The Little One

Chiara Bruzzi/ January 29, 2021/ Guest Writers, Relationships/ 1 comments

By: Camila Serrano

You ask me what it’s like being the youngest child? Listen to me. Here I am, rarely called by the right name, being coddled by my parents, and with a layer of thick skin from all the “you were a mistake” jokes. I will tell you. Listen to me. Put yourself in my hand-me-down clothes and hear me.

The little one. My name is Camila, but ever since the day I was born my dad refers to me as “the little one” – a logical nickname, as I was not only the smallest baby in weight and height out of the three children, but the youngest in age as well. As I got older, I did not grow out of this nickname like I hoped. Instead, it was now being used by my mom, my sisters, my friends, and even my boyfriend. Do I like it? No, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. It has become a part of my identity, it’s who I am. 

The little one signifies having no photographic proof you were a baby. When the first child is born, parents are typically overwhelmed with excitement and joy. They are convinced that everything that child does is absolute genius. From the way they sit to their facial expressions is just “too cute” for parents not to document every single detail of this baby’s life. In my case, my parents had twins as their first born. What does that mean? Double the cuteness, and double the photo albums! By the time I came around, taking pictures of their youngest was low on my parents’ priority list. They were more occupied than before, having to handle two seven year old girls and an old blind dog. So, when school asked me to submit baby pictures for my senior page, it took scavenging through thousands of my sisters “adorable” faces before I could find two decent baby pictures of me. 

The little one does not have two parents like most children. They have the parents who created you, as well as the siblings who take on a parental role. You see, my sisters hardly cared for my safety and feelings when I was younger. In fact, they would mess with me habitually to bring themselves a laugh. Then everything changed when they went off for college. I grew up. The eleven year old girl they left behind was no longer the same fifteen year old girl they were welcomed back home to. I go out to parties now, parties that I attend dressed in clothes that show skin. I wear makeup and I straighten my hair. And the biggest change of all…I now have “attitude”. How do two older sisters respond to this outrageous metamorphosis that occurred during their absence? Concern. They became extremely protective of me because my real parents were “too tired” and “too old” to care, interrogating me on what I do “for fun”, and sending me “be careful” texts everytime I leave the house. I guess it’s their way of showing that they indeed love this new version of me.

The little one has their path already paved. Thanks to many arguments, crying, and stern no’s between the older siblings and the parents, us younger childrens have the privilege of “having it easier”. How? We have freedom and independence. I do not have to fight over being allowed to sleep over a friends house or going to a concert because these things are expected; they are normal for me. Instead I argue for things much more “outrageous” like permission to travel to Europe with my friends or spending the holidays with people who aren’t family. While this might seem incomprehensible to our older siblings, the reality is it’s quite reachable for us.

Others like me are all around you. We are the ones people refer to as “mature for your age” and “old souls”. We are the ones family members refer to as “rebellious”. We are “the little ones” of the world, we wouldn’t want to be anything else, especially a first born.