In the Middle

When I was born, I already had six siblings. Mike, Mary, Bill, Rob, Evelyn, and Joe were already part of my life. As I grew, so did the size of my family. My best friend, Sarah, was born the year after me, followed by the twins, Nell and Nina. They took my birthday. After the twins was Sammy boy, who in turn was followed by Gabrielle Noelle Marie, the Christmas baby-- more fondly known to the family as Gina. Robin and Debbie managed the team of 12 (somehow) and, just like that, the Powells were in full force.

"Just like that" is, of course, a segment of sarcasm.

My memories date as far back as the crib. My Father was a dangerously holy man, eager to spread the Word of Christ to all who would listen and especially to those that would not. If you were a naughty child, he'd summon the power of the Lord to help him with his parental control.

I must have been around 3 years old. I was in my crib, painfully alone in my older sister's room. The lights had been off for what felt like hours, but I could not lay my blond head down and close my eyes. The house was still and I was sure that all were sleeping soundly-- but me.

I began to cry, as a child would do, and I hoped someone would hear me. cries evolved into wailing when there was no response to my false tears, wanting so badly for my mom to soothe me.

But then..,

"BARBARA"

A deep, booming voice was outside my bedroom door, startling me.

"BARBARA, WHY ARE YOU CRYING."

It had been more of a statement for me to turn off the self pity rather than a question of concern.

"BARBARA, THIS IS GOD. GO BACK TO SLEEP."

Today, I'm well aware that God was not outside my door with orders to stop crying and to go to sleep. But my young and impressionable three-year-old mind was convinced that my Dad had alerted God and told on me.

I sniffled meekly, "Okay."

Other instances in my childhood seem to truly capture who I am as a person and shed some light on why I possess a certain personality.

Sarah and I used to share a room together, our cribs immediately across the room from each other. During this period of time, I was her personal alarm clock. As soon as I opened my sleepy eyes and realized that it was morning, I would sit up excitedly in my pudgy white diaper, clasp the railing tightly with my tiny fists, and hoist myself up to stand. I'd take one look at Sarah sleeping peacefully and made up my mind that if I was going to be up, then she would have to as well.

And with that, I would let out an animalistic, complaining bawl. My little body bounced up and down on my plastic mattress as I attempted to wake my best friend up in the most brutal way possible.

Fortunately, she would always wake up for me.

There came a time when I had enough of those bunchy diapers. I had seen my older brothers and sisters go in and out of the bathroom without the silly things. I was intent on being a "big kid."

So I did the only thing I was capable of doing.

My mother walked in on me one day while I sat on the bathroom floor, tearing my diaper off, successfully attempting to change my own diaper. I was immediately (and quickly) potty trained.