Growing up, there were times I wanted to be an only child. Just the
title, Only Child, seemed to denote something special, and since nearly
everyone I knew, including myself, had at least one brother or sister,
it was something special. Then I had a child of my own and for
twelve years had to listen to the lamenting of my daughter as she
decried her Only Child status. But it was a bit of a relief to finally
remove her from that status and provide her with siblings, since I knew
I was assured of her happiness.
But was I? Is the prevailing thought about only children as lonely, spoiled brats simply a myth?
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