A word to wise newly married couples… if
you’re going to have kids have one, two or four but NEVER three. For
your happiness and that of your family avoid the much dreaded middle
child. Believe me, I was one. The first child is always the best and
brightest to be born ever since that kid who was born in a barn in
Bethlehem. It’s true, my brother was highly intelligent, graduated
number three in his class at West Point and got an MBA from MIT. That’s
not bad for the son of an alcoholic father. I was the proverbial second
son who grew up on leftovers and hand-me-downs and my spoiled sister was
the spoiled baby of the family. After having two boys my mom REALLY
wanted a daughter which she finally got on the third try. So to recap,
you had the perfect first son, the spoiled baby daughter and hey,
remember me in the middle?
The problem
being the second son is that I couldn’t bring anything new to the
table. No new anatomical plumbing to stare at or cute little boy-dresses
to buy. The newness had already been worn off by the time I arrived. My
brother’s baby book is crammed full of photos, locks of hair and every
page is filled out down to his first patoot. Whereas my mother seems to
have lost interest in baby boys by the time I came around because she
didn’t write anything in my baby book after only completing half of my
first name. I swear… it’s empty!
While
it may be hard to believe I was ever a quiet person I’m told by people
who knew me then that I didn’t talk until I was three years old and that
was because my brother did all the talking for both of us. And this
never changed. I’m not surprised I became a writer because that’s the
only way I could get a word in edgewise.
You
may think I’m exaggerating but I have statistical proof that I was the
odd one out. Back when I was a kid pickups only came with one bench seat
in the cab that would hold three adults and a baby on mommy’s lap.
Count with me now… there’s a father, mother, first child, baby and… oh,
where’s that other kid? In the back of the truck with the dog, that’s
where. I didn’t know that trucks had heaters until I was old enough to
buy my own truck.
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