Personal Narrative: My Middle Child

For as long as I can remember I was the odd ball out. I’m the middle child, number four of my mother’s seven and the only one without a middle name. As weird as that seemed to me I asked my mother why she didn’t give me a middle name her response was she couldn’t think of anything that went with Jessica. I laughed but felt left out because everyone before and right after me has a middle name. The oldest three are only two to three years older than me then me and the last three are what they call ‘door steps’ because there is only a nine month to a year difference in age or born one after the other. It was the same for my cousins, so we are all around the same age and most of us lived with our grandmother. Imagine being the shy girl in a house full of kids, your family that looked at you like you were an alien or something other than a human being. My brothers, sisters, and cousins always gave me a tough time about a lot one was being my mother’s darkest child with huge calves and stand bowlegged. They would tell me that I was ugly, and my mother adopted me. My sisters would call me a man, or a drag queen even made a song about it. When I was around six years old, I was playing the game,’ ring around the roses’ with my sisters and cousins in the backyard. We all were supposed to fall at the of the game, but I didn’t. They got upset and

The last time I decided to run away was on a Saturday. I remember saying that I was going through with my plan. Had my back pack stuffed with clothes along with my juice box and peanut butter & jelly sandwich set behind my room door now I was just waiting on the right time to leave. Let’s just say I watched plenty of movies where the child decided to run away so I thought I had It all figure out. My sisters and brothers laughed at me because I said I was running away. They thought I was playing, but the way I felt I was going to leave and never come