Growing up, my name was not Andrea. It was Baby Hubes, Lil’ Hoob, or [insert sibling name here]’s little sister. I used to hate being the baby of the family and always begged my parents to have another kid. My childhood consisted of hand-me-downs from the late ’90s and early 2000s, getting experimented on with different colors of lip gloss and eye shadow, and being the dumb student when playing “school” with my older siblings. Having an older sister and brother was a curse as a young kid.
My brother and I were known in our extended family as being the ones always fighting and beating each other up (mostly him beating me up), andI was popular among my friends as the girl who would come to school with a black eye or a rug-burned knee because my brother and I had been wrestling the day before.
Now that I’m older, I’ve realized being the youngest is actually quite a blessing. I’ve learned everything I know about my parents from my older siblings. For instance, I know exactly how they are going to react, and how I should respond, when I’m late for curfew or when my room is a disaster. This is not from my own experience, but from seeing my siblings make the same mistakes so many years ago. I’ve seen my sister get grounded for burping at the dinner table or getting her door taken off for slamming it when she’s mad, and guess what? I don’t do that because I’ve grown up seeing the wrath of my parents, and I’m scared of it.
Now that I’m older, I actually love having an older brother who taught me to be tough and suck it up when things aren’t going my way. Also, as the youngest, I’ve gotten to be a maid of honor in my sister’s wedding, and my nephew was born when I was 16, one of the biggest blessings to ever happen to me.
Growing up as the youngest was difficult, but it has taught me so much in life. I have learned humility, respect, and mediation because of this. Being the baby may have been a curse years ago, but now it’s kind of an awesome thing.