the name of a play/movie our Uncle Kay filmed of us children when we were young and visiting Idaho and sleeping in his basement.
In that basement, we (Cliff, Jeanette, and I) created a game where we pretended that the basement was a hospital. Only, we pretended the exact same thing for three days running. Each time, I would orchestrate something slightly different. You see, I was the director, as well as a principal actor, as well as playing somewhere in the vicintity of three different roles. Yes, I know. The evidence is piling up.
Upon hearing of this medical drama being enacted in his basement, Uncle Kay arranged for us to present our "play" while he filmed it. Being the camera hog that I apparently was, I agreed to this with gusto, and I don't think I would have listened if Cliff or Jeanette had protested.
So we put on our lovely little play, and throughout the play, it becomes quite evident that I am the bossy, assertive Oldest Child. Poor Jeanette. She was but three at the time, and she kept looking up from the reclining chair that was supposed to be her hospital bed and saying, "I think I'm better." And I would walk briskly over to her, while playing the nurse, and tell her, "No, you need to stay in bed longer."
Or I would tell Cliff, "Now you have to do this," and then I would demonstrate or push him to do something. And the whole movie is like this. There is no respite.
I am the Bossy Older Sister. And it is caught entirely on video. A video I hope stays hidden for many years. And that is only Exhibit A. I am almost certain they can find evidence clear to letter Z. And beyond.
I suppose I need to enter a rehabilitation program. I can see it now:
Me: "Hi, I need to check myself in to your rehabilitation facility."
Check-er In-er: "What is your dependency?"
Me: "Bossiness."
CI: "Excuse me?"
Me: "I am addicted to bossiness. I can't stop being bossy."
CI: "I'm sorry, but that is just not a legitimate addiction."
Me: [pulling up CI by his/her collar] "You will admit me! I have a problem!"
It's a difficult road to recovery. I am doing my best not to be overbearingly bossy. But it's really hard sometimes. But be of good cheer! I think I'm getting better.
And Cliff, you really ought to call me more often. It costs me more money to call you than for you to call me. So call me! Now!
(Hey, I said I was working on it, not that I was completely cured!)
And so I demonstrate exactly how I fit the stereotype: I am bossy. And nosy. But mostly bossy. My brother and sister are currently nodding emphatically, and whipsering subversive comments. To that, I just want to say, you can't overthrow the oldest sibling! I will always be the oldest!
I think another oldest child stereotype must be a dose of megalomania...
Anyhow, I think the first thing my brother and sister would do to prove I am the bossy older sibling in a court of law would be to gather evidence, because they are scientific, methodical people. And I know exactly what would be Exhibit A for the prosecution.
"City Hospital."
I know, that seems puzzling. But "City Hospital" is not a hackneyed CBS television drama, though it sounds as though it could be. No, "City Hospital" is the name of a play/movie our Uncle Kay filmed of us children when we were young and visiting Idaho and sleeping in his basement.
In that basement, we (Cliff, Jeanette, and I) created a game where we pretended that the basement was a hospital. Only, we pretended the exact same thing for three days running. Each time, I would orchestrate something slightly different. You see, I was the director, as well as a principal actor, as well as playing somewhere in the vicintity of three different roles. Yes, I know. The evidence is piling up.
Upon hearing of this medical drama being enacted in his basement, Uncle Kay arranged for us to present our "play" while he filmed it. Being the camera hog that I apparently was, I agreed to this with gusto, and I don't think I would have listened if Cliff or Jeanette had protested.
So we put on our lovely little play, and throughout the play, it becomes quite evident that I am the bossy, assertive Oldest Child. Poor Jeanette. She was but three at the time, and she kept looking up from the reclining chair that was supposed to be her hospital bed and saying, "I think I'm better." And I would walk briskly over to her, while playing the nurse, and tell her, "No, you need to stay in bed longer."
Or I would tell Cliff, "Now you have to do this," and then I would demonstrate or push him to do something. And the whole movie is like this. There is no respite.
I am the Bossy Older Sister. And it is caught entirely on video. A video I hope stays hidden for many years. And that is only Exhibit A. I am almost certain they can find evidence clear to letter Z. And beyond.
I suppose I need to enter a rehabilitation program. I can see it now:
Me: "Hi, I need to check myself in to your rehabilitation facility."
Check-er In-er: "What is your dependency?"
Me: "Bossiness."
CI: "Excuse me?"
Me: "I am addicted to bossiness. I can't stop being bossy."
CI: "I'm sorry, but that is just not a legitimate addiction."
Me: [pulling up CI by his/her collar] "You will admit me! I have a problem!"
It's a difficult road to recovery. I am doing my best not to be overbearingly bossy. But it's really hard sometimes. But be of good cheer! I think I'm getting better.
And Cliff, you really ought to call me more often. It costs me more money to call you than for you to call me. So call me! Now!
(Hey, I said I was working on it, not that I was completely cured!)