What Growing up in a Large Family Taught Me at an Early Age

A piece of humble pie was on the daily menu, with valuable lessons served on the side.

We kids taught, tortured and loved each other as daily lessons piled on at a rapid rate. Our dynamics were easily captured in the annual Xmas photo session we all dreaded. Do you have any idea how long it took for one halfway decent shot? Hours.

The overexposed photo above was probably the 30th take from my dad’s manually timed camera. My mother had been reduced to casting her eyes to the heavens for neural relief. The nose pickers, bird flippers, bathroom breakers and teen scowler antics had morphed our faces into frozen smiles.

Until someone would cut a loud fart, on purpose, the moment my dad set the camera timer and dashed for his seat next to mom. Photo disaster ensued as we collapsed in hysterical laughter.

We’ve all heard kids on swings or jungle gyms in playgrounds yelling “Look at me! Mom, Dad! Look at me!” Our troops had the opposite reaction to this childhood craving for parental attention.

We flew under the radar, scurrying to escape detection from mother’s Eagle eye, scanning her brood for the perpetrator of foul deeds. Diving in for a field mouse breakfast with a blasting conviction. Guilty as charged.

We didn’t rat on each other. We were too aware we might need help later and nobody liked a squealer or sore loser. It wasn’t necessary either. Each one of us had our dead giveaways.

I usually walked around with a shit eating grin plastered on my face. When I committed a dastardly deed I would navel gaze downward, in preparation for my future yogini self. Knowing my eyes couldn’t lie, I cast them below in false humility.

The narcissistic streak most children display in early developmental years was tolerated to around the age of 3 in our home. After that, we were expected to get our act together. The next kid was coming down the line.

The early education I received through diverse acting out of human behavior, became the foundation for my personal integrity. It also deeply informed my personality. At several points there were 4 to 5 teens in our mix.

By the time I left home at 18, I had acquired skills my peers from smaller families did not yet possess. These tools varied in value and priority, but all of them have traveled alongside me. Here’s a few of my favorites.

YOU ARE ONLY THE CENTER OF YOUR OWN UNIVERSE

We lived across the street from an only child. His house was so clean you could eat off the floor. His helicoptering mom cited his numerous allergies, even to his self and steadily doted on him. The sun rose and set on her one offspring.

Mom would shake her head disapprovingly. “No good comes from indulging a child to that degree. What’s going to happen to him when he finds out no one will treat him like his mother?” Tsk, tsk.

We all discovered the truth to her words when Jay began hanging out in our chaotic house more than he did at his own. He rolled around on the floor with us in the dust bunnies under couches and ate ravenously at our dinner table, without one sign of a dreaded allergic reaction. Released from the bondage of constant scrutiny he took on a whole new character, befuddling his controlling mother.

We knew we were not a central sun in anyone’s orbit and it was up to us to find our fuel. This certainty inspired early personal autonomy, along with a habit of self referencing to find answers to our questions.

YOU HAVE A VOICE. USE IT!

Nothing irritated our family more than the expectation anyone could read your mind. One teen sister often wept and dripped snot into her dinner plate, refusing to speak, overwhelmed by the latest trauma of being born into our family.

This behavior was briefly tolerated before a parent or siblings would protest. “Yuck! I’m losing my appetite! Give it up will you! Spill the beans or stop your sniveling!”

I didn’t blame her. The older six subset had to break in our parents, a tough job. I was grateful I landed in the younger five, after my parents were thoroughly exhausted.

A forthright attitude was appreciated. I became adept at telling anyone within earshot exactly what I thought, ocassionally without being asked for an opinion. Two older brothers always protested. “Who asked you? Who cares? Shut up already!”

Mother approved of my bold personality, originating from my astute observations of ‘She Who Must Be Obeyed’, her matriarchal, no nonsense self. Whenever she heard a berating of my feistiness, she would rise to my defense. “She has a right to express herself as much as you do, Mr. Know It All. Her feelings hold as much weight as yours, so back off.” Victory!

My best friend, from high school would sarcastically remind me of my strong personality. “I wish you knew how to express yourself.” She became a psychotherapist years later. She said one of the biggest issues her clients sought counseling for was in finding and using their voice. A week in our household would’ve saved them years of therapy in the resurrection of self expression. Either that or send these shy, introverted souls to a potential hell on earth.

LIFE REQUIRES COOPERATION WITH OTHERS. YOU ARE NOT EXEMPT.

One fine summer day when I was 7, we were conscripted to pick cherries. I loved them and always ate as many as I placed in my bucket. The next morning drove home the necessity of group cooperation in a new form. Bathroom emergencies.

I deeply understood the power of peristalsis, banging on the bathroom door, my guts cramping in a persistant demand for release. My pounding became fast and furious after the pot hog yelled out “Go away! I’m not done!”

