Sibling rivalry keeps parents on their toes

Even as far back as when I was pregnant with Gege and Didi, people warned that I’d have to choose. If my twin sons ended up going to different colleges, and if their graduation ceremonies fell upon the same day, I was told, I’d have to decide which one to go to — and that which one I chose would amount to declaring which one I loved the most.

As if I didn’t have enough on my mind at the time! Sibling rivalries run deep and archetypal. Consider Issac and Esau, the biblical twin brothers tussling over their birthright, or for that matter, Cain and Abel sparring, or Joseph, tossed into a pit by his brothers who were jealous of his coat of many colors. Rivalries run through fairy tales, too, Cinderella and her spiteful stepsisters.

Research on birth order suggests that parents were perceived by their children as favoring their earlier born siblings — that is, firstborns are favorites — and in turn, that bias affected the self-esteem of younger siblings. Consider your own families, and if you have siblings, who is the favorite of mom and dad, even if your parents vigorously deny it? If you weren’t the favorite, how did you get over it or are you getting over it still?

When Gege and Didi were in utero, they competed for space in my womb and, later on, for space in my lap and, these days, for my attention and praise.

I’ve known families who have album after album documenting every burp and smile of their firstborn, whereas the siblings who follow are featured in far fewer. To address that, my husband and I always tried to take the same number of photos of them, so that they would never feel less than equal in our love; it helped that they were passing through their milestones together. So, too, with this column: If I quote one, I work in the other, in the hopes that if they read these someday, neither will ever feel like a bit player in our family.

My sons remain acutely aware of any differences in the ways my husband and I treat them, even if we ourselves are not aware of it, even if we ourselves don’t have a hidden agenda that we’re pressing. A couple of years ago, we were in the car when Didi made a clever remark.

“That’s smart!” I called out. “I’m smart, too,” Gege blurted. “Yes — yes,” I murmured, worried that I’d scarred him, and vowed to work harder at doling out the same amount of compliments, as the same number of minutes reading their bedtime story picks, the same number of birthday and Christmas gifts, and all else they must be tallying — a tallying that will continue throughout their life, as they make sure they’re getting their fair share from me and my husband.

Last year, when they were in the same kindergarten class, my husband and I could pitch in at the same time at the Halloween and Valentine’s Day parties: I had one set of balloons and decorations to help put up, one station of crafts where I clumsily assisted, one set of parents, teachers, aid and classmates I could keep track of. In a single hour, I could sneak peeks at them both and feel like I’d fulfilled a duty.

This year, they’re in separate classes, so I have to spend twice as much time on campus to give them equal time — time I find in short supply — but I have to, because they’re keeping track.

Another mother I spoke with told me that her children also keep tabs on how much time she spends in their respective classrooms, comparing the quantity and quality. Hearing that, I felt comforted, knowing that it is a common struggle.

When I told the twins I was coming in to volunteer, Gege asked which class I would visit first. “Yours,” I said. He crowed in delight, even though it was a matter of scheduling and not of favoritism. “No fair!” Didi said. “I’m in each class the same amount of time,” I said.

More recently, they were bickering and Didi proclaimed that Gege should lose his screen time.

“That’s for me and Daddy to decide,” I said.

“I’m going to take care of Gege when I’m his dad,” Didi said smugly, triumphantly.

“I’m always going to be the same age as you,” Gege shot back.

Moments later, they returned to their game, their rivalry set aside, brothers now, brothers for life.

My sons remain acutely aware of any differences in the ways my husband and I treat them.