Becky was my wild child. I understand that there is an ancient mother’s curse: “May you grow up to have a child just like YOU!” Eve probably started it and it’s been in force ever since. I suspect that in our case we were probably too much alike in all the ways that lead to potential conflict.
My father was a dichotomy wrapped in dysfunction. He was a type A “glad-hander” – always ready to shake your hand with a big smile whether he knew you or not. But he couldn’t pay a compliment to save his life. He was a strict disciplinarian whose approach to “spare the rod, spoil the child” ensured we would never feel spoiled. But he provided us with the tools of play (toys) that would (in my case anyway) activate imagination and encourage creativity.