Favored Child
Everyone has always told me that I am my father’s favorite child. It’s funny to me that this could be considered some advantage to me over my sister. My sister has always felt unloved and rejected by my father. I certainly understand how painful it is for a child to be rejected by their parent, even when the parent is abusive. All children long for love and acceptance from their parents, and when they don’t receive that, it is very damaging. But it is equally damaging to be the focus of attention by an abusive parent. Yet the sympathy has always been for my sister, and I have spent my life being made to feel guilty for something that was not in my control, that I did not ask for or even want.
The irony is that I have been told that I am loved by my father while my sister is not, and yet my father is incapable of giving love. There is the assumption that I have gotten more from him. Yes, I have gotten more - more unwanted phone calls and visits, more pressure to perform, more manipulation, more controlling and, best of all, more criticism. I fail to see the advantage this gives me. I don’t say any of this to belittle my sister’s pain - I grieve deeply for the pain my father has caused my sister. I love her with all my heart and her burdens are mine. But this is my blog so this is about my pain.
Understandably, my mother felt the need to make up to my sister for the rejection of my father. It probably made her feel the need to protect her daughter. I would probably do the same. But in the process, my mother focused more of her love and attention on my sister. Every Saturday, I was the one who had to help my father with the yard work, while my sister was always in the house helping my mother. I hated working in the yard with Dad and yearned for my turn inside with Mom. I longed so much for my mother to say, “I want to spend some time with Kim this Saturday.” But I don’t remember that ever happening. While my sister learned all the basics of running a home (cooking, cleaning, etc.), I learned to hate yard work. When my time came to run my own home, I had to figure it all out myself.
When we became adults, the pattern continued. My mother seemed to feel Sherri needed more of her help and support. I suppose she thought I was self-sufficient and didn’t need her. That may have been my self-protective stance, but it wasn’t true. When my mom became sick, it was to my sister that she turned for care. She seemed more comfortable making herself vulnerable to her than to me. That hurt and it was so hard for me because all I wanted to do was care for my mom.
I know the last thing Mom ever would have wanted was for me to feel rejected or neglected by her in her effort to make my sister feel accepted. But I guess I did. Even so, I have always known she loved me. It was only recently that I realized just how much this hurt me and how much I have always resented the constant reminders that I am Dad’s favorite. Anyone who believes this makes me the lucky just hasn’t walked in my shoes.
