Middle Warrior

The Ultimate Warrior

There have been plenty of studies that compare personality traits to birth order and from my 4 minutes on Google, I've learned that scientific research has yielded inconclusive results. It's a pity that so much grant money is down the pooper when all they had to do was ask me. I have a sample size of 3 kids, plus Team DeMotte is pretty average so our experience will be dead on accurate for all families.

So here goes:
First Born- Always a boy, hates school, loves XBox and is usually the first one in the family to learn stuff.
Last Born- Always a girl, seems a little cuter than everybody else, and is way advanced compared to her siblings.

The "Good Ole Days"

Middle Born- Here's where things get complicated. Our middle kid is a 6 year old fighter named Abby. She is never quite the first one to accomplish anything, but is also never quite the baby as she has a trailing little sister everywhere. Life for her started differently though. For a solid two years, she was the cute baby and only girl and life seemed perfect. She was picked on from time to time but then her parents were always there to immediately protect the princess. She intently watched her older brother so she learned how to do things much younger than he did.
But after her second birthday, her little sister Macey arrived on the scene and her world took a dramatic turn. First and foremost, her mother and I became outnumbered. We were suddenly placed in a permanent penalty killing formation. Suddenly, every child's need had to go through a triage before we would address it. Sam had an advantage as he was loudest and most articulate while Macey was a baby so pretty much every need she had was life-threatening. Abby, no dice. Getting the shaft once or twice was all that it took for her to grow a permanent chip on her shoulder. The birth of her baby sister was a scary switch in Abby like when Bruce Lee gets cut for the first time in every movie; it's ass-whuppin time.

Plotting

As Sam and Macey are 6 years apart, they don't have much use for each other and thus enjoy a peaceful truce. No such luck for Abby. She is constantly fighting a war on two fronts and she's become steel forged in the fires of battle. If I ever get a job recruiting for the Green Berets, I will only pick middle children, period.

Sadly, battling her siblings and getting forgotten by her father isn't the end of it. She also deals with constantly being framed. Her mother's antique desk has "Abby" carved into the top, in Sam's handwriting. Her dinner chair often has broccoli sitting under it which is suspiciously a direct shot from her sister's high chair.

But her cage fighting attitude has one very useful purpose for me. She's my lie detector. Every investigation follows a traditional and formal progression.

Step 1- The Opening Query
Me- "Who put Axe hair gel on the cat and gave her a mohawk?" It's happened twice and I'm sick of all the bikini models who keep throwing themselves at the cat.
Step 2- The Blanket Denials
Sam- "Not me."
Abby- "Not me."
Macey- "Not me."
Step 3- The Useless Logic
Me- "The cat has freakin hair gel on her head and she didn't put it there herself!"
Step 4- The Bait
I always start with Sam and within earshot of Abby. Now pay attention here because I have mastered the art of manipulating the middle-child inner dragon.
Me- "Sam, really and truly, who put the gel on the cat?"
Sam- "Abby." Note- I have zero interest in his answer. It will always be Abby.
Step 5- The Dragon
At this point, Abby is a slave to her birth order and her reaction is out of her control. All I have to do is protect my groin and Sam if needed.
Option 1- Abby is guilty
No noise from her as she is adopting the Malcom X "fist in the air" defiance stance. I usually ask her one more time and the answer is always something like, "Sure and what do you think you are going to do about it? You've been trying to punish me for 6 years and haven't made a dent. Bring it on fat boy."
Option 2- Abby is innocent

Hurricane Abby

Heres where the shiznet gets real. It begins with a large intake of air and I recognize the rattle of the snake. Sam isn't smart enough to know what he's done so it's up to me to keep us both alive. The noise is immediate and deafening and the only prayer of defusing it is to scream "Abby, I believe YOU!" while I dive on her in the "last ditch to save your fellow soldiers from a live grenade" move.

Neither outcome is particularly fun but at least I have the truth every time.

So while first children probably do fine as presidents or lawyers, youngest- surgeons or astronauts, if I ever need 300 warriors to defend Sparta, give me middle kids every time.