My four squabbling older children can only ever agree on one issue, and that is that the fifth and youngest of our children is spoilt. He's nine now, and a day doesn't pass without one of the others complaining that we favouritise him. "I can't believe he's allowed to stay up this late; I wasn't at his age," complains the 13-year-old. "Why is he not carrying a suitcase?" grumbles the 14-year-old. "You treat him like a prince," the 16-year-old remarks whenever my husband or I try to think of a way to amuse him.
Of course, they are right. He does get special treatment. I've become acutely aware of this recently as resentment of him has reached a crescendo. When he was younger, everyone - including his siblings - fussed over and cuddled him. He was sweet, rather like a family pet, and nobody felt that he was a threat. Now that he has become older and just as likely to hog the computer as his older siblings, that has changed.
Hearing my older children snipe at him reminds me of my own childhood. I can see a pattern repeating itself because I too was a youngest child. I had two older sisters, rather than three sisters and a brother, but the resentment was identical. It also kicked in at almost exactly the same age: I remember being 10 when my sisters turned on me because I had become annoyingly full of myself. They also began to complain to our parents that I was given more money, freedom and privileges than they had ever had. All true. They were expected to deliver perfect school results; when it was my turn our parents didn't mind any more, so long as I got on with it on my own. If I wanted to go out with friends, they wouldn't ask many questions before handing over some cash, but my older sisters had to put up with an inquisition.
I can see the same pattern being played out in other families. There's a universal trend to slacken off on the worry front after a few wearing parental years. Notions of bedtime become looser, as do definitions of what constitutes a nutritionally balanced meal. The result is that my son and other youngest children we know are turning out to be more relaxed people, just as Alfred Adler would have predicted.
Adler was the Austrian doctor who first theorised about how birth order affects personality in the 1920s. Since then, some psychologists have protested against his broad brush descriptions of the personality types likely to result from being born first, last or in the middle of a family. They argue that genes play an overriding role in determining personality. I, however, would say that Adler was onto something.
Eldest children do seem to be prone to becoming anxious high achievers, like Hillary Clinton or George W Bush. It's the natural upshot of having the benefit (and bearing the brunt) of their parents' attention, ambitions and anxieties. An eldest child's every funny remark and scruffy picture is heard and admired with sometimes stifling awe. Firstborn children inevitably spend more time talking to grown-ups than subsequent children, so they do better on IQ tests, become adept at talking to adults, and try hard to do well.
Second or middle children are very different in psychological profile. They have to share their parents' attention from the moment they are born, so they grow up needing less of it. Sheltered in the slipstream of the firstborn's ground-breaking achievements, they come under less pressure. Friends rather than family become their focus so they tend to be good team players and fewer make their mark on public life, though Fidel Castro and Charles Darwin are exceptions to that rule. On the downside, they sometimes complain of feeling ignored.
When the youngest child comes along, the spotlight is turned on again. There can be pressure on them which comes from parents feeling this is their last chance to grow an Olympic champion or chess genius, but what most distinguishes youngest children is the amount of affection lavished upon them. Born to be petted and adored, youngest children tend to have masses of self-confidence. They often turn out to be jokers and rule breakers - Jim Carey and Billy Crystal are both youngest children. On the downside, they (we) can be lazy because youngest children are almost always indulged.
I prefer the word "indulged" to "spoilt", which is the one my older children use. Spoilt suggests an irretrievable mess like a burnt cake; indulged is a temporary description which can be changed. In my home, the campaign to do so is well underway. Now that his siblings have spotted that their little brother has been, as psychologists put it, "enthroned", they are determined to dislodge him from his cushy dais.
His brother and sisters hassle him whenever he shows any sign of being too full of himself, just as mine did to me. Far from feeling pampered, he's now feeling like he can do no right in their eyes. On top of that, he's old enough now to compare his own situation to theirs and spot the disadvantages. They are allowed to go out on their own; he isn't. They have mobile phones; he has to wait another couple of years. He wants to walk to school; we don't want him to cross dangerous roads. And he gets less pocket money. Compared to that list, the privilege of being the only child who is still read a bedtime story seems negligible."It's not fair," he wails several times a day. I daren't show him too much sympathy for fear of inflaming the jealous siblings.
This ceaseless and noisy fiction within the home was getting me down until I read Another Child Matters, a report published last month by the British think tank Civitas. Its author, the Sky newsreader Colin Brazier, argues the case for larger families on the basis of evidence that they are good for society. Children from families where there are three or more children, he writes, are good at sharing and co-operative at school. They also grow up with a built-in set of mentors to guide them through dark patches and blow the whistle before they go far off the rails.
But buried in this report was the heartening news that the aggression of siblings towards one another is beneficial. In larger families, children squabble more than in smaller families, but this teaches them to deal with friction. Of all the children in a family, he adds, the major beneficiaries of this are the tail-enders: "Younger children in large families occupy positions of relative powerlessness: to get along they must negotiate and accommodate." He also says that in small families, parents become more involved in sorting out sibling rivalries, but it's better when they don't because "it is only by resolving disputes without parental oversight that children learn to manage aggression meaningfully."
I'm delighted to hear it. So the battles currently raging are good for our youngest child - and good for his older siblings too. But perhaps we have been a little indulgent. Next time we go on holiday, I will make sure the youngest carries his own suitcase.
