Somewhere in the last year, my oldest sister (two years my junior) started acting like the black sheep of the family–sullen and silent, defensive and combative, and very, very private. The only problem is that I’m the black sheep and I’m not giving up my title: I worked too dang hard for it.
On arriving for Christmas with my family, it became clear that sis and the folks were not getting along. She was pissy, they were ignoring her. She asserted her wish to open presents on the Eve, they wanted to open on the Morn. I tried to talk to her about some of her more mysterious behaviors (hording her money, living at home for an extended period, suddenly breaking things off with her boyfriend) and all I got was emo silence, but she’s not emo, she’s a trendy, attractive, Abercrombie and Fitch kind of chick.
So what’s with the attitude? How dare she act like an outsider when I’m around! I’m the one who partied and tried drugs in college. I’m the gay. I’m the one who shopped at thrift stores and refused to go to church. I’m the one with a degree in literature. Does she know how many opportunities I had to piss away to be the black sheep of, yes count them, FOUR families? Does she know how many relatives I had to alienate? Does she know how much I spent on makeup and clothes to fill that role?
And although it’s hard to picture myself as relinquishing my title to my younger sister who never did much out of the ordinary and always tried to fit in, it’s way harder to picture her handling herself among our familes as a black sheep. I’ve done it for so long that I can handle myself. When you walk into a room and everyone suddenly grows silent, when your grandma tells you she’s praying especially hard for you, when everyone discusses you like you’re the tabloid princess of the bunch, that takes a thick hide and the ability to take punch. I’m not sure she’s ready.
Of course, I am active in my Church. I’ve long since put aside gigs in rock bands, jell-o shooters, and eyeliner. In fact, I’m even wearing slacks and a tie as I type this right after mass. When I visit my Pop this afternoon, he might tell me that I’m his favorite grandson again. And the party people in the family haven’t referenced me for years when they say “at least I’m not a freak like him!” Maybe I’ve outgrown the role of black sheep and I’m just sad to see it go.
