A few years back, I was in a bookstore and stumbled upon a book called The Birth Order Book: Why You Are the Way you Are by Dr. Kevin Lehman. I read this book cover to cover in one flight from Phoenix to Columbus, Ohio and concluded that Lehman was a genius. But then again, I was always looking for some kind of reason or justification as to why I was different from my sister, or anyone else in my family for that matter, and Lehman helped prove my case.
There was a great story in the book about some sort of birth order convention that Dr. Lehman held or hosted or attended (like I said, it was a while back.) All the attendees were put into groups based on where they fit in their particular families - firstborns and only children in Group A, middle children in Group B, and youngest or babies of the family in Group C. Then the groups were handed a piece of paper with an assignment written down that needed to be completed within 10 minutes. Apparently Group A "the over-achieving first-borns" spent the entire 10 minutes discussing who was going to be the leader and how they would position themselves on the assigned task. They were overthinking perfectionists who wanted to get it right.
Now over in Group B with the middle children, things were going a little differently. Group B decided on the leader and the presentation idea within the first 1.5 minutes and then spent the next 8.5 minutes socializing and getting to know each other. By the end of the 10-minute task they all knew each other's spouse's and pets' names, where they all lived and went to school and what they'd had for dinner the last seven nights in a row.
Meanwhile, over in Group C with the babies of the family, it was a whole other story. The stereotypical youngest of the family clown or joker, typically wasn't taken too seriously, so the book said. Whether this comes from years of everyone in the family repeatedly telling the baby how cute he is, or because mom and dad are done parenting by the time junior arrives. This explains why group C failed to choose a leader within 10 minutes and managed to lose their slip of paper with their assignment written on it. Within a few seconds of being handed their paper one of the "babies" started to telling jokes and then everything went to hell in a hand basket.
How do the results of the birth order seminar support my case, you might wonder? Because I am a middle child - "a socializer and a peacemaker." A couple of years ago I went to Ohio to spend a few days taking care of my mom after she'd had surgery. My plan was to fly in for a few days, make some easy Midwest meals (sloppy Joe's and grilled cheese) and pour a bowl of Bran Flakes for her for breakfast five times. Maybe l would do a little laundry
while she napped through her drug-induced afternoons and then get on the plane and fly home on day five, right? Wrong! It might have gone this way if my five-day nursing stint had not followed my sister, a.k.a. "Miss First Born Mother Theresa meets Martha Stewart."
It couldn't have been more of a cruel joke that I, the master of chaos, had to follow her. Looking back, I was screwed from the get-go and never should have taken the trip. Either I clearly didn't think things through completely, or maybe I felt an overwhelming urge to get away from my family fora few days, but whatever it was, let's just go with, big mistake.
Mom and I spent the first 10 minutes catching up - after that my weaknesses began to show. I let clutter pile up on the kitchen counters, didn't change the clothes from the washer to the dryer soon enough, mixed darks with lights, had inadequate weed pulling skills and clearly didn't know much about cooking in an iron skillet - and Mom let me know it, too. In fact, we had a pretty big blow-up over that iron skillet as I recall. I don't remember the exact details of the argument, but it ended with, "You are nothing like your sister." [Ouch.]
That hurt. But in my defense, how could I be like her? She was perfect. Where she made her own croutons and toasted pecans in the oven for her gourmet salads, I bought bagged salads in the produce section. Where she cleaned her house every week as if a team of surgeons were coming in to perform a heart by-pass operation on her kitchen counter, I cleaned my house when there was enough dog hair around the baseboards to gather it up and form it into a small poodle. She cooked homemade meals every night for her family, and I don't mean sloppy Joe's either. Cooking a big meal for me is spending about 45 seconds debating whether I should buy the cheese and garlic croutons or go with the straight "seasoned."
So, thanks to Dr. Kevin Lehman, I often ponder the birth order phenomenon and its impact on me. Am I just a non-perfectionistic middle child from Group B, or am I just lazy? My Group A sister says she really enjoys all of these things - toasting, cooking, cleaning, and ironing and such. Me - not so much.
I thought about my poor Mom and her predicament. Imagine how confused she was when I flew into town to take over for Martha Stewart. To make matters worse, my sister and I nearly look like twins, so much so, that when our kids were toddlers, they used to go up to the wrong Mommy for comfort or a cookie. I can see where that might have added to mom's post-surgery pain medicine induced fog.
As I was headed to the airport I wondered if mom was questioning her parenting skills. How could the same mother raise one perfect "Mother Theresa/Martha Stewart-esque" daughter and one somewhat messy, bad weed-pulling, laundry-mixing, imperfect daughter? Afterall, this was my mom we're talking about ... so she taught me everything she knew, right?
Shelli Netko 2009 ©
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