I was teaching my six-year-old kindergarten children the word "sister" and when I asked what "sister" is, a chorus of voices answered, "Paper, Sister. Stone!" Nor did the etymological expedition end there for, after their misunderstanding had been clarified, when I mentioned that I had three sisters ... and two brothers, one little outspoken boy confidently informed his classmates that I was a pian ren, a liar.

These children come from homes with usually two children, three at most, and so their incredulity was not misplaced. When I continued to insist that there are actually six children in my family, another boy asked, "How many mothers do you have?" What convinced them that I was a liar was when I said that I only had one mother.

It is always with a certain amount of pride that I tell people that I have five siblings. I have no idea why I should feel this pride. Perhaps it has to do with the wonder with which my hearers receive this revelation. They look awestruck at me, as if I am a miracle of nature, even though I had nothing to do with my siblings' production, except perhaps being the perfect baby, perhaps, which induced my parents to want more like me.

Perhaps the pride I feel stems from my siblings themselves. As children they were a burden for my tender sensitivities. My brothers flaunting their successes with girlfriends while I ached in luminescent envy. My sisters piercing my teenage quest for tranquility with their girlish shrillness. Of course, as the older brother, I had to set the perfect example of aloofness and good breeding, which they, in their juvenile barbarism, generally chose to completely ignore.

It is to everyone's relief that I have realized that not everyone, and particularly not my siblings, want to be like me and have therefore come to appreciate what magnificent people my brothers and sisters are. In trying to emulate them more, I have mysteriously been transformed from a pompous ass into someone who can write this.

You know you have reached the end of all pretence when a class of six-year-olds, who believe in Santa Claus, for God's sake, don't believe you.

16 November 2002

Dion Marc Delport

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