The best part of a sandwich is without a doubt the middle. Be it peanut butter or creamy egg salad the middle definitely determines the enjoyment outcome. Wholly responsible for the deliciousness factor whilst bread a key structural component clearly a more trivial supporting player. I was utterly dominated living in the shadows of my siblings – I was stuck in the middle.
Not the golden beribboned first born to my mother eldest of six and significantly the only grandchild and niece for several years a most definite advantage to those who trotted begrudgingly in her dusty tracks. I arrived next. Next not first not youngest but rather one of a familial gaggle of nexts, and never much ballyhooed or coddled. I possessed no special talents or powers that caused an eye to linger I was simply their second child. With another on the way. Nipping at my heels like a six week old puppy abound with unbridled zest for life the youngest joined our brood and I might add with a decided amount of disdain not quite a year following.
Thus in my prime attention seeking years where my cues for social interaction and confidence were to be shaped and nurtured I was bereft of any hard core parenting a rather forgotten curb side sack. Oh I am certain I mattered in my middle sort of non-pretentious undemanding way. A somber acquiescence driving this introvert’s self-sufficient foray into adulthood. The eldest was delivering firsts by the fistful and I could claim only an occasional blue ribbon. My firsts would always be seconds.