It’s the Confidence and Courage in the Teens

Not the number of years or birth order.

I quietly launched my teen years on a riverbank in a picturesque country valley, famous for dairy and fruit produce.

It was early. The morning light danced with the ripples as it nudged the shadows across the water.

Reflections of light and shade distorted the words in my book.

I gave up reading.

I lay back on the damp grass, thinking about how I should feel different now that I’m a teenager, practically grown up.

There are so many things said and written about middle children, and I found most weren’t very complimentary.

I heard that you’re the one in the family who misses out on everything. For example, you’re not spoilt like the youngest, and not given responsibility like the oldest. Although my older sister only turned 14 yesterday, I couldn’t remember feeling as though I missed out on my share of responsibility. If I wanted to, I could do anything she could do — possibly better.

Although I thought, we’re so different from one another. We prefer different activities; we’re given different tasks to undertake at home; we excel in different subjects at school. But mum and dad always believed in giving us responsibilities. They focused on our understanding of their trust in us.

When your birthday falls after Christmas during school holidays, and your family is camping, there aren’t any school friends to share your special day with you.

This year was profoundly different.

Long-term friends of my parents, along with their four sons, joined us for three weeks.

The site was within a leisurely half-hour walk to my mother’s extended family. This was the proud country of my family-centered mother. Beautiful dairy country — lush and rolling green hills on the horizon. We attempted to visit annually. For my mother and her family, because my father loved freshwater fishing, and because we all loved swimming. It was great, too, to catch up with cousins and meet new kids who camped here.

I rolled over and watched the river again. The sun was warm on my face, and I shaded my eyes with my hands. As I looked toward the east bend in the river, I could see the tents grouped together, like a little village with a central courtyard. It reminded me of the book I was reading, describing the exploration of the American plains and the wagon trains. And how the travelers pulled their wagons into a circle around the campfire at night.

The river was open and wide beside the camping sites. Not too deep, not too fast, but clear and great for small children. To splash in and be safe.

I turned in the other direction and sat with the sun behind me. I saw Don, the second eldest brother walking towards me with his rod, backpack, and carrying a good catch of trout.

He lifted his floppy hat and waved it at me in the glare of the rising sun. I could see the beaming smile on his face: radiant with success. I returned the wave. Don, tall and wiry, always seemed to be folding or unfolding long, loose-jointed limbs.

Beyond his elongated shadow, I could see the familiar deeper spots in the river. It was here the older children used the higher riverbank to take a running jump into the water. This jump-plunge, aided by using a simple swinging rope tied to a tree at the top of the bank with a cross-bar stick at the end for a hand-grip, was an attraction for competition and bragging rights for all those tall enough to reach.

As Don approached, something moving in the tree at the top of the bank behind him caught my attention. I watched and waited. Again the shadow moved along the branch. I saw a hand make a grab for the anchored swing rope.

A young boy. I sat up straighter.

Don looked over his shoulder in response to my concerned expression, as the boy hauled in the rope hand over hand, until he had hold of the stick in the other end.

He squatted on the branch, both hands holding the end of the swing. He was too far away to hear us. I dropped my book, stood.

Don dropped what he carried.

We ran towards the tree, knowing the water was too deep for someone so small and unfamiliar with the deeper and faster flowing part of the river.

All seven of us kids were water savvy and proficient swimmers. We looked out for one another. Our parents didn’t worry too much about us and our water sports, with only a cursory check occasionally. The older four of us had water safety and rescue training.

The boy launched himself from the tree at the top of the bank.

He jerked as the rope extended to its full length, taking up the slack, but he managed to hold on.

The rope swung out over the water while his legs propelled, giving him even more momentum. Spinning rapidly and unable to hold on any longer, he dropped as the rope started a reverse swing back towards the bank.

He plunged like a pylon into the deepest part of the river.

He hadn’t resurfaced as we reached the top of the bank beside the tree.

Don caught the spinning rope as it peaked on its arc over the bank and swung himself into the river. In a squat, I skidded down the bank, and safety jumped into the water.

Duck diving in unison, we managed to find the boy still on the stony river bottom, grab his arms and pull him up to the surface. He recovered quickly as we swam with him between us and dragged him up the bank.

He was unhurt but so shocked and frightened, he ran off, crying.

Soberly, my friend and I headed back to pick up what we dropped, returned to the camp, and then to the showers to clean up.

Neither of us mentioned what happened to our families.

We traveled with them on a scenic trip to a mountain lookout for a birthday lunch.

It wasn’t until we returned much later, the boy’s father approached our campsite with his son. He wanted to speak to our parents and thank us for our help. It was only then our parents became aware.

They were surprised, gracious, curious. And, I thought, a little proud. All the parents acknowledged and thanked us for our awareness, our quick thinking, our excellent response. They asked why we didn’t say anything about what happened.

Don and I were nonchalant.

We shrugged.

We could swim.

We knew what to do and did it.

If you don’t understand fear, can it frighten you?

I can’t remember being afraid, but I do remember our parents’ under-reaction to what happened, compared to parents of teenagers today.

Yes, we had the knowledge of what to do.

Yes, we understood danger as we had a learned sense of community and helping others.

Yes, as older children we were familiar with taking care of younger siblings.

We had the freedom to explore and develop as young people because we had the trust of our parents to be responsible, to be accountable. It was this trust and level of responsibility awarded by our parents that gave us confidence, gave us valuable awareness in what we took on. We valued the trust instilled in our belief of ourselves, giving us courage.

No doubt, at the time, we were unaware of having any identifiable courage or confidence.

When I look back on this birthday and what happened, I wonder how different it would be if it happened to two young teenagers today.

Would they respond quickly enough?

Would someone be filming it on their phone rather than helping?

Would they frog jump on one another, grab each other’s head in a hug, thump one another on the back, high five everyone, and post it on social media?

I never felt inflicted with the “middle child syndrome.” This is a widespread belief where the middle child is resentful and feels ignored, arriving between the firstborn favorite and the baby.

I know this to be a myth and not grounded in science. In fact, Catherine Salmon, a psychology professor at the University of Redlands, California, and co-author of the book “The Secret Power of Middle Children,” spent two decades studying birth order and especially middle children.

Salmon discovered surprising patterns.

In one part of the study, researchers asked children who in their family they turn to for help. Is it parents or siblings? Middle children are more inclined to choose siblings, while firstborn and last-born children would turn to parents.

Salmon also found middle children spent less time with their parents, so they felt less close to them. Although less parent-oriented, but not disenfranchised from family at all. They spent more time with friends as their primary resource, while they developed excellent social skills through these valued relationships. Salmon found in one of her studies, middle children are great at negotiating and more willing than siblings to “go with the flow.”

I think that’s why they tend to be very successful with their friendships, and very successful with their marriages. But that probably translates also into how they manage things in the business world too — Catherine Salmon.

The research also suggested middle children are more open-minded than their older or younger siblings. Salmon believes this may be because middle children are often left to become more independent in finding their own opportunities and paths in life, without causing any adverse effects on them, and promoting stronger bonds with siblings.

As they get older [middleborns] recognize that they were given more space, and it makes them more independent and more capable. I actually think there may be an advantage being the one who is not as overly supervised, because I do think that the sort of excessive parenting that you see sometimes prevents children from developing that independence that they really need to function on their own — Catherine Salmon.

As an open-minded, independent, capable, middle born child, who showed confidence and courage at an early age, I agree wholeheartedly with this author.