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[ooc: Obviously entirely my own backstory as canon gives us nothing about Adam's childhood]
I was the middle child, actually, though the oldest son, which was something that mattered back then and gives your birth order charts a bit of a twist if you're going to start analyzing me based on that. Mary was the oldest by three years, and Stephen was three years younger. There were others in between, I think, but Mother either miscarried or they died in infancy.
Mary was the rebel. She felt she should have been a boy, I think, with ideas in her head that were centuries ahead of her time. Watching Mother's life, she knew she didn't want that for herself, swore even when she was just ten she wasn't going to have it. I don't think she expected it to go the way it did, of course, and given that, I sometimes think she might have preferred the life she disdained, but she never said so. She never lost that arrogant tilt to her chin, that determined look in her eye that looked out at the world and swore that she was going to own it one day and no one was going to hold her back and may God smite anyone who tried.
Stephen, on the other hand, was the dreamer. Even when things went badly, we tried to give him that, to protect him from the harsh realities of life. We'd play make believe and encourage him to think that life was different, because we didn't want him having to face what was out there. Mother said we were setting him up for a fall, and maybe we were, but Mary and I couldn't stand for him to have to know the things we did. He was...special. Delicate, in some ways. He got sick a lot, probably because he was so young when we moved. Mary and I at least got a decent start in life in terms of nutrition and what care there was in those days, but Stephen was only five, and the air and the food and the things down in our new part of town...they weren't good for any of us, but he was so young, so we did what we could to make it better for him however we could.
And then there was me, trying to take care of Stephen and keep Mary from getting herself in the stocks or hung or tied to a stake and convince Mother that it was all right when she knew it wasn't. Is it any wonder I developed a fondness for whiskey?
I was the middle child, actually, though the oldest son, which was something that mattered back then and gives your birth order charts a bit of a twist if you're going to start analyzing me based on that. Mary was the oldest by three years, and Stephen was three years younger. There were others in between, I think, but Mother either miscarried or they died in infancy.
Mary was the rebel. She felt she should have been a boy, I think, with ideas in her head that were centuries ahead of her time. Watching Mother's life, she knew she didn't want that for herself, swore even when she was just ten she wasn't going to have it. I don't think she expected it to go the way it did, of course, and given that, I sometimes think she might have preferred the life she disdained, but she never said so. She never lost that arrogant tilt to her chin, that determined look in her eye that looked out at the world and swore that she was going to own it one day and no one was going to hold her back and may God smite anyone who tried.
Stephen, on the other hand, was the dreamer. Even when things went badly, we tried to give him that, to protect him from the harsh realities of life. We'd play make believe and encourage him to think that life was different, because we didn't want him having to face what was out there. Mother said we were setting him up for a fall, and maybe we were, but Mary and I couldn't stand for him to have to know the things we did. He was...special. Delicate, in some ways. He got sick a lot, probably because he was so young when we moved. Mary and I at least got a decent start in life in terms of nutrition and what care there was in those days, but Stephen was only five, and the air and the food and the things down in our new part of town...they weren't good for any of us, but he was so young, so we did what we could to make it better for him however we could.
And then there was me, trying to take care of Stephen and keep Mary from getting herself in the stocks or hung or tied to a stake and convince Mother that it was all right when she knew it wasn't. Is it any wonder I developed a fondness for whiskey?
