As a middle child, I was sure that my older brother had opportunities not given to a girl and that my youngest brother was the favorite. My other middle brother was, just, sort of "there" with me. I very much had the perception that the youngest was the most special precisely because my Mom knew he was her last baby. Sadly, that brother doesn't have much memory of her because my Mom died when he was still pretty young. In retrospect, it was probably OK if she loved him more because he had less time with her.
Parental favoritism has been on my mind because I'm using it as an analogy for something at work. I think all parents have an approach to handle their competitive kids. I remember once that I and two brothers were pretending to be architects and each of us presented a house floor plan to my mother so she could select the best plan. Her way to handle that was to find something she liked best about each of our drawings.
But there wasn't always fair treatment. My Dad would sometimes pick my older brother up from soccer practice. One rainy night, after staying late for either a basketball game or practice, I called home for a ride. The high school was one mile from home. My Dad refused, with no explanation, and I walked home in the pouring rain crying because of the unfairness. Poor little Libra -- even then I thought life should be fair. Well, at least I never felt 'excluded' - the classic side effect of being a middle child according to researchers. None of us grows up without a few parental scars.
Parental favoritism has been on my mind because I'm using it as an analogy for something at work. I think all parents have an approach to handle their competitive kids. I remember once that I and two brothers were pretending to be architects and each of us presented a house floor plan to my mother so she could select the best plan. Her way to handle that was to find something she liked best about each of our drawings.
But there wasn't always fair treatment. My Dad would sometimes pick my older brother up from soccer practice. One rainy night, after staying late for either a basketball game or practice, I called home for a ride. The high school was one mile from home. My Dad refused, with no explanation, and I walked home in the pouring rain crying because of the unfairness. Poor little Libra -- even then I thought life should be fair. Well, at least I never felt 'excluded' - the classic side effect of being a middle child according to researchers. None of us grows up without a few parental scars.