The Birth Order Book (23 page)

Cleaning Urinals Put Me Nose-to-Nose with Reality

I knew quitting the magazine sales job was the right thing to do, but I still had problems. I tried taking another night course at the U of A and also flunked that. My parents were impressed with my high ideals and ethics, but they let me know that I still needed to earn some money so I could pull my weight while living at home. I eventually found employment— as a janitor at the Tucson Medical Center. I kept thinking about going back to school, but I’d always put it off with one excuse or another.

After a few months of cleaning urinals, however, the realities of life hit baby Kevin right between the eyes. Yes, I had a year of college behind me, and I knew I could do it if I wanted to. On the other hand, I had tried two courses at the “big school” and flunked them both. Now here I was, a janitor making $195 a month full-time. I knew that cleaning toilets wasn’t really what I wanted to do with my life, but I remained stuck in limbo.

My first words were, “Pardon me. How would you like to go to the World’s Fair with me?”

One day as I emptied the trash into my cart at the men’s restroom door, I was mulling over the possibility of winding up being a janitor all my life. Then I looked up, and around the corner of the hallway came my wife. Of course, she wasn’t my wife yet, but she was a very beautiful nurse’s aide who was working in the building, and she looked like great wife material to me.

My first words were, “Pardon me. How would you like to go to the World’s Fair with me?”

She laughed and said, “Excuse me?”

“Would you like to go to the World’s Fair with me?”

She sort of laughed again and said, “Well, I don’t know about that.”

Realizing I wasn’t getting a flat no for an answer, I said, “Well, how about lunch then?”

Sande didn’t quite know what to make of this weird fellow who was emptying trash, but being a nurse’s aide, she thought I might need help, so she agreed to a lunch date. We wound up at McDonald’s, where we split a twenty-cent cheeseburger.

We kept dating, and soon we were going steady. Sande could tell I was searching for something else in life, and she shared with me her personal faith in God. It was through Sande that I made some spiritual commitments that at last turned me in the direction my math teacher had pointed way back in high school. I took another course at the University of Arizona, the same one I had flunked. This time I passed with a solid A—the highest grade in the class of six hundred. Now
that
was a miracle!

She agreed to a lunch date. We wound up at McDonald’s, where we split a twenty-cent cheeseburger.

From there I went on to get my undergraduate degree in psychology, followed by master’s and doctorate degrees. And I was on the dean’s list most of the way through. A lot of things motivated me: memories of my English and math teachers, memories of getting a start at North Park and blowing it with stupid pranks, meeting Sande, and getting my life squared away by finding a real faith in God.

But there was also a remark made by Sande’s supervisor in her nursing ward that motivated me. This middle-aged lady pulled Sande aside one day and said, “Don’t associate with that janitor—he’ll never amount to anything.” A comment like that is enough to spur any lastborn on to greater heights.

From that day on, I was driven with one thought:
I’ll show her!

From that day on, I was driven with one thought:
I’ll show her!

Long before now you noticed that I’m not bashful about using illustrations from my own family, not to mention my own life. But I turned this chapter into a mini autobiography for a reason. My antics as a kid and on up through high school are a classic demonstration of many typical lastborn traits that can go to seed and become destructive. Frankly, before my math teacher nailed me that day in the hallway between classes, I was headed for real disaster. But Miss Wilson made me realize that getting attention was not enough. Somehow this registered in my teenage brain:
The limelight is fun, Leman, but what do you do for an encore?
And that drove me on to a goal I had never even thought about—a college degree.

I like to describe myself as one of the few licensed psychologists I know who went through college and postgraduate work— thirteen years in all—without the benefit of a high school education. I literally did not learn much of anything in high school, a fact that hardly makes me proud. After earning a doctorate, I arranged to speak at a summer camp and told the teenagers my story. I did this for several years, emphasizing that my behavior as a youth was hardly the kind they wanted to imitate. In fact, I let them know, just as my math teacher had let me know, that being best at being worst is a stupid game for anyone to play.

I was headed for real disaster. But Miss Wilson made me realize that getting attention was not enough.

Why Car Salesmen Are Often Lastborns

After confessing to using my sales skills to trick people into buying magazines, I need to clarify that there’s nothing wrong with selling if you do it with the right motives. If I had stayed in the sales profession, I could have easily found myself selling cars. I have learned over the years that it’s a line of work that attracts babies of the family in profusion.

Have you ever walked onto a used car lot to be greeted by a guy with a big smile, white shoes, matching white belt, dark blue pants, light blue shirt, and dark blue polka-dot tie? Maybe he wasn’t quite that flashy, but he probably said, “Well, what would it take to put
you
in
that
car today?”

If you’ve ever had such an encounter, it’s likely you were dealing with the baby of the family. You have to be careful with these guys—they’ll sell you your own house and throw in a paint job by the owner to boot!

I jest a bit, but essentially it’s true. Your good salespeople are often lastborns.

I do some consulting with businesses, and one of my favorite stops is a car dealership. I was visiting a local car agency one day and started talking casually with one of the salesmen about birth order. It turned out he was a lastborn, and so was just about every salesman in the agency!

And what about the manager? I went with the odds and guessed he was a firstborn. Right again. Firstborns often wind up in positions of leadership. This manager was an excellent salesman in his own right, but as a firstborn he had risen to what he really wanted to do: cross every
t
, dot every
i
, and enter those nice black numbers on the bottom line.

Not surprisingly, this firstborn manager was having trouble with some of his lastborn salesmen. They just weren’t attending to details such as filling in reports on time. His superstar salesman was a lastborn and was in the most hot water with the manager. I sat down with the manager for a cup of coffee and had him consider this: “What do you really want this guy to do—sell or do paperwork?”

