Growing up as the youngest of three children often felt like walking down a red carpet laid out just for me. I am genuinely thankful to be the youngest child in my family, despite all the times I had to wear hand-me-downs, had to settle for the last pick on the Barbie to play with (which without fail always happened to be the one colored with weird marker stains and an oddly cut hairstyle), or even when I had the last to call dibs on the front seat and was instead punished to the middle seat. Being the youngest can come with its own set of unique experiences and dynamics within the family that the middle or oldest child can’t relate to. I cannot deny that at the time, the hand-me-downs, last picks, and backseat assignments often felt unfair to me. In fact, I recall many tantrums occurring as a result, but I digress. I cannot speak for all youngest children because I know some still have older siblings who never grew out of the tattletale or know-it-all phase, but for me, being the hand-me-down kid hasn't been all that bad.

Stereotypes might label the youngest as spoiled, bratty, or copycat prone, and I won't dispute that sentiment, as I can attest to embodying those traits at times. I would only like to add onto that pleasant list of adjectives because I think there's so much more to being the youngest child. As the baby of the family, you can also develop resilience, adaptability, and appreciation for what you have even further.

 When you finally are granted a seat at the big kids' table or let in on the inside joke, you quickly develop a sense of appreciation for what you have because for so long you were the one who Mom had to put to bed at eight p.m. while the big kids got to play outside for another hour.

 I can showcase my adaptability in the proof that I found significance in every worn and faded hand-me-down. Of course, I love the feeling of a brand-new shirt. Who doesn't? My point though is that there's a unique sentimentality attached to wearing a shirt that once belonged to my older sister, reminiscent of her own experiences at my age. I was able to adapt to the fact that hand-me-downs were the reality of being the last born. 

Over the years my resilience was tested despite my efforts. I was outperformed in every domain. Every sport, every game, and every wrestling match my older siblings  won; the only way to get to their level was to keep trying. When you are at the bottom of the food chain, the odds are against you, but I see these humble beginnings as an asset to life. And on the other hand if you are still a bit bratty, entitled, and prone to copy your siblings, that's okay too. As a rut of the litter it is our birthright to annoy the older siblings.

Being the youngest child in my family always meant having built-in companionship and someone to turn to for advice or guidance. In my adolescence, I took this guidance as a step-by-step guide to what I need to do in order to be just like my brother and sisters. That was where I went wrong. It was always a case of “Oh if they can do it then I can too,” since we share the same bloodline. After a while, I realized this was not the case. When my brother, Reaghan, joined the marching band, I recall being envious of all his funny stories from band camp and all the friends he gained as a result. As soon as my school allowed 5th graders to join the beginner's band, I jumped at the opportunity, following in my brother's footsteps with the trumpet. I tried that out for two years and began to realize  I didn't have that same spark of passion my brother did for the trumpet. You would think that this would have made me want to end this copycat phase since it wasn't working out for me so well. Instead, I insisted on trying to run track in middle school. In my mind, all my siblings did it, therefore, I also can get a 5:45 second mile p.r. Easy, right? Wrong! Halfway through my first-ever mile race, I quit.When reflecting, I realized  it was less about the failure to complete the mile that bothered me and more the lack of similarity between me and my siblings. I was about to enter high school, and I knew I had to finally let go of this misconception that I am an exact replica of my siblings. I can still be similar to them while also having my own identity that maybe just doesn't play the trumpet and avoids running at all costs.

I eventually found a new hobby, worked on not completely plagiarizing my siblings' entire personalities and lifestyles, and finally paved my own path that actually felt like me. After some reflection on my own experience, I found that being the youngest child can be summed up as a world shaped by hand-me-downs, shared rooms, and following in the footsteps of older siblings. This birth order inevitably also presents challenges in developing one's own identity. Because of this, I feel the youngest child has this sacred perspective on their siblings and just life in general that should be explored and spoken about more. I suggest we celebrate the unique perspective of the youngest sibling. Perhaps if we do this, we can create a balance between embracing the joy of being part of a family while simultaneously defining your sense of self.