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Sunday's Child - by Bruin Fisher

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Sunday’s Child

I’m one of seven. We’re a big family. The oldest is Moncrieff, then there’s Dean, then Wendy, Donny, Freddie, Sam and me. I’m Sonny, the baby of the family. If you’re also the youngest in your family, you’ll know: how ever old, and grown-up you get, you never stop being the baby – which may suit some, but I’m twenty-one and I’d like to be taken seriously sometimes.

My Dad is Mum’s second husband; of the seven of us only Sam and me are his kids strictly speaking, but he’s brought us all up as his since Monkey was nine. Monkey? He’s always been Monkey -Moncrieff is a name you could write down but you can’t actually call someone that.

Anyway I was telling you this really weird thing about our family. We never knew until this year, it’s not the sort of thing that you know unless you get told. Well, it turns out that we were each born on subsequent days of the week – starting from Monkey who was born on a Monday, and ending with me – I was born on a Sunday. It’s the most amazing coincidence. It couldn’t be anything but coincidence, could it? You can’t arrange your child’s birth on a particular day, I don’t think.

The weirdness doesn’t end there, either. There’s this old nursery rhyme:

Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for his living,
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is blithe and bonny, good and gay.

And it all fits us as a family. Monkey works for a modelling agency. Dean is a vicar. Wendy got in with a bad crowd in her teen years and although she’s been sober for over two years, she’s still on anti-depressants and having weekly therapy sessions. I wish she would sort her life out, Mum worries about her so. I digress; Donny is currently in Bhutan, hitch-hiking his way around the world. At least we think that’s where he is, he hasn’t been in touch for over a month, another source of worry for Mum. Freddy is her rock and a shoulder to cry on. He still lives at home and although he hasn’t found a ‘proper job’ yet, he volunteers at the food bank five days a week. He’s the opposite of our Sam, who is studying to be a lawyer and interning for a law firm in the city and we don’t see much of her although she still has a room here that she occasionally sleeps in.

Which leaves me. Oh, and one other thing I should tell you about our names. We were named after the days of the week when we were born. In German, because Mum is originally from Germany. So Moncrieff is named after Montag, Dean after Dienstag, Wendy – well, the German Mittwoch doesn’t really lend itself to a name for a little girl so Mum named her Wendy after the English Wednesday. Back to German for Donny named after Donnerstag, Freddy after Freitag, Sam after Samstag and me after Sonntag.

It was only this year that Mum told us the day of the week we were each of us born on, and the link to the nursery rhyme. I still don’t know how it works. How our lives could have mirrored the rhyme so closely without our knowledge.

But I’m about ready to come out to the family, and now we all know what the rhyme says about me I think they must have an inkling already, so that’s a plus.

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