Confessions of an Only Child

In my twenty-four years as an only child, I’ve heard my share of…shall we say, interesting…comments. Many times people are curious about what it’s like to be an only child—and rightly so. There’s certainly a healthy level of curiosity involved in wanting to hear about someone else’s life experience. But many times the questions I’ve been asked when someone hears I’m an only child have been less-than-thoughtful. 

So for the sake of all the other only children out there, and in the interest of helping everyone else avoid creating an embarrassing situation, I thought I’d share a few things that probably shouldn’t be said to an only child.

“So are you spoiled?”

This has to be one of the most common stereotypes of only children—and one of the most frustrating. First of all, spoiled people usually don’t realize they’re spoiled, so asking that question is rather unproductive. Of course, there’s always the declarative form of this sentiment, as well: “I bet you’re spoiled.”

Umm… thank you? I mean, really—what’s an only child to say to that?

Yes? No? I don’t know?  

Usually the “spoiled” question begs another question: What do you mean by spoiled? If you mean getting to spend a lot of time with my parents and having a really close relationship with them, then yeah, I guess I am. But if you mean always getting what I want, having my parents bow to my every whim, etc., then I am most definitely not spoiled.

On my more snarky days, I have been known to respond to this question with, “Spoiled? No way—I’m the only one to do the chores!” [Confession—we didn’t have “chores” per say, but the basic principle is still the same. Whenever my parents needed help, I was the only option.]

Of course, there probably are spoiled only children out there, just like there are spoiled youngest, middle, and oldest children too. But the point is, it’s not very wise to assume someone is spoiled just because of their birth order, nor is it polite to confront them with such an assumption, even if uttered jokingly. Just like everyone else, only children appreciate people getting to know them before making assumptions about their lives.

“Oh, your parents got lucky with you and didn’t need any more, huh?”

Again, what’s an only child to say to that? I think most people, especially older children/young adults, have a pretty good understanding that they’re not this perfect little angel. So, aside from being confusing, this question raises a whole host of other presuppositions that can introduce some troubling subliminal messages into the mind of an only child—particularly a young one.

Take my case for instance. I’d heard this assertion countless times, never knowing how to respond. Then, at age ten, I found out I was going to be a big sister. Now just think, if I had bought into the idea that my parents hadn’t had any more kids because I was sufficient, then what was I to think when there was going to be a new baby in the family? That somehow I wasn’t enough for them? That I wasn’t good enough, so they had to try again?

Of course, I know these are utter lies. But that just goes to show that the idea that an only child is an only child because he or she is sufficient to satisfy his or her parents is a dangerous one to plant in only children’s minds, especially since they very well could have lost a sibling, like me. Plus, on the other hand, the idea could easily lead to a wrongly-inflated ego if the only child hasn’t lost any siblings.

A good principle to remember here is that we often are not privy to people’s backstories; therefore our understanding of their situation might be totally inaccurate, and filtering our comments would be wise.

“Are your parents trying for more kids?”

*…crickets…*

This one is just down-right awkward—not to mention terribly confusing for the younger members of the only child club. And, yes, I have been asked this before.

First of all, asking a child about his or her parents’ sex life is embarrassing for the child and invasive for the parents. But also, like the previous question, this one can lead to some serious doubt when it comes to self-worth. The implication, particularly when coupled with the “you’re good enough” idea, is that if the answer is yes, then something must be wrong with the only child.

If the answer is no, the next question becomes “Why not?” Again, awkward and invasive.

But there’s a third possible answer to this question that many either seem to be ignorant of or to brush off casually, and it’s an answer accompanied by considerable pain.

When I was asked this question, it was after our family had lost my little sibling. So my family had been blessed with another child, but the Lord saw fit to take him or her from us before birth. Thus, this question was a potent reminder of who we had lost, and the person who asked me understandably seemed embarrassed and apologetic for her thoughtlessness when I told her about the miscarriage.

Here again, the principle applies: we never know what we don’t know about a person’s story.

So my challenge to you today is to be thoughtful in your curiosity. Instead of the questions above, ask things such as “Did you like being an only child? Were you ever lonely? What did you enjoy about being an only child? What has being an only child taught you about relationships and about life? How do you think being an only child has shaped the kind of person you are today?” Questions such as these convey real interest in an individual’s life as well as recognition that people are unique and can’t be pigeonholed into neat little boxes.

When you talk to only children from this thoughtful posture, instead of receiving blank stares, stuttering hesitations, or snarky responses, you might open up a world of delightful, interesting conversation. And who knows—you just might make a new friend.