My sister and brother are assholes.
Yesterday as I was riding my tricycle in our front lawn, I made a big decision. I called my mother “Mom” instead of “Mommy” for the first time. I know childhood is short and perhaps that vestige of dependence, the intimacy of the term “Mommy” is something I shouldn’t be so eager to discard; but I heard my younger sister and brother calling out “Mommy, Mommy!” (closer to “Wa-wee! Wa-wee!” in David’s case, but I’ll give that two year old snot the benefit of the doubt) and I was overwhelmed by the need to make a change. I’m the eldest child; I should act it. “Mommy” is so juvenile. I’m graduating to something more dignified.
I wanted my parents to notice that I, alone of the three of us, was behaving more maturely. I wanted to stand out. But within hours of my making the switch, Julian and David were calling her “Mom” (or “Wa,” as the case may be) as well! Those fuckers stole my limelight! What’s the point of being the eldest if you can’t fucking show it off?
I tried to legislate my troubles away by persuading my parents to forbid the use of the shortened nicknames (“Mom,” “Dad”) by anyone younger than the age of 7, but no dice. I can’t stand out now unless I go back to “Mommy” and “Daddy,” and I’m sure as shit not doing that. Alack, alas, et cetera! At least I discovered obscenities this week – it kind of takes the sting away from the ordeal. ‘Course, now I spend all my time worrying about the fuckin’ FCC. Those bastards would probably have my head on a spike.