LITERARY | The Eldest Daughter Core

They said kids need care and affection, yet I was the one responsible for my own. And for others. And for everyone, more than mine. Men have everything better, easier—of more convenience than women.

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The Eldest Daughter Core

Mothers raise their sons

while their daughters 

raise themselves.

When I need something,

I work hard to provide 

for myself;

If he needs anything,

he'll come up to mommy

and she'll grant it.

"Mom, I had the highest,

perfect scores in all

of my exams!"

Silence. I repeat.

And she says,

"I knew you'd do good."

"I did not achieve 

a passing grade, mom,"

says he. So she consoles, 

babies him like a child—

as if he was a victim

of some horrible crime.

I always wanted to go 

outside and play with 

other kids my age.

But mom says I have 

to finish the chores

she has left undone.

So I watch my younger

brothers—enjoying,

laughing their hearts

out—exploding with

merriment, as I sat

gravely in the house.

I had a last resort 

of going to college

at a state university;

He had the privilege

to go to an expensive,

prestigious academy.

And so another pressure

rises, the near future

awaits, that I provide

not solely for myself;

for the needs of my 

siblings, and parents.

They said kids need care 

and affection, yet I 

was the one responsible 

for my own. And for others.

And for everyone, more 

than mine.

Do I have to carry the

weight—the burden of 

unending grief, guilt—

of rage my mom carries?

It's always been heavy,

for as far as I remember.

Men have everything

better, easier—of more

convenience than women.