Why Being the Prodigal Child’s Sibling is Lame AF

So yesterday, I posted my first article on Medium. Yay for expanding!

Anyway, I’ll link to the article but here is the beginning of it. This story is dedicated to the good children, who kept their noses clean, never got into trouble, and still had to clean up the bullshit from their siblings.

This is for you, baby.


I’m sure everyone by now has heard of the story of the Prodigal Son.

For those who haven’t, here’s a brief recap:

A child demands his inheritance, father says no, child says, ‘Screw you and your farm, too!’ and storms off for years. The older son takes care of everything and is the nice, responsible adult who pays taxes and enjoys quiet evenings watching Netflix.

The prodigal son returns, begging his father for forgiveness while sounding like a Keith Sweat record. The father says, ‘Sure, why not? Welcome Back, Kotter!’ and all is well.

Except the prodigal son’s older bro was like, ‘Yo, after all this shit I’ve done for all these years? You gon’ let that fuckboi come back home and throw him a party?’

The father replies, ‘Now, you know you’re going inherit every thing in this piece, but for now, let’s celebrate your little brother’s escape from fuckboi-ish and into adulthood.’

Okay, so maybe it didn’t go quite like that but you get the point…

What happens when you’re the sibling of the Prodigal Child? What if things aren’t wrapped up in a tidy little bow at the end of the story? What if everything is still ongoing?

What if, you’re the youngest one with your shit together as you watch your older siblings still trying to find themselves as they become permanent residents in Fuckboi Land?

Oh, and those rules would never apply to you because, well, you know better…

This is a true story of how I’m the Prodigal Child’s sibling and finally learning to accept my role as the ‘Because You Know Better’ adult.

rihanna

To read the rest of the article, click here.

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