The Birth Order Book (40 page)

In one case, however, he had a different approach to setting me straight. He became an informer and turned me in for smoking cigarettes behind the chicken coop at age 8. That one really cost me. I had to go straight to bed with no dinner, pretty tough treatment for the baby Cub, who usually got away with everything.

As for Sally, I set her up much less often than Jack, but in all fairness to the memory of my checkered past, there were times when I could get to her just as easily as I got to him. I remember her screaming, “Mother, would you get him
out
of here?” And she also complained, “He gets away with murder—you never let me do that when I was his age.”

But those were rare occasions, and most of the time big sister Sally set little Kevin straight in another way. As my second mother, she often became distressed when I was too coarse, too loud, or just plain smart-mouthed. But she had a way of making me want to do better. She wouldn’t say, “Don’t behave like that,” or “What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you shape up?” Whenever anyone—parents, teachers—told me not to do something with that tone of voice, it was just like pouring gasoline on a fire. It only goaded me on to do more things to get attention by bucking the establishment.

When I acted up, Sally would often say things such as, “Do you really want to act like that?”

But Sally’s approach had a much different effect. Actually, she was something of a master amateur psychologist. When I acted up, Sally would often say things such as, “Do you really want to act like that?” I’d try to be cute and respond, “Sure I do—that’s what makes it fun.” But deep inside I knew differently. Sally was already planting seeds that were watered by my math teacher when I was in high school and then carefully cultivated by a beautiful nurse’s aide I would meet while doing janitor duties in the Tucson Medical Center.

North Park: A Good Place to Get Smashed

I was a lucky lastborn in many ways. I was reminded of this vividly when I received a telephone call from North Park University and was asked to come to their annual alumni banquet, where I was to receive their “Distinguished Alumnus Award” and be the featured speaker. To be honest, I was bowled over but didn’t let the caller know it. I haven’t done much research on this, but I doubt there are many students who get tossed out of a college for stealing the conscience-fund money, and then are asked to return more than thirty years later to be named “distinguished alumnus”!

I told North Park I believed I could work them into my schedule. I traveled back to my old alma mater, received my award, and spoke to all the alums who had made it and the assembled faculty. Some of the professors who still remembered me sat there amazed at how I had turned out, after leaving their midst being unofficially voted “most likely to do time” in some penal institution.

Some of the professors who still remembered me sat there amazed at how I had turned out, after leaving their midst being unofficially voted “most likely to do time” in some penal institution.

As I looked out over the audience, I saw Carroll Peterson, who had been head resident of our dorm when I attended North Park. Very late one night and well past curfew, C.P., as we’d called him, had found me and my roommate, Beagle, lying on a landing between the first and second floors, slightly wasted because we had spent the evening discovering for the first (and definitely last) time what port wine tasted like.

We were fast asleep and would have spent the night on the landing, but C.P. awakened us and asked which room was ours. In our somewhat indisposed condition, we couldn’t remember, so I got out my key and he got the number from that. Somehow he got both of us up to the third floor, to our room, and put us to bed.

The bottom line to this story is that Carroll Peterson did not report us for our lack of good judgment, which would have undoubtedly resulted in immediate expulsion. This good man had gone on to become dean of students, well liked by everyone on campus.

C.P. probably enjoyed my talk that day more than anyone else present. He laughed especially hard as I shared how lucky I had been as a young man to have a place like North Park to come to. Yes, I added, North Park was even a great place to get drunk at, particularly when the head resident was so forgiving! But I shared how glad I was that C.P. understood college students and knew the difference between a little bump in the road and a really big pothole.

Oh yes, one other minor detail: without the twenty-four units I earned at North Park, I could have never transferred to the University of Arizona and gone on to get bachelor’s, master’s, and doctorate degrees after I finally woke up in life.

Lastborns: Bed of Roses or Bed of Thorns?

With all of their legendary easy-street existence and their reputation for getting away with murder, lastborns face several bumps in life that belie the claim that they have it made. We’ve already looked at two major ones. I’ve summarized them below and added a third.

1.
Lastborns may become too dependent and stay babies if they are coddled and cuddled too much.
Of all the birth orders, lastborns are the least likely to learn to tie their shoes before kindergarten because an older sibling is always doing it for them. They end up doing the fewest chores too, either because they’re not asked to do as much or because they charm another sibling into doing the tasks for them. But everyone in the family needs to pull their own weight. Small children can pick up a messy living room or empty the trash—even if they can’t carry the bag out to the curb on trash day.

2.
Lastborns can get a lot of abuse, pressure, resentment, and teasing from older brothers and sisters.
Parents may sometimes think they need a crystal ball—or maybe a new piece of wonder software for the computer—to help them figure out when the baby of the family is really getting it in the neck or when he is just working his manipulative wiles. When counseling parents of lastborns, I usually tell them that if they must err, let it be on the side of helping the baby of the family stand on his own feet and cope, even it if means getting teased or intimidated on occasion.

3.
Because they are last, nothing they do is really original.
Their older brothers or sisters have already learned to talk, read, tie shoes, and ride a bike. And let’s face it. It
is
hard for Mom or Dad to get excited about the third or fourth lopsided pencil holder or paperweight to be brought home from school art class in the last five or ten years.

Lastborns are well known for feeling that “nothing I do is important.”

