By Emma Levey
Names rapidly sputtering off my mothers tongue as she tried to make a point, she kept rolling her eyes and franticly moving her hands and sighing between laughter.
Quickly she moved down the list, Nicole, Kathy, uh Monica, no Dave — which is the dog I may add — realizing she had run out of names looked me dead in the eyes and said “Emma. Emma Louise.”
Being the youngest I know what this is like, even though I love being the youngest child it does get quite annoying when you want to look at your parents and say “how many children do you have?”
Not only am I the youngest but I am probably the most gullible out of every daughter that my parents had, and unfortunately my three older sister learned that at my young age.
Whenever they would call me a different name like sweetie, or honey one of my sisters would look at me and say “you know they call you that because they can’t remember what your name is,” or even better comebacks such as “your name actually means pile of dirt, so they feel bad for calling you that.”
For years I was certain my name truly meant pile of dirt and that I had one more older sister named Jessica that was thrown out of the upstairs window for lying.
I was sure that soon the name forgetting would be over, as slowly each older sibling one by one started to graduate and leave. The week before my sister Nicole left for university I was already trying different paint swatches for her huge upstairs bedroom. Which sadly she saw as “fitting her for a casket, before she was dead.”
I was so prepared to be almost like the only child, fellow students and teachers at school would see me for myself and not as my older sisters.
On my first day of high school I slowly walked into the classroom and my English teacher walked up to me and said “pick which one you want me to think of you as.”
I was shocked! I finally was able to be my own person, and didn’t want to live in the shadow of my sisters anymore and now I was supposed to pick which one I would be remembered as for the next four years.
She smirked and said she was joking and was excited to have me in her class but still that stuck with me.
Who was I going to be like? Was this really what my life would be like for the rest of high school.
Even though she was joking it didn’t stop there, even before that event happened when I would go visit my oldest sister most of her friends would call me “Mini Monica”.
The 10-year-old inside of me wanted to scream at them and tell them to call me by my real name and not classify me as my sister.
So I had a plan, I had to be someone that one of sisters would never be, I would create almost a new person.
The thing is though that as my sisters grew up I realized that they are not the same person that they were in their high school English class.
And more than that I realized that I had certain things about me that were the same as my sisters and as much as I tried I would hate to give them up.
I love to sing and write, play softball, and at least one of my sisters enjoys the same things that I do.
Whether you are the youngest, oldest, or middle child make something of yourself, but don’t lose traits that you gathered from those around you.
Now I get to sing with my sisters and throw a ball around in the front yard. If I would have let all of those things go, we would have minimal common ground.