FONTANA: To whom it may concern

In the words of Usher Raymond IV, “these are my confessions.”

Yes dear readers, I do in fact, have a confession to make: In an earlier column I told you that I could sympathize with the forgotten middles names because I was a middle child. Well, unfortunately, I am not technically speaking, exactly, how do you say, born in the spot that would denote being a middle child. [Gasp.] I know, I know, “liar, liar pants on fire.”

But before you go sharpen your pitchforks and burn me at the stake, I’ve got something else to say — yes folks, it gets worse — not only am I not a middle child, but I am in fact, dare I say it — whatever you are thinking just make it about a 260 times worse — yes, that’s right, I am indeed, most indubitably, in the very nature of fact, a twin.

And oh, the shame! (he was ashamed!) Thought of changing my name! (what’s in a name!) And I got downhearted! (how did you feel?) Every time my twin and I … David, not in front of the kids. Oh, sorry.

Seriously, how dare I let you read something by a twin! I should have named my column “It’s a trap!” It’s like I have only half of a soul or something. It’s almost worse than being a ginger.

But it’s not as bad as you monozygotes think. So listen up singletons! It’s time we debunked some of those pesky myths about twinhood:

Myth: Twins share ESP.

False. Twins prefer to use ESP separately. They just share everything else.

Myth: There is a good twin and bad twin in every pair.

True. Twins are in fact the root of all good and evil in the world. See Genesis 226:733.

Myth: You can’t always tell twins apart.

False. Every twin has a small mark on the bottom of their left heel that denotes whether they are the good twin or the bad twin.

Myth: Twins must be educated separately in school or they will, in fact, take over the world.

True.

Just because I lied, it doesn’t make me the bad twin, okay! I only missed the middle-child boat by 3 minutes, though she won’t ever let me forget it. Yes, my twin is a girl named Alice Marie Fontana (clearly we’re identical twins). And, although we may share a last name, we’ve got almost nothing else in common. Whenever I describe her to someone, all I say is that we’re polar opposites.

And if you’re thinking she and I are mirror images of each other, then they must be some funky fun-house mirrors we’re looking in. Besides our freckles, we don’t even look alike, let alone dress alike. The last time we wore matching outfits was when we were still in cribs and diapers — let me tell you, our onesies were pretty fly. With a funhouse comes a circus, and like in any circus, being a twin has been quite the artful balancing act.

We’re kind of like Artemis and Apollo (yeah, that’s right, I just elevated us to Greek Gods status. What’re you going to do about it, punk?). She’s got brown hair, and I’ve got blond. She’s the athlete in the family (the hunter if you will), while I played in the band (the drums aren’t exactly a lyre, but who’s counting anyways). Even when we were newborns, she stayed up all night long while I had my adventures during the day — you can be sure that our parents were overjoyed with this last one.

So maybe we didn’t live on Mount Olympus, or even get a TV show like Tia and Tamara, but hey, being a regular fraternal twin is still pretty awesome.

The truth is, there’s something special about being a twin. Growing up, we knew all of the same people, all of the same songs, TV shows, places, jokes. That’s not to say our tastes weren’t different, because believe me, they were (we couldn’t both get the “impeccable taste” gene … that one went to me). Still, although we may not even have the same nose, more than being my polar opposite, she really is just my other half, the yin to my yang, the South Pole to my North. I definitely wouldn’t have made it this far in life without her, and even though we go to school in different states, she’s still the most important support system for me all those 1,086 miles away.

As of this past Tuesday, Feb. 26, we’ve put in a solid 22 years together (not including all of that extra womb time) — 22 years of laughter, car rides, fighting, friendship. 22 years of singing “go shawty, it’s your birthday.” 22 years of (hashtag) twinning.

I’m not always a twin, but when I am, I prefer to be her twin. So here’s to 22 years Alice! Happy belated birthday. I love you lil’A.

 

David Fontana is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences and a weekly columnist for the Daily Free Press. He can be reached at fontad5@bu.edu

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