Being the Black Sheep

Growing up I was always a little strange. Maybe it was the fact that I talked in a baby voice until the fourth grade, or that I would put my cat in a stroller and roll her down the stairs. I always looked up to my siblings, but I never thought that I would grow up to be anything like them. And I was right.

The term “black sheep” is used to describe the outcast of the group, the person who just doesn’t really fit in, usually used in a negative context. Since when is it a bad thing to be different?

My siblings were the perfect little duo for my parents: one boy one girl — the typical American family. Three years later my mom and dad decided to have another sweet angel child, but then BOOM they end up with me, who is just a whole different kind of “sweet angel child.” So, while my brother and sister are outside playing soccer or basketball in our backyard, I was up in my tree house with my imaginary friend Slide Bundle Bonehead using my blue telescope to investigate the whereabouts of Slide Bundle Bonehead’s family (see, they lived in New York and he traveled to Kansas seeking help from me to find them — but that’s not what this story is about). Anyway, back to the whole “me being different than my siblings thing.” While they had perfect vision, I got my first pair of glasses when I was 4-years-old and when they would ask for Pokemon cards for Christmas all I wanted were watches — I would wear two on each wrist.

My sister is the perfect example of a first born child. She’s always trying to act more responsible than she actually is (sorry Taylor, but you know it’s true). She is an exact replica of my mom. They look alike, they love to read and shop, and they are both very girly. Then there’s my brother, the classic middle child with a crave for attention. He’s exactly like my dad — they like to ask a lot of questions and watch sports. Then there’s me…the baby of the family. Which parent am I supposed to be like? From the get go I was bound to be different from the other four Twibells. But if you know me, you know I have no problem marching to the beat of my own drum.

I think my family knew I was going to be the interesting one from the beginning. When I was a baby, instead of screaming for my mom to come get me out of the crib in the morning I would stand up and sing, that was my clue to them that I was awake.

My “unique-ness” kept on growing more and more as I got older. The glasses at age four gave me a little pizzaz because of course no one else in my family had any vision problems and I’m over there wearing bi-focals as a 4-year-old. I loved wearing my glasses up until the second grade when called me Four Eyes on the tetherball court (you know who you are). I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THAT!

Other “unique” moments range from naming my pinky fingers “Billy-Bob-Joe” and “Billy-Bob-Joe-Jr.” to the oh so classic “stuffing my shirt and shorts with leaves running around saying I was a tree” story. I used to run around my house with a video camera 24/7 and make my own “reality shows.” I’m sure if you’ve seen some of my throwback Thursdays on Instagram you can kind of get the picture as to how I was a weird child.

When I was younger, I remember that I wanted to be exactly like my big sister. I wanted to fit in with her and my older brother because they seemed so cool and mature. They would have friends over and I was super creepy and would lay over this vent in our living room that led to the basement and I would listen in to all their conversations with the help of my spy equipment that I had gotten for Christmas. Looking back on it now, if I had tried to be more like my siblings when I was younger and lost sight of my true personality I wouldn’t be who I am today. I wouldn’t be able to give speeches in front of the school or dress up in a chicken costume and sing Christina Aguilara at the bachelor auction. Basically what I’m trying to get across is that I feel pretty lucky that I was a weird child. And even though my siblings still make fun of me for leaving a poop trail around the house when I was two-years-old, I wouldn’t trade my childhood for anything, not even spy equipment.