Family specialist Edith Neisser catches the spirit of frustration lastborns often feel because nothing they do seems to be very big news. She quotes an eighth grader who had this to say about having older brothers and sisters:

No matter what I ever do, it won’t be important. When I graduate from high school, they’ll be graduating from college or getting married; then if I ever do get through with college, Sis will probably be having a baby. Why, even when I die it won’t be anything new to my family; nobody will even be here to pay any attention.
2

If you have a junior high student in your home, you may have heard the same kind of exaggerated dramatics, but there is a kernel of real truth in what this girl said. The key phrase is, “Nobody will even be here to pay attention.” That is something every parent can be aware of with the lastborn:
Am I paying enough attention to little Harold’s “firsts” in life? Yes, it’s my third or fourth paperweight, but it’s only
his
first. I should make as big a deal out of
his
firsts as anyone else’s.

At least be assured that your lastborn is well aware of his special slot in the family. It’s not likely he wants to trade. All of this was brought home to me in living color as I was driving alone with 7-year-old Kevey one day. Just for fun I asked him, “How about it? Would you mind if Mommy had another baby?”

There was a long pause as Kevey gave the question serious thought. Finally, he said, “I guess it’s okay just as long as she’s a girl!”

It was a purely hypothetical question, of course. When I asked it, Sande and I had no intentions of having any more babies, but as all of us know, the road to additional parenthood is paved with good intentions. . . .

7 Tips for Parenting the Lastborn Child

Because of the natural tendency of parents to ease up and slack off on lastborns, try these suggestions for encouraging accountability and responsibility.

1. Be sure your lastborn has his or her fair share of responsibilities around the house. Lastborns often wind up with very little to do for two reasons: (1) they are masters at ducking out of the work that needs to be done, and (2) they are so little and “helpless” that the rest of the family members decide it’s easier to do it themselves.

2. Be sure your lastborn does not get away with murder in regard to family rules and regulations. Statistics show the lastborn is least likely to be disciplined and the least likely to have to toe the mark the way the older children did. It wouldn’t hurt to make notes on how you held the older kids responsible and enforce the same bedtime and other rules on your lastborn.

3. While you’re making sure you don’t coddle your youngest child, don’t let him or her get clobbered or lost in the shuffle either. Lastborns are well known for feeling that “nothing I do is important.” Make a big deal out of your lastborn’s accomplishments, and be sure he or she gets a fair share of “marquee time” on the refrigerator door with school papers, drawings, and awards.

4. Introduce your youngest child to reading very early. Six months is not too young to start reading to your child with brightly colored illustrated books. When your child starts reading, don’t do the work for him. Lastborns tend to like being read to and will let you do most of the work if they can get away with it. This may be one of the reasons lastborns are well known for being the poorest readers in their family.

5. Whenever necessary, call the baby’s bluff. I have always felt my parents should have cracked down on me regarding school when I was young. But they never really put on the pressure. They never gave me choices such as, “Shape up at school or drop baseball,” or “No homework, then no television programs tonight.”

6. Try to get your lastborn’s baby book completed before he or she is 21. Life seems to pile up on parents with the arrival of the third and fourth child. Check to see if you’re neglecting the lastborn because you just don’t seem to have as much time as you used to. Let other things go if necessary to be sure you provide time for each child.

7. Oh yes—along the way, try to pick out a nice firstborn for your lastborn to marry. The odds are high they’ll make a great team!

Epilogue
There’s Only One Thing You Can’t Do Without

I
t isn’t always
what
you know that’s important. Everything doesn’t ride on knowledge, skill, and technique. You could read all the books, use all the techniques, and say all the right words (you hope), and there is still only one thing that remains absolutely necessary. This one thing is every parent’s secret weapon, and it works equally well with every birth order. I’m not talking about something you learn in so many lessons like operating a computer or driving a car. No, it’s something you actually have at the start and then develop slowly and sometimes painfully. And just about the time you think you’re getting the real hang of it, you are back to square one as you realize how basic life really is.

I Thought Our Family Was Complete, and Then . . .

That’s really what happened to me, when we got our second family long after we thought our days of having children had ended. I’m not sure there are that many people who rear one family of three children and then, in their forties, have a couple more just to be sure they “got it right.” So I’d like to share with you what it was like to learn—on two different occasions—that a new little ankle-biter was on the way, and all those late-night shows that we thought were over would go into reruns.

Just before Christmas in 1986, Sande called the office and surprised me by saying she wanted to take me out to dinner. As we were enjoying our meal, she pulled out a greeting card she had made for me. Because Sande is thoughtful and quite creative, I didn’t suspect anything as I read the cover, which asked me:

“Are you ready to change your summer plans?”

“Are you ready to work late?”

“Are you ready to change your work schedule?”

Puzzled, I flipped it open and was greeted by a picture of Santa Claus saying, “Merry Christmas!” In his arms was a little baby with a toothless grin.

As the light began to dawn, I gave Sande a look, and she nodded yes. I couldn’t help it. I let out a war whoop of joy that startled several nearby diners. The first member of our second family was on her way.

As I contemplated telling our three children the news, I was sure the girls would be thrilled, but I was concerned about Kevey, who was 8 years old and about to lose his privileged position as baby of the family. As it turned out, Holly, who had just turned 14, responded with shocked silence. Krissy, 12, just clapped her hands over her ears and wailed, “I don’t want to hear this! I don’t want to hear this!”

I’m still not quite sure why the girls reacted the way they did. Perhaps they were happy with the family the way it was and this was just too much of an unsettling idea. Maybe they were embarrassed because they thought their parents didn’t do “that kind of stuff” anymore.