The OCS child takes a giant step during these years. He intends to be all things to all people. This helps him widen his social circle and reach new heights of popularity. His goal is to strive for exceptionality with a minimum of effort so he will pursue a number of expensive hobbies and sports that yield certificates, prizes and badges. When he feels that he has acquired enough material symbols of his prowess, he will drop these activities without explanation. He then will move on to other challenges like playing the accordion or joining Scouts.
His parents are the center of his universe, and any siblings will be quietly ignored. He may fantasize about eradicating them from the face of the earth but he knows his parents would not approve of this move so he exerts maximum control on himself and funnels his annoyance into constructive projects like decorating cupcakes or planting sunflowers. However on the sly he teases, bullies and reprimands his siblings, all the while honing skills that will come in handy in his teenage and older years.
For example, my sister developed OCS the day I was born, and she quickly sprung into action, making certain that my behaviors would always take seconds to hers. If you look at the two baby books our parents kept, you will notice that her album is overflowing with photos and memorabilia (bibs, booties, cute references to developmental milestones, etc) whereas my album lacks all but the basics such as weight, DOB and eye color. Of course parents will explain the discrepancy with the explanation that "we were so busy caring for the TWO of you that your baby book took a back seat," but the real reason is the OCS child monopolized the parents. To whit: When I was six months old, my sister was already busy stealing my thunder. One evening I remember standing in my crib while she handed me about 50 or so Golden Books that I ripped up because she instructed me to do so. Oddly enough my parents thought it was funny and never punished her. But it was a clear victory for the OCS. Another time when I was in kindergarten fashioning my costume for an assembly show, my OCS-affected sibling stopped by my classroom and surreptitiously ripped one of the two yellow-colored wings affixed to my back (I was supposed to be a canary and I had worked hard all week preparing the wings). Thanks to my "broken" wing I had to hold onto it as I sang a tune (I don't recall) to the school audience. I received praise for going on despite a costume catastrophe, but my OCS sibling got the last laugh since she smirked at me in her orthodontic braces (they looked pretty scary).
The OCS preteener cultivates a clique of friends, which may or may not consist of other OCS kids. Together they compete whether it's academically, in appearance, athletically or in the arts. I attended junior and senior high school with a lot of OCS kids. One became the school mascot at football games, dressing up in a cougar costume; another snared the top female lead in the school performance of The Crucible. A third was on the wrestling team while managing a number of AP courses in math and sciences. From all appearances the OCS kids appear successful and friendly, but this all changes when the family dynamics enter the picture. OCS kids parley their school and extracurricular successes into monumental wins. They regularly parade their accomplishments before the family. To hear them talk, you'd think they won a Gold Medal in the Olympics or discovered the cure for cancer. Indeed it's a win-win situation for the OCS and her parents; the only losers are other siblings or colleagues that go head to head with the OCS. Remember those Valentine Days when kids passed out and received affectionate notes from each other. Keep your eye on the kid who counts up his or her collection and declares herself the "winner." That kid has O C S written all over him.
Tomorrow's subject is teen OCS kids. When you read it, you'll weep.
In the Scottish dialect of the old New Year's Eve song Auld Lang Syne, the composer posits the question: Should old acquaintances be forgot? The short answer to this is "Sometimes." One example will suffice. A "friend" of mine emailed me the other day and although she is not a writer, her words spoke plenty. Her first rebuke was that I don't answer her calls, and this is a claim I cannot deny. But the accusation was caustic, mean-spirited--it was as if I had neglected to visit her in the hospital, that's how grievous my omission was. She insinuated so much by those few harsh words. Why did she call? Purportedly to inform me of her physical status and that of her dog Murph. Being the obedient child I still am, I did call her afterwards, and we spoke. Mostly S spoke of her new illness--osteoarthritis of the spine--and her dog's possible diagnosis of valley fever. I listened and listened and listened until I just couldn't take it any more. The
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