No longer able to wait, I grabbed a box of Kleenex and shuffled carefully, clenching my butt, into our back yard, in search of a private spot. I chose the rose garden in the side yard, due to infrequent traffic. I barely squatted when my entire colon released in one fell swoop. I wiped, stood up and admired my deposit in awe.

It held the exact shape of a double chocolate, softie ice cream cone, complete with a swirl on top. My father rounded the corner with pruners in hand. The not so rosy aroma must’ve wafted in his direction.

“Oh dear God! Did you just crap in the roses?”

“Dad, it wasn’t my fault! I had to go and I couldn’t get in the bathroom! All those cherries did me in! We need more than one bathroom for God’s sake.”

He stared at my monument, shaking his head in wonder.

“Where do you put it all?” he exclaimed, looking back and forth between my scrawny frame and my contribution to the earth.”Were you just going to leave it lying there?”

“Of course not! I know the scout rule: Never leave a trace. I was on my way to find a trowel to bury it.” Nice fib, made up on the spot out of sheer necessity.

Dad looked dubious, but he was also trying not to laugh at my pronouncement.

“Go wash your hands. I’ll take care of it, but never do this again okay?”

Another lively, organic, dinner conversation took place that night. It centered around the necessity of cooperation. ‘Someone’ in dire straits, it was announced, defecated in the rose garden because ‘someone’ wouldn’t get off the pot or stop poking their pimple.

Navel gaze, navel gaze, it wasn’t me, stop staring you jerks.

Before I went to bed, I saw my father sketching away on his drawing pad, creating an addition to our house, which included a new bathroom.

MAKE NO ASSUMPTIONS.

I read The Four Agreements, a book of Toltec wisdom, as a young adult and realized their truths were also present in my family. In an ideal world we would check out personal perceptions by communicating and getting accurate feedback. That process takes time and committed energy a lot of us are not able to provide.

Our family was trained to make no assumptions. Just because someone was in a good mood one day, it was no guarantee of their mood the next day. In fact, the atmosphere shifted within hours. Travel in crowded third world cities was a cake walk for me, compared to navigating our hallways.

We did have to deal with strangers assumptions. The most frequent responses revolved around our sheer numbers, which embarrassed us at times too. Not that we would admit it.

One summer vacation we drove onto a ferry after rolling around in the back of our truck during hours of travel. We dropped the tailgate and spilled out of the back, a motley crew, tidal wave of barefooted children.

A woman parked behind our truck watched us with slanted eyes and pursed lip disapproval as she stood next to her new vehicle with her two perfect daughters. They had spit shined Mary Jane, patent leather shoes on, mirroring their pristine white undies above.

Meanwhile, we savages were throwing various items out of the truck, to the tune of mother yelling at us to get our shoes on. I was ready to barf after eating a dog food kibble in a sibling dare on the road and was scanning for a place to puke.

“Are you all from the same family? You must be Catholic.” queried Ms. Anal Retentive mother in a highly disapproving tone.

I was standing next to my teen sister, nine years older, who was my mentor in all regards and a master at sarcasm and satire. She delivered award winning replies to judgers and assumers, always managing to whip out a new hot one on the spot. I admired her creativity immensely and she didn’t disappoint me that day.

“Yes, we are devout Catholics. I pray daily at our family altar for our Heavenly Father to grant us one more child. Then we’ll be a baker’s dozen and as daddy says, cheaper by the dozen.” She batted her eyelashes, gazing at the blue sky with her hands in prayer position.

Total baloney. Our parents weren’t the least bit religious.

As soon as Ms. Nasty turned her back, sis flipped her the bird and turned to me. “Never take bull from anyone Becky, you hear me? People have no right to talk that way. What a bitch! At least I found a way to use that asinine book Dad made us read.”

This brings me to my last point and one which has saved me from myself over and over.

DEVELOP A SENSE OF HUMOR OR SLOWLY SUFFER.

Survival in a gang of kids requires spontaneous adjustments to yours or others agendas on a daily basis. I was able to flow with constant change by laughing at many aspects of the extraordinary messes and debacles we created.

Not by covering up my feelings through the mask of a clown, but by realizing my view was only one of many options. I searched for tiny threads of magic in the unfolding and often found it.

I smirked, snorted and shuddered at the near disasters of my seven older siblings. Learning what not to do. Who needed TV, with ever changing life blasting real news, night and day?

I presently self entertain by poking fun at myself when I get overly concerned with ‘reality.’ Coyote comes calling and leads the way down rather charming rabbit holes. “What’s your problem woman? Chill, breathe and remember this. If you survived your family, you can take what’s coming now.

I used to be slightly weird a lot of the time but now I realize I’ve gone completely weird all the time. It makes life very intriguing, this condition I bear with grace. Total weirdness. I wonder if it’s listed under family disorders on medical forms?

I remain enthusiastic about life by honoring a few, simple practices that work for me. I hope you found something of value here for your tribe, even if you don’t have a soccer team of siblings.