I was the middle child in an
Hispanic family, the one wedged between the oldest son and the baby daughter. A
lot was excused from an oldest son, and who could resist the cuteness of a baby
sister?
As the oldest daughter in an
Hispanic family, I was expected to learn how to do household chores and learn
how to cook, all in preparation of one day marrying and making lots of babies.
My parents had high expectations
for all of us and they demanded nothing less than A’s from us in school. They sometimes overlooked my brother’s B’s
(cabeza dura), but I was hounded and condemned to hours of study if I dared to
bring home anything less than a straight A.
My parents, especially my mother,
didn’t care where or when we were scolded. Often it was out in public. I
resented the humiliation. It only increased my rebellion and disrespect for
authority. I decided I would never treat my children how I was treated.
My children would know I loved
them and treated them equally.
Though an education and going to
church were non-negotiable, if making an A was not possible, then I expected
nothing less than their best.
I never punished them out in public;
we waited until we were in private – our home, the car, or the closest public
rest room before I corrected them, but I know the wait was worse than the
punishment.
I hated being treated like the
proverbial middle child but it opened my eyes to such treatment and I am a better
parent and grandparent for it.
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