Every parent has a favourite child. We all know it. Even when they say they love you all equally, we know the truth is, there’s the one who is just a bit better. I’m not that one. My brother is the favourite. He always has been and it’s painfully obvious.
Maybe it’s because I’m more standoffish, more untrusting, or more closed off to my family. That’s what happens when your trust has been broken so many times or have been bullied and belittled by people all too often.
Then there’s my husband’s family. Their favourite is his sister. She’s perfect no matter what she does. Everything is about her, even when it isn’t. She’s never at fault, and she can do no wrong. His brother isn’t the favourite, but he’s the golden boy. Oh poor him, he’s having such a rough time. He’s so great, he did this. Then there’s my husband, who I think is better than the rest, but he’s so often overlooked.
It’s a shame, since he really is such a great guy. He always tries to make everyone happy, even at a cost to himself. He doesn’t ever get the recognition he deserves, even though he works hard and gives everything he has to the people he loves.
I guess I’m the lucky one though. Getting to have him, and all his people pleasing ways, all to myself.