How many kids do you want when you grow up? Answer this question honestly. Really think about your answer. You know what? Think about your kids. Think about how many siblings they want. Think about what would be a better growing environment. Think about how you would divide your attention. Have you come up with an answer?
You guys probably already know this; I'm the middle child…out of five kids. You see, my parents really wanted a boy so they kept trying until they gave birth to one. They ended up with five kids.
When people ask me how many kids I want when I grow up, they're always surprised by my answer. I only want one kid (maybe, but highly unlikely; two).
"Aren't you happy growing up with a lot of siblings?"
Well, I'm thankful now. I love my siblings. It's just that sometimes, when it's this crowded, you feel incredibly alone.
You know how in movies and television shows, the middle child is always the one who's a little askew? Well…there's a reason for my situation. When it's this crowded, everyone wants attention. Ann, my oldest sister, got a lot of attention naturally because she was the oldest. Linda, the second child, received a lot of attention because she was the most adorable. Even I thought she was adorable. Kimberly, my younger sister, was born two days after my grandparents moved to California so she was a favorite. And Alexander, our only brother, that explains itself.
Where does that leave me? I am the chubby middle child. No kidding. I had a nickname. It was Fat and Lazy.
Let me tell you why you don't want more than two kids. When you have three, you're stuck with a middle child. No matter what you think, you will never give this middle child as much attention as the other children.
I was born left-handed. I learned how to write with my left hand. I went through kindergarten, first, and second grade writing with my left hand. When I reached third grade, my parents got us a tutor. She was the only person who realized that I was left-handed. She pointed that out to my parents. Can you imagine? I was eight when they made me switch from left to right. I've already learned how to write.
I remember thinking that I was so incredibly fucked up and that there was something wrong with me for being the only person who's left-handed. I remember being ashamed and for what? I'm not the parent who neglected to teach their child. What really upsets me now is that they made me feel as though I was flawed.
After that situation my writing is no longer legible; not even to me. I still draw with my left hand. I couldn't exactly teach myself to draw all over again.
Thanks mom and dad.---------------