One of the advantages of being brought up in large families, supposedly, is that you learn the art of politics at an early age. The idea is that if you’re surrounded by lots of siblings you become skilled at forging alliances, isolating your enemies, and so forth. I didn’t give much credence to this theory until recently, but a change in the dynamic between three of my own children has persuaded me there may be something in it.
The top dog among my brood is seven-year-old Sasha. Not only is she better at fighting than her three younger brothers, having been raised on a diet of ultra-violent martial arts cartoons, but she gives no quarter. If five-year-old Ludo is foolish enough to wander into her bedroom, she repels him with a succession of lightning-fast blows to the head. What makes this strategy particularly effective is that it left poor Ludo with no option but to mete out similar treatment to three-year-old Fred — and Fred, in turn, is equally brutal towards two-year-old Charlie. Sasha has succeeded in turning the Young household into a prison yard in which status is dictated by how ruthlessly violent you’re prepared to be. Since she is more psychopathic than the rest of them, that suits her fine.
However, at the beginning of the summer holidays a strange thing happened. A thaw occurred in Ludo and Freddie’s relationship. They began hanging out together and it wasn’t long before they were roaring round the house playing some incomprehensible game involving robots and wicked witches. They soon discovered that Sasha’s karate skills were no match for the two of them if they attacked her at the same time, and they started launching sorties into her bedroom and making off with her Build-a-Bear collection. By joining forces, Ludo and Freddie had succeeded in toppling the Queen from her throne.
Sasha brooded for a bit and then came up with a devastatingly effective counterinsurgency plan: she started being nice to Freddie. ‘Lovely Freddie,’ she would say, stroking his hair as they watched Ben 10 together. She began inviting him up to her room to play with her GoGos, a hitherto unheard-of honour. Before long, Freddie had transferred his loyalties to his older sister. Order was restored, with Freddie trotting along behind Sasha like a poodle and Ludo cast into the outer darkness. It was almost as if Sasha had studied the Camp David agreement and discovered the benefits Israel had received from befriending Egypt. It was a masterclass in Machiavellian power politics.
As a parent, it’s quite hard to stand idly by and watch all this unfold. I’m pleased for Freddie, who is now being fussed over by his beloved elder sister, but my heart goes out to Ludo, who is isolated and lonely. I’m tempted to ask Sasha to start ignoring Freddie again so the friendship that sprung up between him and Ludo can flower. Yet what guarantees can I offer that the raids on her territory won’t resume? Being a parent is a bit like being the Secretary-General of the UN — another of those things that people often say but which, until now, I hadn’t grasped the truth of.
If I don’t intervene there’s a chance Ludo may work out a way to win back Freddie’s allegiance on his own, but it’s not a very good chance. More likely he’ll just continue to mope around the house, nursing his wounded ego. The problem is, power isn’t as important to him as it is to Sasha. It’s not just that she takes after her father and Ludo takes after his mother. It’s also that she’s the eldest. In large households it is the first-born who masters the black arts of politics. Having tasted the fruits of power, they are reluctant to give it up and quickly develop the skills needed to hang on to it.
The truth of this is brought home by a quick analysis of the 44 presidents of the United States, nearly all of whom were either first-born, first-born sons, or only children. Across all professions, older child-ren tend to be more competitive, more driven and more successful. Having briefly lived in paradise, in which the full beam of their parents’ attention was trained on them, they spend the rest of their lives trying to return there.
I’m confident that both Ludo and Freddie will lead happy, fulfilling lives. But Sasha has the makings of a future prime minister.
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