As the youngest of eight children, I grew up with a bunch of perks. Some recent developments, however, make me think the gravy train has started to slow down.
My siblings remind me all the time how easy I had it growing up. They joke that I was my parents’ favorite. I don’t deny that I had it good, but I think that happened more because the first seven kids wore out my parents. They didn’t like me more – they just were sick of dealing with things.
That’s how I ended up having a small exception to the “we won’t buy anyone a car” rule. I didn’t get a car, but we did end up with an extra vehicle during my later teenage years when my Dad got a company car at the same time we already had two perfectly fine vehicles (well, if a green Ford Pinto hatchback qualifies as “perfectly fine”).
The brother and sister closest to me were home from college for the summer around this time so the rationale I remember is that the extra car would make life easier for all of us. But I probably did benefit more than anyone else, especially during the busy school year.
I look back on things like that more and more fondly with each passing year, especially since my siblings are starting to ruin each and every great memory I have of being the youngest. They have started to do something which completely changes the family dynamic.
They have started to retire.
When the first one announced her plans, I felt a wave of joy. I knew she had worked hard and deserved to enjoy the next phase of her life. Her husband had retired a few years ago so they had plenty of adventures ahead.
Then a second sister retired earlier this month. And a brother made a comment about the kind of place where he would like to set down roots after retiring.
Pretty soon, I’ll be outnumbered. I love social networking but will eventually have to quit Facebook because my feed will have nothing but pictures of my siblings enjoying the good life as I continue to slave away.
Sure, I may have had a few more chances to drive a car by myself as a teenager, but that hardly makes up for the constant trips to Disney or the beach that I will have to hear about over the next decade or so.
To pile on, another sibling has started to work from home so I have to hear about the “difficult” commute down the hall to his home office. I just can’t catch a break these days.
One of the worst things about growing up the youngest in a large family is that I had seven historians following my every move. Well, not every move, just the ones that would make embarrassing stories.
They have continued this role, but now they only chronicle the good things in their lives. And I can’t even get my revenge because they won’t care when I get a chance to retire. This just isn’t fair.