My dad was 54 when I was born. My siblings are over 20 years older than I am, and he was a very different parent to them.

I had a different experience with my dad than my older siblings did

By virtue of the age difference, we were never destined to be as close to them as most siblings are. We would never live in the same house or even the same city, and they have almost three decades of shared memories with our father under their belt that I would never be privy to. But beyond the hindrance of age, there was always another elephant in the room: though we shared a parent biologically, in practice, we never truly had the same dad.

Within the nearly 30 years between my birth and theirs, my dad had divorced their mom, become a single dad, and experienced plenty of growing pains. While parenting them, he had fewer years of emotional development and financial stability. I know he tried to be a good dad to us all, but he was a veteran at good fathering by the time I was born — with them, he was just beginning to figure it out.

In my lifetime, my dad never had to prioritize a work trip over my recitals or sports games — he was nearing retirement age when I hit kindergarten. He was always there to offer me sage advice on relationships after having been through one divorce and one successful marriage. And he also was around to help me out when it came to my career and financial advice; while raising my siblings, he’d gone through near-bankruptcy, and in my childhood, he paid off our mortgage in full.

I know that without the life experience our dad had between the time they were born and when I was, I would not have had the comfortable upbringing I did. I also recognize that for my siblings, he was a 20-something single dad, walking alone in the proverbial jungle of first-time parenting. This tension, defined by a sense of resentment and unfairness, has always defined — and at times, damaged — my relationships with my siblings and made me grateful for the dad I did have, while also feeling guilty for the dad they didn’t have. 

I’ve realized I may never be very close with my older siblings

I learned from a very early age that relationships — even with family — are never a right or a given. My parents have had a turbulent relationship with my older siblings, and boundaries were occasionally put in place when it came to communication. As a result, my relationships with my siblings also suffered.

My relationship with my sister was largely dead on arrival, and though I was close with my older brother throughout my early teen years, we never recovered after he and my parents had a blowout fight when I was 16. I wasn’t involved — in fact, I can’t even recall the details of the fight itself — but my connection with him was collateral damage.

My dad was and is a fantastic father to me and my twin. It feels as though I got the dad that they should’ve — that we all should’ve — had. But I’ve only realized this as an adult, as when I was young, I was just confused and, frankly, angry that my older siblings would shun me and my brother. However, I now understand their reasoning. I’m also old enough to know that, though I love my siblings, we may never reach a point where our relationship doesn’t trigger traumatic memories or an ache to hug our own inner children. And that’s OK.

At the same time, I’ve also developed a greater love and understanding for my dad. It’s easy to love someone when you’re only able and willing to see their infallible good sides. But true love and understanding means seeing the full picture: the mistakes they’ve made, the pain they’ve caused others that they’ve tried (and sometimes failed) to remedy, and loving them anyway.