I remember. My whole life, I remember a first that was a last. I remember being tucked in under bedsheets that had been tucked over bodies years before I was even here. Putting on clothes that didn’t fit right, worn out with love from my older siblings. The food that filled the cupboards, the seat in the van no one wanted, the sports I played, all an imprint from those before.
I learned love through being a “last”. I learned what it meant to be a mosaic of all those before you.
I always thought I hated being the youngest, I thought that it made me something forgotten, an afterthought. My siblings would tease me and leave me out. They would trick me, as siblings do, into making them a snack by enticing me with a timer: how fast can you go? Which got me every time. I felt like I was always just missing; almost there; never reaching. How hard is it to have a path set, have people who have followed, and be expected to be that for not only myself, but the people I love. It is a different expectation.
But, as I have grown and faced the role of the youngest child, I now feel a love for it. A love for the knowledge that I hold, the support I receive, and the freedom to break the mold of being the youngest. The teasing I endured taught me not to take life too seriously, that there is always someone waiting to make me laugh. The clothes and bedsheets I inherited showed me how warm I feel when surrounded by things, people, and places that I love. Sharing a room gave me a sense of patience, respect, and compromise.
So now, as I go on to graduation , a milestone met by 5 before me, I feel ready. Ready to cling on to my role in the family and take it wherever I go, knowing I can always return home. Always return back to being the youngest. Always met with “I remember.”
Skyline Learning Center 