In order to be a middle child, I have to have a younger sibling.
Of course, I don’t have just any younger sibling.
First, she’s a girl. Yuck.
Then, she’s adopted. Oh, everyone loves her and wants to know how she’s doing.
She’s fine. She’s popular. She’s a hoot. Stop asking.
But, the part that gets everyone is that she’s from Africa. She’s “beautiful,” tall (almost taller than me – yikes!), has an African name that everyone loves: Jemila, and she’s athletic.
Everything that I am not (not that I want to be beautiful – handsome, which I am still not).
And, she gets everything she wants.
Dolls, her own legos (because they are for girls), and worst of all, clothes.
You see, I have yet to get an original piece of clothing. Why? Because I can just wear everything that was given to my brother that he barely wore because he grew out of them so fast.
(I forgot to share that because I am “young” for my grade, so I’ve always been shorter than my classmates, whereas my brother has been over 5’8” since 7th grade).
Back to the clothes. My sister gets all new stuff. Just because she is a girl.
One time, my mom tried to get her to wear one of my old coats. She came home saying that a boy on the playground made fun of her coat. He called it a boy coat. What happened? She got a new coat from L.L. Bean ordered that very afternoon. But, the crazy thing is that, when mom was on the computer asking her what color she wanted for her coat, I could have sworn I saw my sister wink at me like there never was a boy, and she just wanted a new coat.
I have never had a new coat and one time, my parents bought Jacob a girl’s coat by accident – it was in the clearance section of the store and it was grey, so they got it for him. Once they figured out it was a girls coat, I still had to wear it.
It’s like they can’t even hear me say that, just for once, I would like something new, something of my own, that started its time in our family with me.