"Are your children close?"
The question was posed to me by a young mother, a stranger. The answer surprised me.
I had been watching her vainly attempt to chase down and wrangle a very active 5 year old flaxen-haired boy. From the moment they arrived, he had been busy introducing himself to everyone in the crowded room, ultimately landing on my lap where he enjoyed a snack of fresh pineapple she managed to shove in front of him, his reward for momentary stillness. She was catching her breath, making small talk, smiling apologetically and proudly.
I paused, enjoying the surprise of the gentle weight of his tiny body, his smooth, unblemished limbs like so many arms of an octopus securing themselves around me so trustingly, so easily. I relished the sudden flush of memories of my body serving as a chair, a tree, a diving platform, a warm cuddle space for my own boys and I answered quickly, glibly, “Closer when they’re apart.”
Later that evening I was confronted with the real weight of the question, and how, upon reflection, my response was so deficient. My knee jerk answer was, at its core, honest and true for me. When I speak to each of my sons individually, they often happily share they’ve been in recent contact. Yet, when we are in close quarters for days at a time, it’s remarkable how quickly the air can thicken and tensions mount. This sudden change in weather can be challenging for me as a mom, and an only child at that. I’ve read myriad articles and books about raising healthy, supportive, engaged siblings. I have witnessed my own cousin-siblings behave roughly toward each other in their youth, then end up living in the same town, planning family vacations together. I want them to be close. But I cannot stop asking myself, Are they close?
They are close in age.
Currently 24 and 26, they were born 18 months apart: the oldest in early May, the youngest on Christmas Day. When people ask their ages, half the year I receive a few microscopically raised eyebrows as if “24 and 25” implies a lustful, hurried race to conception for the second.
They are close to our friends.
My husband and I have a deep and broad network of “chosen” family, friends dubbed “aunts” and “uncles” who sometimes serve as mentors, supporters, allies, or networkers on our children’s behalf. This extended family has provided medical advice, life lessons, sympathetic ears, crash pads, book recommendations — whatever is needed — to my sons. It takes a village, after all, and our community rallies around, imparting wisdom in ways our sons just don’t want to hear from us.
They are close in physicality.
They very clearly share genetics: deep, soft brown eyes, broad shoulders, imposing height, enviously thick and lustrous heads of hair. When they were little I was stopped countless times by people asking how it was “raising twins” as they were nearly the same size up until middle school. They are incredible huggers, grasping one fully, firmly, and for long enough that the oxytocin release is palpable, but never too long to make one uncomfortable. Each is heavily tattooed by choice; both are hairier than they might like by fate.
They are close musically.
To be clear (and to avoid raising their hackles when they read this) they have different tastes and interests, for sure, but I’ve heard them bond by sharing the bands and artists that are active in their playlists. Those are safe conversations to default to when the seas between them are choppy, when one throws the other a lifeline in order to reconnect.
They are close to us.
Geographically we are fairly far apart most of the time, but I am fortunate in that each of our children call us often and share meaningfully. We have all learned to navigate the nuanced and varied conversation dynamics associated with calls for venting, asking for advice, being vulnerable about one’s mental health/state of mind, or sharing relationship snags. I’m sometimes surprised by how much they want to know about our daily and inner lives as well. Most often the request is for easy banter during long car rides to help them pass the time or keep them awake until their destination. We really like each other, too, well beyond familial love. We are close in ways I dreamed of being when they were in my belly.
Most of all, I very much want them to be close.
I always wanted an older brother, specifically a protector, a secret keeper, someone to verify the occasionally insane incidents of my childhood. But it was just me and my thoughts, my fears, my imagined or real hurts most of the time. I do have close cousins that have been supportive and validating, so I can’t honestly lament the isolation of only childhood that others authentically claim. And I humbly relinquish any foolish notion that I could possibly control the choices my sons make regarding what to share and what to hide from each other. But I do pray that in my attempts to raise them with the goal of eventually being close siblings, in ways both big and small, I’ve at least pointed them in that direction
.