Pictured, from left, in birth order, is my sister Faith, me, my sister Grace, and my brother Layne.
People always ask, “What’s it like being a triplet?” Honestly, if anyone ever figures that out, please let me know. I’ve been one my whole life, and I’m still not sure how to answer that question correctly. It’s like asking someone what it’s like to have hands. They’ve always been there, so I really don’t know any different.
My mom was determined the world knew she had triplets. Her method of making that clear? Matching outfits, of course. Every family photo looks like a slightly unsettling Old Navy ad with three kids in identical shirts, lined up by height and birth order, smiling through the pain. It didn’t matter that we weren’t identical. I have brown hair, my brother Layne’s a redhead, and our sister Grace, well, she’s a girl. Apparently, what we lacked in matching DNA, we made up for in matching outfits.
Then there’s our older sister, Faith. She went from being the star of the show to suddenly sharing the spotlight with three tiny co-stars who demanded all the attention. Somehow, she handled it like a champ. I just hope she hasn’t been plotting her quiet revenge this entire time.
People often assumed we had some kind of supernatural triplet connection, like if Layne stubbed his toe, I’d suddenly clutch my foot in pain from across the room. Spoiler: it doesn’t work like that. The only thing we could feel from each other was irritation. And that, we felt plenty.
Even though we don’t look much alike, I still constantly get called Layne by my mom. Layne, the one with bright red hair. Occasionally, I even hear Grace’s name thrown out there, but honestly, I can’t blame her. After raising three kids the same age, she’s earned the right to take a few guesses. At this point, I just answer to whatever name she throws out first.
My parents also made sure we stayed together in school. From kindergarten all the way through elementary, we were in the same class. It was like our own tiny reality show called “Triplets in Training.” When we finally got split up in middle school, it felt like the band breaking up right before their big tour. One minute we were a package deal, and the next, we were solo acts trying to figure out how to survive without our built-in backup singers.
Then came the driving era, which could have been its own sitcom. Since we all got our permits around the same time, we had to share one car. And because we each had to log a certain number of driving hours, that poor car never got a break. By the time we were all done, that car had seen so many hours behind the wheel it was practically ready to take the test itself.
When test day finally came, we all took our driving tests back-to-back in the same car with the same instructor. Grace went first and passed. Layne went second and passed. By the time it was my turn, the pressure was unreal. I was the last hope for a perfect triplet sweep. Luckily, I passed too, though I do wonder if the instructor was just too tired to fail me at that point.
And for the record, we’re one minute apart. I’m the oldest by 60 whole seconds. It doesn’t sound like much, but I’ve seen things they wouldn’t understand, like the first minute of life.
So, what’s it like being a triplet? I still don’t have a great answer. But I can tell you this: it’s triple the fun, triple the chaos, and unfortunately, triple the chance of being called the wrong name.