Playing Favorites

I grew up with 2 brothers and 2 sisters, all of them older except one brother. I remember frequently comparing who got what and when and why, always trying to figure out which one of us was the most favored. My thoughts on the matter were constantly in flux, but I do remember that I hated when I was accused of being the favorite. In fact, I think most of us wanted to be the underdog in this fight. Isn't that interesting? Why wouldn't more of us have wanted to claim "favorite" status?

It's silly, I know, but it was almost a sporting event at times. Who had nicer clothes? Who got the most attention? Who got to go on the most trips? Who got away with more crap? Did Mom have one favorite and Dad another? Was it just that the boys in general were the favorites? The girls?

We each took turns pointing the favorite finger at everyone else, but, in my mind at least, the debate began to build toward fever pitch as my younger brother and I came of age. Rampant comparisons of how we were each treated by our parents as teens, and later as young adults, began to fly.

Chris and I were pegged as the favorites because we drove nicer cars and didn't have a regular curfew. Chris was always too cool to fight back, but I was quick to point out that we just happened to have access to nicer cars because mom and dad no longer had rusty grocery-getters to be handed down to us. Not our fault, so not a sign of favor. You follow?

Anyway, I'm sure it was all in good fun, but I think about it with my kids sometimes. I hope to avoid the whole hullabaloo here by constantly pointing out that sometimes it's your turn to get stuff, do stuff, go places, etc. . ., and sometimes it's someone else's turn. I rarely allow the phrase, "not fair," to be invoked in our home. I'm actually kind of a Nazi about it.

Still, there are moments.
And when I'm being really, supremely honest with myself, I have to admit it: I have favorites. Oh, yes, I do. And, like I suspected about my own parents, my favorites are subject to change. Because, well, my favorite is always the one doing this:As of today at 2 pm, Peter was my favorite. Tonight, around 11pm when he's refusing his bed and attempting to bargain with me, he will be my least favorite.

And that's how that cookie crumbles in my house.