A reader requested I share a bit about growing up as a twin. Actuallly, there are several twins who read and comment on this board. Kris and Amsterdamn are twins. My twin and her husband, who is also a twin, reads. Kathryn and Amy are both parents of twins…as well as Kris, who was mentioned above. The pressure is on for me to get this post right since I have an audience who may call me out on any inaccuracies or exaggerations.
Let’s see, where to start. I suppose birth works. I know what you’re thinking. Birth? She’s 35. This blog is gonna be a long one. Don’t worry. Okay, worry. I rarely know a short story. It probably has something to do with…what? Oh, yeah. The topic.
Ask any twin and they can likely tell you how many minutes older or younger they are than their sibling. It is probably the single most common question I faced growing up. So, who is older? Chuckle, chuckle. Well, by birth, my sister is a full 7 minutes ahead of me. Since we are fraternal twins, we were separate eggs. We’ll never know for sure who was fertilized first, so I suppose we’ll stick with the 7 minute gap in our birthing to distinguish the older from the younger. As a kid, those 7 minutes meant a lot to me. I’m hoping I’m not the only neurotic twin out there who honestly believed my sister was older. Before I knew better, I was convinced my sister would experience everything 7 minutes ahead of me. Imagine how scary that thought was. If my sister got her period, surely mine would come 7 minutes later. If my sister died, I would have 7 minutes to say my goodbyes and prepare for the afterlife. Of course, it doesn’t work that way, as was proven when my sister wore a bra a full year before me. No matter how many times I reminded Miss Right and Miss Left they were supposed to blossom 7 minutes after their fraternal counterparts, they wouldn’t budge.
In all seriousness, it was pretty clear early on we were meant to experience things at different times and in different ways. As young kids, differences were often considered problems. My sister walked and talked late. This isn’t uncommon with twins. One becomes the designated communicator and go getter. My sister didn’t have to talk or walk. She had her own personal interpreter and toy fetcher. Doctors were concerned my sister might be ‘retarded’, that was the word they used back then, because she wasn’t progressing at the same rate I was. In all truth, she was probably the smarter of the pair as she had mastered managing employees at the tender age of 1.
My sister’s early management style reminds me of another question I was frequently asked. Who is the dominant twin? You see, many believe one twin takes on a dominant role while the other a recessive role. There is a constant need to sort out the leader and the follower. It’s kind of sad to me grown-ups want to define one as a leader and one as a follower so early on. In truth, we flip flopped on who was ruling the roost at different times. I’ll concede I was louder and more aggressive. That led many to believe I was the dominant twin. My sister was quieter, yet amazingly effective. I believed I was the one running the show for a long time. One day it dawned on me I was always the one driving the car we shared when it needed gas. Hmmmm, coincidence…I don’t think so. The supposed recessive twin managed to avoid shelling out gas money a majority of the time. There is no doubt in my mind a majority of my growing up years were managed and handled by my beloved womb mate.
Another question people love to ask is “do you feel your sister’s pain or are you able to read her mind?” As far as feeling pain, um, no. If twins felt each other’s pain, they would never fight. That would be like shoving yourself or pulling your own hair. Reading the mind is a different story. I know my sister and I are in tune with each other’s thoughts. I can know what she is thinking by looking at her and we frequently finish each other’s sentences. In my opinion, this is less about sharing a womb and more about sharing so much time together as kids. We know each other very well and can cut through the layers. It’s great to have that kind of closeness and understanding. I appreciate it at lot more now than I did as a kid. (By the way Amy, you might wan’t to check out my post “Get Em While They’re Young” for more of an explanation)
As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, my beloved womb mate and I shared a great deal growing up. Amy asked in comments if she should feel guilty buying her twins gifts to share or that are duplicates. Honestly, I think my sister and I really scored big as kids because we were often given a combined gift of greater value than what we would have received individually. Duplicates cut down on fighting from time to time, too. I do feel a little salty about some gifts that were identical (or nearly) when we weren’t both interested in the same things. It gets old when people assume one twin’s interests mirrors the other’s. One specific memory is of my sister really wanting her ears pierced when she turned 13 (or was it 12). In any event, my grandparents decided to take us both to get our ears pierced on our birthday. Oh joy. Happy Birthday Lisa…this won’t hurt but for a minute. Of course, that was a lie. I ended up with red crusty ears for years and finally got sick of fighting metal allergies and let my holes close. I’m still bitter. It helps calm the guilt over using a real curling iron on my sister’s favorite “Quick Curl” head. Remember those? Who knew the hair would melt?
Another question that seems to come up often is “what is it like being a twin?” That’s like asking a singleton what their experience is like. I’ve only been a twin, so I can’t compare. I imagine several components of the relationship are similar to those of siblings born at different times. We do have the advantage of not having to experience so many things alone. Starting school, learning to drive, starting college…we went through it together. We also had the combined brain power of two toddlers when we were in the mood to shake things up for our mom. One child can be creative and cover a lot of ground. Two can really make their mark. My sister and I once buttered the entire livingroom (anything our height and below) with tubs of Blue Bonnet as our mother napped. I believe we were 3 or 4. There were globs in the carpet, on the drapes and on the furniture. We even got the cat. We’re still sorry Mom.
In closing, I want to share one funny story about my sister. Her coworkers read this blog and I thought they’d enjoy this little tidbit. When we were kids, I caught Mom stuffing our stockings on Christmas Eve. The jig was up on Santa. I knew revealing my discovery might put an end to the Santa experience for us, so I shut my mouth and snuck back upstairs before Mom spotted me. Well, by the time the next Christmas rolled around, I still held my secret close. My sister was still a firm believer in Santa Clause. I’m thinking we were 7. Jennifer was making a huge fuss at the window on Christmas Eve. She was all a flutter because she SWORE she saw Santa fly across the moon. No matter how much I protested, she wouldn’t budge. She saw Santa and that was that. I’m still amazed I kept the Santa secret from my sister and passed up a primo opportunity to laugh myself silly over her.
