Do the youngest child truly have it best? Are they the baby who receives the most pampering amongst all?
Papa was the youngest of nine children, five boys and four girls in the family. Aside from whatever would ooze out about the atrocities of WWII in the Philippines and the hiding for three years just like Mama had recollected in her family, denying anything more, hopeful that the war would only last three weeks instead of its eventual three years, Papa would just stare ahead when recollecting any memories of his own father while talking to me.
From what Papa shared, he could only recall cruel words and harsh punishments from his father. Finally, at the peak of adulthood, Papa recalls one day no longer able to take his dad’s insults. With hardly anything, he left for the city.
This did not last long as Papa recalls the hunger he ended up experiencing, even pointing out that you know you are hungry when you are eating off the plaque from the toothpick in your mouth.
Still looking ahead as usual, he then seemingly confessed, that was when he came to the realization how much his own father truly loved him. Upon his humbling return, he learned that his own father had gone after him to the city, looking for him with packed food.
In my years as a child, I learned that upon my grandfather’s passing, Papa had been given all the land inheritance. Sadly, this left my Papa troubles as he found himself with the desire to preserve what his father left him while facing the demands of his siblings to divvy all of the inheritance amongst one another.
While I didn’t know it then, I recall respectfully telling Papa on his last day how my husband and I were fine and wanted nothing from him. As usual, he looked straight ahead without looking at me, with his usual fingers intertwined while his hands sat folded, this time, as he laid in bed. He was fully coherent, like any private conversations we have always had. I remained my gaze upon him as he gave his usual gesture of a silent nod to show me his acknowledgment.
I sensed he understood and I felt both of us released of any unwanted tension upon my words. I felt myself freed from any such future obligation. I knew he trusted and believed me upon me telling him I was fine and he would never have to worry about me. I saw peace in his face that last time with him. I knew he didn’t want to go, but at least he had my peace with him in his journey.
Like I have said before, upon facing moments of decision, you tell yourself you’ve been trained for situations. All it took was to listen to Papa’s recollections of growing up as the youngest all those years with him. From his perspective, there I always saw myself.
My siblings must have viewed my position as being the youngest as some safe-haven, taking note and remarking how Papa would save food for me at times. I saw it different.
My siblings lived well before my eyes, never having the leftovers or the hand-me-downs. I wore clothes Mama made for me, but also any hand-me-downs given I could fit into. I have gone as far as telling classmates it was “the new style” when made fun of it not caring regardless because however old the hand-me-down, to me, they were new.
I believe Papa saw that in me. I have just recently picked up an acoustic guitar I have long bought from a pawn shop to finally place new strings on it. To this day, I feel the presence of those before me who must have held that guitar.
After so many years of enjoying my two oldest brothers being taught to play and listening to them for so many years to follow play in the afternoons or evenings, I laugh to think I can now replay the sounds in my ear and enjoy my own strums.
I used to run around my auntie’s house while pausing to watch at times my youngest brother play the piano as he followed behind my aunt (the middle school teacher whom I admired).
I have a keyboard piano I have yet to seriously get to. Somehow, I have always felt the light belonged to my siblings. It was the joy they gave me in listening or watching each that always made it okay for me to be the one to watch. They were always my stage of great splendor to watch and enjoy.
I believe Papa saw that in me.
As for my sister, I followed her for as long as I felt I should. Papa would tell us to not go further from the house than the sound of his whistle, but whenever my sister would do just that, I was behind her like a Jiminy Cricket, thinking out loud each time, we’d gone too far.
Upon our return, Papa’s eyes would be bulging from a distance. My brave sister would walk toward him to get one swig on her leg as she held her breath to never get another. She would receive one more if not, no other.
Me, on the other hand? I’d run the other way, only to make my awaiting punishment worse.
As I got older, I just held myself accountable for knowing that I led my own paths- I need not follow others into unwanted directions.
This thing about being the baby in the family, being the one most loved, I see so different as a parent now. Perhaps both ringing truth and yet, having been the youngest, I now understand this of me:
I watched as my siblings got to go outside of the home because they were older. I still recall feeling overjoyed to have them around me as I found ways to entertain myself.
I watched as they each were catered to with their talents because they were first in line. I had the blessing of watching and listening as their skills improved. Any talent, if any I had, were my own treasures still to dig out in time.
I watched as they reached out to grab first, happily content with myself as I was left with something when all were done taking. Perhaps this is why I always save the best for last on my plate- I have control over that now.
Having five children, I do not believe to follow the generalization of the order you follow amongst siblings. Each child have their own fight, flight, freeze options at every given opportunity. You can only observe their choices regardless of your level of nurturing.
I have come to learn that sometimes the youngest have caused the greatest troubles in families amidst drinking, drugs, and other abuse to add.
There are those families, when inheritance is in question where the oldest feels they should get everything in the end. Had they not always been first in line every day without even a fight or effort?
There is also that middle child, suggested to be the most ignored in the line of order, but historically, with quite several middle children having come out as the most successful.
Is there guarantee of who you will become based off order within your becoming?
Papa said for me to follow the Ten Commandments. Anything to add after this was driven from such foundation. A rebel at times, I was not a perfect child. Seeing my Papa smoke one day, I rolled up some leaves and lit it up to try and do the same. I tried a real one during junior high as a peace offering to someone I had wronged. The next day, I told them this wasn’t me.
With chocolate and coffee having an adverse effect on me, I see the same with alcohol. None of the adverse effects have been to my liking or desire. In addition to the ten commanded for me to follow, I’m pretty good at being reminded by the heart, mind, body, and spirit to keep me on the path.
Are these choices due to order in line or just mindset?
Are there not children regardless of what order in line they followed where nonetheless, they have come out most righteous, honorable, if not, most fruitful?
On the contrary, one given all attention and most valuables, are there not those who have still to cut their dependency of such gifts?
Are we not each who we are out of the choices we decide to make? While the world will try and generalize each of us, I’ve long understood order has hardly to do with how you will fare in the end.
Sometimes you get the best piece. Sometimes you just tell yourself the last piece is the best piece. Sometimes you get the attention. Sometimes you tell yourself the other needed the attention more. Sometimes you get the new. Sometimes you make it new for you.
Order in line?
Is it not about what you do when it’s your turn that shall matter?
