by Michelle Shelton

Created on: October 10, 2009   Last Updated: March 09, 2010

I remember it well. It was the year we got new wallpaper. Once you read this article, you may wonder what is under your wallpaper at home. I know I do.

I am the baby. I am proud of being the baby. Let's face it, I have less baggage than my older siblings; especially my sister.

I used to hate being call the baby. It was the way she said it, "Baayyybeeeeee". She also used to sing hateful songs to me when I was little. I remember The Beatles were popular and she had this little record player that would play "Michelle, Ma Belle." Only she would change the words to say, "I hate you, I hate you, I haaaaaate you, so go to hell." Nice.

What I love best about being the baby is she really doesn't have anything big to pin on me. She would tell my parents that I called her a name or hit her and try to get me into trouble. I did stuff that, well, babies do. Nothing big. I don't think it would have really mattered anyway, as my parents pretty much thought I was the cream of the crop. So did my brothers. My brother, Randy, would actually torture my older sister if she even looked at me weird. He was my protector. Except when he wasn't. What I mean is, if he had nothing better to do, he would pick his nose and wipe it on me. Or throw me into a dumpster and leave me there to fend for myself. It was sort of weird. He didn't want anyone else picking on me, yet, he didn't mind doing it from time to time.

So, back to the best part of being the baby. Now I am 46 and it is nice to be way younger than the other kids. I am less gray and I am less wrinkled. Mostly I am younger when younger counts, where you are old. Yup. Younger is the best thing about it all. I love it!

I remember this one time when my brother started to tease my sister. She had made some macaroni and cheese for dinner. I was excited because this was my favorite food when my mom made it. My brother came up from downstairs and looked in the pot and said, "I am not eating this crap, it is disgusting. Who taught you to cook?"

I remember my sister's eyes. They went really dark for about six seconds. In that six seconds, it was like slow motion. She reached her hand into the pot and scooped up a handful of the concoction she called mac and cheese and flung it at him full force. The next thing I knew, there was the mac and cheese concoction flying everywhere. It stuck to everything. Especially the walls.

I really didn't want to eat it if it was crap. That is what my brother said. Of course, I was six and he was 16. I knew

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>