
Why do I still see my siblings as the people they were in childhood?
This is a two-way street. She is a fashion designer and exquisite draughtsperson – which I, also, after many decades, have yet to wrap my head around – but she can't drive, and if ever she is a passenger when I'm driving, she is on red alert, pointing out things – mainly other cars, pedestrians, trees – as if, without her intervention, I would plough straight into them. Our brother is a skilled decorator and, when he uses words such as 'primer' and 'dust sheet', I can't help looking at him as if a cat is talking. He is a photographer by profession, and, even if we point the same phone at the same object, he creates images that are unfathomably deeper and more pleasing than mine. I look on this not so much as a knowledge base he has that I don't, and more like an act of hocus-pocus. My other brother is a maths teacher, my other sister is a physicist, and I cannot describe how fanciful I find it that they may really be doing these jobs. Obviously, I have to pretend to believe it. I don't even know whether you get wired in childhood to think all knowledge is equally distributed because otherwise it isn't fair, or that every fine difference in skillset is just a question of whoever is younger catching up. But no amount of adulthood can overturn it.
Anyway, I couldn't help but notice that, after it rained, the garden looked amazing. It's possible my sister is right on this one thing.
Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist

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