I'm constantly witnessing ways in which my toddler son is getting less than his older sister did. And yet, despite the outward appearance of deprivation, I'm discovering that the things he's missing aren't as important as I thought.
The bond between siblings is one of those unexplainable and largely unteachable things. It grows from shared experience -- from growing up and living through so much together, from knowing each other's secrets, from loving (and sometimes hating) the same people.
I know that no two children have the same set of parents, even though they live in the same family. Why? Because parents are different with each of their children, and no two children ever take the same role.
How did he do it? How did he see stars instead of bars while in prison? Apartheid, suffering, and twenty-seven years of imprisonment did not stop him from leading a nation through a process of truth and reconciliation.
At the time, her answer made me feel sorry for her. At least that's how I took it. However, it was my brother-in-law's impromptu speech during the reception that caused me to rethink things. I realized I had it all wrong.
We sometimes regret not having another child because we deprived Eddie of a sibling. We try to fill the void by running around with him, hiding behind trees, kicking balls, playing tag, but it's tiring. My husband and I are close to 50. We don't always have the stamina to be his siblings.
Today reminded me that there is a little bit of my brother in every place he lived, every place he walked, every place he laughed, every place he flashed that huge smile that teachers and friends alike thought was contagious.
Baitz's play seeks an alternative way out of the seeming impasses of our times -- our political deadlocks, our family dramas, even our most heartfelt and ego-driven certitudes -- by making us experience a greater emotional truth.