I’m the one in the Middle, I must be the Green Kangaroo

When I was little my brother would torture me by saying, “You are adopted!” He backed up this accusation with the fact that there were no baby pictures of me. There were baby pictures of him taken every other week, a cute little baby book with all his baby milestones written in my mothers beautiful script.

Being the first born child he received an abundance of attention. Birthday parties with two cakes surrounded by ALL the relatives, party hats, noise makers, and presents galore.
He got all the new stuff. New crib, new baby clothes, new coats, new shoes, and so on. He was born with my father’s eyes, nose, and ears, my mother’s hair and chin complete with the cleft. He was the most desirable…not only first born, but he was a son, the last child that could carry on the family name.

When I came along eighteen months later, there were no newborn pictures, no baby book, no new bassinet, and no new booties. I started to believe my brother’s claims because the only picture of me, was of us…”This is the day we brought you home from the adoption agency.” In this picture I appeared to be 8 months old and he was holding me on his lap…I was leaning to one side and looked all jacked up. I had no hair, green eyes that neither my mother nor father possessed, a cute little nose which is not a family trait, and beautiful hands. Not the large masculine hands of my brother, mother, or father.

And then 18 months later my sister came along. She was tiny, frail, and sickly. There were many pictures of her coming home from the hospital in a shoebox. A relative took pictures of the five of us on the most disgusting leatherette couch. And then there were several of my brother and I holding our miniature sister across our laps. Looking back now I think there were so many pictures of her because they never really expected her to survive. She looked just like…my brother. With her blue eyes, prominent nose, dimples in cheeks and the deep one on her chin. She didn’t look adopted!

My brother would explain how they had just gone to this huge home and picked me out, he made up elaborate tales about how the doctor had told my parents about this orphanage and how it didn’t even cost my parent any money to adopt me.
And then there was our family doctor who I was quite sure was in on the whole escapade, because he would tell me every time I saw him, right before he gave me my shots, “You know…your mother really wanted another boy.” “After she gave birth to you she asked, ‘Is it a boy?’ when I told her no, she said I could keep you.” “So really, you are my girl.”

I tried hard to please my parents, to be the most well behaved in church, the first child to learn to read, tried everything on my plate, I even ate brussels sprouts because my siblings wouldn’t try them. I professed to like everything my brother and sister DIDN’T, just to make my parents happy.

One day my mother was fussing at me and I just started weeping hysterically because I had disappointed her. I begged her not to take me back to the orphanage. She was startled! She cleared up the whole adoption controversy and told my brother to quit teasing me about being adopted.

But that feeling, the one of being different has plagued me for years. It took up residence a long time ago and never moved on. I never felt like I belonged, I fought hard to receive attention but more often than not, because I was good, I was ignored. I would entertain myself for hours in creative play, reading, or just observing things and people around me. I didn’t mind being alone. I was good in school, I was good at home, I learned to make people laugh, I never made waves conscientiously, and I did my chores without complaining. I have worked hard to overcome my feelings of inferiority and insecurity. I learned that being clever and quick witted often at others’ expense was ok and it was socially accepted. All of this I have come to realize I did, just to ‘fit-in’.

I wondered if my need to gather people is based on this need to feel a sense of belonging or connected. Never wanting to sever ties in any relationship and not moving entirely along-alone. When I end a relationship there is always that power play that I don’t want to lose their friendship or cut off communication. I bargain with the, “We are adults we can be friends.” In many ways, I still feel orphaned, like the old teddy bear no one plays with anymore. Divorced with grown sons, both of my parents and my brother deceased and communication with my sister as always strained, I gather others and don’t let them go. Even when it is in their best interest for me to let them move on…I hold them close. I call, I send emails, I send birthday cards just to let them remember that they are still important to me. Am I manipulating them and keeping them in my heart because I don’t want to feel orphaned again? Do I gather people because if I surround myself with others I won’t feel so alone? Do I hold on to people much longer than their expiration date because I can’t stand separation? Is this all part of being the child in the middle of a loving family but overpowered by an older sibling and not as cute or needy as my younger sibling?

The Green Kangaroo reference comes from the first chapter book my youngest son ever read. “Lately, second grade Freddy Dissel has that left-out kind of feeling. Life can be lonely when you’re the middle kid in the family who feels like ‘the peanut butter part of a sandwich,’ squeezed between an older brother and little sister.”