The Oddball

Have you ever felt like you didn’t belong? Even in, or especially in, your own family?

Would you consider yourself the oddball?

I know I do. Compared to my other four siblings, I’m the artist. I’m usually off in my own little world, seeking adventure, “dreamy far off look, nose stuck in a book,” ink or paint staining my fingers, mussy long curly hair, big glasses—you get the idea.

Then there’s the eldest brother. He’s probably the only one who could challenge me for my self-imposed oddball title, but he’s too much of a rogue to care. Don’t let his brawn fool you, though. Behind the bulging muscles, hone to perfection after years of athletics and doing G-d only knows what overseas (we’re not allowed to know what he actually did, so…)—he has a keen eye and a sharp wit. Not at all your typical jock. There’s a lot of brains behind that façade, but the brainy one of the family has traditionally been my next brother.

He was the quintessential nerd, so I’m told. Graduated in the top 10 of his class, earned a degree in software engineering in the toddling stages of Microsoft and Apple, offered numerous positions before graduating, and has established himself in a steady career for the past twenty plus years developing a lot of technology we use on the daily. He’s also obsessed with Star Wars, being only 4 or 5 when Episode IV released. Only my older sister aspired to topple his claim as the “smart one”.

Said sister retook her SAT just to beat my nerdy brother’s score. She then graduated cum laude with a double major in journalism and something else from a major university…I think. I might have been at her graduation, but the details are a bit fuzzy and I was only about 9 then. Ever since, she’s travelled internationally as the highly diplomatic PR director of a prestigious classical music competition, in addition to passing on her intelligence in raising another family genius.

And you already know about my younger sister, the astroparticle physicist in training.

Don’t EVEN get me started on my nieces and nephews.

As you can see, I’ve always felt like I didn’t get the intellect nor the athleticism of my other siblings. At least, not in the same fields. Between my computer software engineer of a brother, my international negotiating PR diplomat of a sister, my other upcoming physicist sister, and my retired “mercenary” of a brother—how does vocal performance or literary writing fit? Heck; I even thought for a time at becoming a theologian, of a sorts, which would have only deepened our distinctions more, I imagine.

If I wanted to take this further, I could even mention how out of all four of them, the only one I would pin as a xNFx MBTI would be my older sister, the diplomat. I’m willing to bet my brothers are each some sort of xNTx type. As the lone INFJ, I’m sure you can guess how much fun I have being the emotional person I am in a family of thinkers.

Now before you think I grew up feeling like an outcast in my own family, and though there were days I wondered, I doubted, none of my siblings (or parents) ever made me feel my differences were a source of shame or scorn. Rather, they were all extremely indulging and supportive, attending as many recitals and concerts and productions as possible. They all, too, have both an appreciation of the arts and their own talents, but for whatever reason, I’m the one who’s actually pursued a career in performance (to an extent). To each his own. If I felt any shame, it was only because of my own false perceptions of myself.

That and we also tend to be extremely competitive with one another, especially as intellects. Sibling rivalry anyone? We’re a strange family, but I like it. I enjoy it.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t days, though, when I still feel like the oddball of the group. Lately, I’ve been feeling it more acutely than usual. Probably due to quitting my job, the difficulty of finding another, and the pursuit of establishing a career as a writer. It’s probably more likely, though, that my younger sister has been joining us for Erev Shabbat dinner.

Being a narcoleptic, she can’t really drive herself anymore. If she wants to spend the weekend with family or her boyfriend, then someone needs to pick her up from university. That someone is me, and since Fridays I should be preparing for Shabbat (don’t ask), I have an abundance of time I can fetch her. The compromise is she has to stay for dinner.

I enjoy having a third person joining us for Shabbat dinner (especially since we haven’t been able to host anyone thanks to COVID). It makes it feel less stale in its ritualism. More importantly, it gives my poorly deprived intellectual of a husband the chance to philosophise about mathematics or cosmology with an equal. Did I not tell you he studied to be an engineer and is also an INTJ? I’m surrounded!

From my side of the table, I feel like I’m at a stoa listening to Pythagoras and Euclid argue mathematics. I’m sure both of them would strongly disagree that’s what they’re doing, but as the oddball in the room, I don’t think they fully comprehend how foreign their discussions sound to my plebeian ears. They could be speaking Russian, and I wouldn’t know the difference. (Okay, I would, but only because I’ve sung in Russian.)

For example, this past Shabbat, I left them alone for an hour, departing with a, “So y’all can bound over science or something,” and returned to find them watching some guy on YouTube giving a dissertation on a mathematical theory, which they were viscerally disagreeing with throughout their commentary. When I asked about it, the level of sarcasm in the room exponentially increased to withering levels I had to dismiss myself again.

A different night, I had seen this meme about a black hole and it’s mass, so being the curious by nature person that I am, I asked my sister how the frick astronomists can measure a black hole’s mass.

“It’s not like you can hold up a scale and ask the black hole to step on. ‘Please, Mr. Black, if you could just step here–’” I said, at which point she gave me that scathing look of hers, one eyebrow quirked, so I preemptively interjected, “I know you don’t measure mass with a scale, but you get my point!” With a deep sigh and quick glance at my husband, who gave an infinitesimal shrug as if to say, “Go for it,” she asked, “You really want to know?” Insisting with an emphatic, “Yes!” She began what turned into an hour long lecture about different ways astronomists measure a star’s mass, etc. She’ll make an excellent professor someday.

I honestly don’t remember much she said except they can observe angles and distance, calculating something; then there’s luminosity, too, and probably a lot more I’m forgetting. Of course, I asked if they’re doing this with their naked eyes, to which she exclaimed, “With a telescope!” Half laughing, half shocked by my absurdly ludicrous question.

You should have heard her reaction when we were talking about mathematics, and I referred to the statistics I use to perform in my former job, she interrupted with, “You’re talking about arithmetic, not true mathematics.” As if I had insulted her!

You can see why Erev Shabbat dinners have become a bit alienating, and perhaps why it brings up old feelings I wrestled with throughout adolescence well into my young adult life. Of course now, it doesn’t trigger some sort of existential crisis where I’m screaming, “Why did you make me this way? Where do I belong?” At the heavens because I’ve come to appreciate and enjoy our differences.

Except now that my sister is dating, there’s this other person joining us occasionally. Once Hubs and Sis get deep into their philosophical debates, I will give said manfriend a knowing look and we’ll saunter over to the living room and start talking about anything else. He’s like me in that he’s artistically inclined and an aspiring graphic novelist (the illustration portion, not so much the story from what I understand), which is so great! With him around, I have an artistic buddy and I’m no longer a lone oddball. Right now we talk about our latest projects together, but he’s still warming up to me, so it’s not too in depth, because of course my INTJ sister is dating a fellow introvert.

I can’t wait until we’re in the same room as our older siblings, the four of us. It’ll be fun watching my husband get caught up in the fray, my younger sister (the youngest) start inserting herself more into the conversation, all the while I’ll have someone to talk to as the others duke it out in whatever topic they decided to debate over dinner.

Even now imaging that scenario brings a warm smile to my face because I can hear everyone’s voices shouting over the din, demanding to be heard. Though it might have taken me a bit longer to see it than my siblings, we are all unique individuals who accept and enjoy our differences.

We’re all oddballs.