The manager’s answer boiled down to “both.”

I recommended to the manager that he stop trying to turn a baby of the family into a paragon of well-organized efficiency. Why not alleviate the problem by arranging to have one of the secretaries or clerks do the paperwork and turn his salespeople loose to do what they do best—sell!

Babies of the family can feel on top of the world on Monday and at the bottom of the pile on Tuesday.

The manager took my advice and assigned a clerk to fill in the salesman’s paperwork for him. Naturally enough, his sales went higher than ever, and it meant more money for the dealership.

Lastborns Live with Ambivalence

In
First Child, Second Child
, an excellent book I quoted earlier, the authors observe that growing up the youngest can turn a person into a bundle of uncertain ambivalence. Lastborns are on a seesaw of emotions and experiences that they find hard to explain or understand.
7
My own life as a lastborn bears this out. We babies of the family can be charming and endearing but then turn rebellious and hard to deal with. We can change from powerhouses of energy into basket cases who feel helpless. We can feel on top of the world on Monday and at the bottom of the pile on Tuesday.

I’m not sure about the exact reasons for this ambivalent streak that we babies of the family carry through life, but here are a few clues: Lastborns are treated with ambivalence— coddled, cuddled, and spoiled one minute, and put down and made fun of the next. In self-defense, we babies of the family grow up with an independent cockiness that helps cover all our self-doubt and confusion. We say to ourselves,
They wrote me off when I was little. They wouldn’t let me play. They chose me last. They didn’t take me seriously. I’ll show them!

One of lastborns’ major traits is persistence.

Because we lastborns want to show the world we can do it, one of our major traits is persistence. One hundred fifty-nine colleges turned me down, but I persisted and finally got in the one hundred sixtieth. Quite a few years later, after I had written
The Birth Order Book
and was hoping to get it publicized on national TV, I wrote to
The Phil Donahue Show
(yes, before there was Oprah, there was Donahue). I enclosed a copy of my book and asked if they would be interested in having a birth order psychologist on their show. The first turndown came as a form letter, telling me that they appreciated my suggestion but had no use for my idea at that time.

Undaunted, I wrote again and, of course, sent another copy of
The Birth Order Book
. Again, the same kind of form letter came back, but I wouldn’t give up. I kept trying. I tried thirteen times to get on the
Donahue
show, and somewhere along the line they quit sending me form letters. Instead, they went to postcards, a sample of which appears below:

Dear DONAHUE Correspondent:

Because of the great volume of mail received in our office, we’re sorry we cannot answer your letter personally.

Your suggestion has been reviewed. However, we do not plan to use your idea for a DONAHUE program.

Thank you for your interest in our show.

THE DONAHUE STAFF

But finally, almost miraculously, I was accepted. I’m not sure if they simply wanted to get me out of their hair or if they felt sorry for me, but I did get to appear on
Donahue
. It was one of the first really big talk shows that I had ever done. Just before I was scheduled to go on, the producer called and asked, “Will you be nervous? After all, you’re it; there’s nobody else who is scheduled to appear.”

“No problem,” I replied. “In fact, if Phil ever has a day when he doesn’t feel good, I’ll be glad to sub for him.”

Was that just lastborn egomania talking? Partly. But there was also a lot of the lastborn desire for attention that makes a lastborn bold enough to do things that might make other people quail or even run for cover.

The lastborn desire for attention makes a lastborn bold enough to do things that might make other people quail or even run for cover.

Oh yes, and the show went so well that it made the “Best of Donahue” list. Phil was impressed, and I was out of my lastborn mind as sales on
The Birth Order Book
skyrocketed.

Lastborns “Just Do It”

I wouldn’t be surprised if a lastborn wrote that wellknown line for Nike. Beneath our veneer of independence and persistence is that inner rebel who gets away with murder. We lastborns are impetuous and brash, vowing that we will get attention; we will make our mark. We will show our older brothers and sisters, our parents, and the world that we are a force to be reckoned with. We go ahead and
do it
and worry about repercussions later.

I’m sure that’s what drove me to be such a little demon while growing up. I couldn’t compete with a 10.0 sister and a 9.75 brother, but I could get their attention by driving them crazy.

Possibly my finest hour came when Sally got married. She was in her early twenties and I was a teenager. Sally couldn’t figure out how to involve me in her wedding. She couldn’t trust me to be an usher— who knows what I would pull right in the middle of the ceremony? So she assigned me to take care of the guest book.

I couldn’t compete with a 10.0 sister and a 9.75 brother, but I could get their attention by driving them crazy.

The night before her wedding, we all attended the traditional rehearsal dinner at a fashionable downtown hotel. Even I showed up dressed to kill in a suit and tie. As custom would have it, Sally gave everyone involved in the wedding a little gift. I opened mine and discovered a pair of bright plaid Bermuda shorts. Another fantasy formed, and Leman the demon could not resist. I slipped out and did a quick Clark Kent change in a nearby restroom. Moments later I reappeared in the swank hotel dining room attired in suit coat, tie—and the shorts!

Sally’s face turned bright red as her perfect evening dissolved into her guests’ guffaws and menacing looks from the maître d’. But I was happy. Once again I was the center of attention. I would pay the price later when I faced Mom and Dad at home, but it was worth it. I had struck a blow for all the lastborns who have ever vowed, “I’ll show them!”

So how about you? Do any of the stories I’ve told in this chapter resonate as part of
your
story? Have you gained some understanding of why you do what you do? Why you crave and seek attention? Or do they help you understand the baby of your family just a little bit more? If so, I’ve accomplished my purpose.

Once again I was the center of attention. I would pay the price later when I faced Mom and Dad at home, but it was worth it.