If you were not the baby of your family, you probably envied the sibling who was.  You thought they got all the attention, were pampered, and spoiled. As the baby of four siblings, I have to disagree.  Here’s the downside of being Baby of the Family:

My older siblings, consisting of a pair of twins and the eldest—were 4 to 5 years older than I was.  This meant that during family meals, I  sat  in a high chair or booster, listening to them conversing among themselves , while I was merely a silent observer.  Do you think this changed when I was an adult?  Absolutely not.  Even when all of us had spouses, they talked politics and money over my head, while my opinion wasn’t even asked for.  I never complained about this to anyone, because I was so accustomed to that left-out feeling.

In the nineteen forties, most people sent and received volumes of printed Christmas Cards.  I remember when I could first read, and the surprise at  seeing my name included in the names of my parents  children.  Wow, I thought, I really am a part of this family.

Then, there was the hand-me-down issue.  That was the day of hand knit sweaters.  After years of wear and washing, they were typically matted and shrunk, but they fit, and if I wanted to stay warm in the winter, there was no alternative.  Other hand me downs included faded dresses, and coats with frayed sleeves and mismatched buttons.  Easter and Christmas were the exceptions.  My mother always sewed new outfits for those occasions.  So I really looked forward to going to church on holidays, in my brand new clothes.

Did I consciously resent wearing mostly hand me downs?  Actually, I never thought about it and I don’t recall feel sorry for myself.  After all, money was scarce, and wearable clothes had to be salvaged.  It was only years  later that  I realized hand me downs made me feel less valued than my older siblings.

The baby of the family is usually sheltered from any bad news.  When my Dad lost his job, I wasn’t told about it.  And yet, I sensed there was something wrong.  Other family mishaps were kept from me, even after I had  left home.  Only when the crisis was resolved did they tell me what had happened.  This was meant to be kindly, but it left me feeling useless.  If I couldn’t help my family through trouble, what good was I?

The past ten years have made me realize the saddest thing of all about being the baby of the family.  My parents and siblings have all passed away, and I am the only one left.  Yes, I have my children, but there’s no relationship so close as that between brothers and sisters who share the same DNA.  Right now, I would give anything to go back to that moment in time when I was sitting at  the family dinner table, mutely listening while the conversation swirled around me.