Favorite Son, Favorite Daughter

I’ve been thinking about favorites lately. Favorite place to vacation–once Covid is officially vanquished, of course! My favorite restaurant to nab a longed-for reservation–after my second shot this week. And, the favorite outfit I’ll yank out of the back of the closet to wear to that much anticipated evening out. We all have favorite things, places, and activities, but what about people? As I dwell on this, a story comes to mind.

I’m not certain when the family jest originated. If I had to guess, it probably began when my youngest daughter was in the primary grades and the older three kids–two daughters and a son– were in or about to enter high school. The six-year gap between the baby of the family and the next oldest–my only son– meant I spent a lot of time toting her around to the older kids’ activities. 

To keep “the baby” occupied while I cheered for her siblings at the pool, baseball field, or basketball court, I packed a tote bag with coloring books, markers, special toys, and treats. If she was engaged or satisfied, then I was free to relax and enjoy the older kids’ endeavors.

Somewhere along the line, one of my older kids must have muttered, “She’s so spoiled.” And as kids do, another one tagged onto that comment with, “Yeah, she’s Mom’s favorite.”

While I could have ignored this, the comment hit me wrong. I protested, “She’s not my favorite. I don’t play favorites.” I believe those words, right down to my shoelaces. 

Grinning wickedly, my son would have looked at one of his two older sisters and then sneered in my direction, “Well if that’s true, then how come she gets everything she wants?”

“He’s got a point, Mom,” my middle daughter joined in. “You do give her everything she wants.”

I bristled. “Perhaps, I do appease her more than I should, but with good reason. If I’m going to drag her to your games, she’ll make everyone around us miserable. If she’s happy, everyone’s happy.”

The knowing grins the kids tossed at one another meant they thought they were right. 

Hands on my hips and voice raised, I said, “Making someone happy, doesn’t mean they’re your favorite.”

Much to my annoyance, at dinner that night my son and middle daughter resurrected the-youngest-is-your-favorite-argument again. 

As my husband passed the carrots to my son, his brown eyes twinkled. “That’s funny. I would have thought you were the favorite!” Everyone laughed.

“Well, I was the favorite until she came along,” my son said pointing to his blonde-haired, pig-tailed sister. Smiling, he elbowed her indicating that his words were just a well-meaning tease. 

The youngest took this all in. Her hazel eyes ping-ponged from her brother and sisters, and then back to my husband and me. When the carrots made their way to her end of the table, she set the platter down. 

Staring at her brother, she declared, “Well at least you know you will always be the favorite son. There’s only one of you!”

“Ho-ho. She got you,” my husband guffawed.

“Good one,” my oldest daughter said patting the youngest on her back.

As a mother, I believe it’s important to set the record straight, especially when it concerns fairness. “I’ve been thinking about this ‘favorite thing’ since it started earlier today. Just so you know, on any given day any one of you is my favorite.  Just depends on what you’ve said or how you act.”

“Amen to that,” my husband added, winking at me.

A week or so later, I picked up a voicemail on the kitchen answering machine from my middle daughter, who was checking in. “Hey Mom! It’s favorite daughter. I’m at Kaitlin’s house. I’ll call you if I need a ride.”

Not to be outdone, the next time the oldest daughter called she said, “Mom, favorite daughter, here. Swim practice got over early, and I found a ride. See you soon!”

For years now, all four of my children have left similar messages on my voicemail, reminding me that on that particular day, because of their good behavior, they believe they have earned the right to be called “the favorite.” Just hearing them say it, pastes a smile on my face.

At Christmastime several years ago, I was perusing the internet for gift ideas and I happened upon the ideal present for all four of my kids. I could hardly wait for Christmas morning. I waited until the other gift opening was complete, and then I handed each of them a package adorned in identical wrap and ribbons. 

“Okay, everybody! Open them at the same time. Ready, set, go.” I cheered.

“Oh, look it’s a pretty pink robe,” the youngest said as she patted the soft fabric.

“Mine’s black,” said my son.

“Pull them out of the box and try them on,” I commanded. 

I could hardly wait to see their expressions as they noticed the embroidering on the back of the robes. One said: Favorite Son, and the other three: Favorite Daughter.

“Who’s the favorite?” may have started as gentle ribbing for a mom who tried to make her kid happy, but the expression has morphed into a lingering, favorite family joke. For now, it’s me that has garnered the last word.

Have you been accused of playing favorites, too?

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