A very long time ago I was the youngest in my immediate family. Somehow I have survived all of these years in spite of knowing “I must have been adopted” (sound familiar?) or the result of a moment of reckless passion. As you can guess already I knew I was the “unwanted child.” They had produced the magical Golden Boy seven years before I slipped into the scene.
Fortunately, the family reread the book covering the arrival of a baby, now about the Stork’s tardy gift. It was a refresher course to bone up on what they might have forgotten from the advent of the Son and heir.
Everyone soldiered on as best they could. Daddy continued to work and support his progeny. Golden Boy succeeded in defending his territory and ignored the new arrival. Looking back I believe he didn’t quite know how to handle the situation. Besides, he was only seven-plus and probably wouldn’t be able to read “How to Cope with an Unexpected Baby Brother.”
Mommy, having put up with all of the necessities and inconvenience of child bearing depending on how you spell baring, decided that if she was going to deliver another bundle of joy, the child would be named “Doris.” Unfortunately for Mommy and Doris, baby arrived with the plumbing she did not order.
No matter Baby soon learned how to dress his “Patsy Ann” doll in a wardrobe lovingly stitched by his mother. When old enough scissors were allowed and a whole collection of paper dolls appeared.
The die was cast and pansy was in bloom. Daddy did see to it that his second son knew how to recognize male anatomy, no matter how modest, from that of the little girl next door, who was busying herself and Baby Boy with their own anatomy lessons.
Sometime later, the boy graduated to being in boy’s knickers and then the first pair of long pants. The family had succeeded in establishing their second son’s gender identity to their satisfaction, and everyone lived happily ever after!
Little did they know, or did they?
© 5 September 2016
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