Being the eldest sibling is a burden. If you were to look objectively at me, my younger sister and my even younger brother, you’d find the absolute perfect stereotype of three kids played out in us. You know how it goes. The responsible one. The forgotten wild card. The rule-breaking arts lover. All of us fit into our slots perfectly.
So my even younger brother is the responsible one, obviously. He wanted to become an esteemed Melbourne conveyancing lawyer at the tender age of eighteen. He exudes authority, strives to please the parents, takes his conveyancing duties very seriously and is probably the most conventionally intelligent of us all. I’ve visited his office a few times, when we were having lunch together. Everyone there is so focused on their work, or their clients. I’m not sure I could work in that sort of environment. Can’t take the pressure. And with property transfers and all that, you can’t afford to make many mistakes.
So that’s my brother. My sister, as the middle child, is the rule-breaker. She was doted on by my parents, not because they loved her more but because of her personality. She got away with most things, chafed under the rule system and has now gone off and joined a travelling group of artists who do impromptu shows all around Australia. The thought of her being a conveyancer is laughable.
And of course, I’m the forgotten one. As the eldest child, I quickly became somewhat overshadowed by my younger siblings, and I was often overlooked in many areas. I didn’t feel overly smothered, nor was I burdened with responsibility. Thus my career as a backup hip-hop dancer seemed the logical option, as well as teaching mathematics on the side. I’ll never measure up to the responsibility of my brother, with his desire to work a fancy Elwood conveyancing job. Neither am I a free spirit like my sister. I am, indeed, who I am. And that’s just not such a bad thing.