I tried to phone you today, but you didn’t pick up. I tried to email you, but you haven’t replied yet. So, I’m sending in out a blog post to you. So JM, Happy Birthday!
[EDITED] I had to rewrite this post to clear up some words that did not describe my thoughts in the right light. Having a bunch of sisters hunting me down is not good either. I may still add and subtract some passages below.
For those of you who do not know me that well, or have not met all of my family, I have a lot of sisters. I’m the only boy in the family–nothing but baby sisters. What does this mean for me? As one friend of mine said–“it is no wonder that you are not gay with that much estrogen floating around you growing up.” JM is the middle sister of four with an older and younger sister on either side of her based on age and height.
FYI, I’m the shortest, and the youngest is 3 cm taller. The trend is, the older you are in the pecking order, the shorter you are as an adult. I attribute this to having parents who heavily smoked cigarettes throughout our lives growing up.
Perhaps being in the middle of the pack, herd, or whatever you want to call a littler of children, is the safest place to be. You’re not the eldest, so mom and dad didn’t have to practice parenting on you when you were first being raised. You are not at the other end of the time spectrum either as the baby, where you remain the baby for the rest of your life as “the baby” of the family, permanently stuck with that label. And having older and younger sisters too, along with an older brother is a huge benefit–you can hide amongst the crowd during the inquisitions.
From my vantage point I think you had it good. You have a baby sister to blame stuff onto. You were not the final dumping grounds for the hand-me-downs. Plus being the middle child you could get away from embarrassing and potentially aggravating situations, such as helping dad out as being one of his test subjects for when he plaid the banjo, or being a taster for one of mom’s cooking experiments.