I'm assuming that because you read my first column about sister relationships, you and your sister have worked everything out by now.

Gasp!

You didn't?

So let's talk some more about that.

And the reason I can talk about it is because I have two sisters. That makes me an expert on sisters. One of my sisters is seven years younger than me and one of them is seven years older. I also have a brother stuck in someplace, but this article is about sisters.

Did you realize that I am the middle child?

Yep. It's very sad. My older sister was the oldest child in the family, so you can imagine how special she was to everybody, being oldest and all. My younger sister was the baby of the family, so you can imagine how special she was and everything being the spoiled baby and all. And my brother was the only son. So you can imagine how special he was being the only boy and all.

Now can you imagine how UNspecial I was being nothing except the middle and all? Oh, sure, my parents said they liked me. They said how cute I was and how crazy everyone went about me when I was a baby. Sure they said how I was the smartest in my family and was dragged along everywhere because I was so cute, including being the flower girl at some distant relative's wedding because this distant relative absolutely said she could not walk down to her wedding without my adorable self there in a purple, velvet gown with white lace (in which I happened to look absolutely adorable and gorgeous in as a six year old—I have the picture in case you need proof).

So yeah, my parents told me all that stuff and everything, but who are they kidding? Did they ever let me stay up late like my older sister? NO.

Did they let me have every toy I ever wanted wanted like my younger sister? NO.

Did they let me go to yeshiva and sleep there all week long and come back like a prince(ss) for Shabbos when I was in high school? NO.

Do you see what I mean? How could I trust a single thing my parents said when it was obvious, simply obvious that they loved my siblings more than they loved me?

I mean, what did it help that they compared me to the delicious white cream in the center of the two black cookies? You know what happens to that cream, don't you? Nobody chomps down on the cookies; those stay safely out of danger. It's the cream that disappears!

I hope you are laughing as much as I am remembering myself as a teenager.

Because sometimes, it's hard to be a sister among many sisters. Especially when it seems that so many other sisters have got more than what we have. Like talent. Or looks. Or brains. Or friends. Or even a skinny metabolism when we were stuck with our Great-Grandma's genes and look like a grandmother already.

And we may think—secretly where we are afraid to let anyone know how hurt we are, feeling so UNspecial—or, not so secretly when we go banging around the house informing everyone about the unfairness of life, of our genes, of our parents, and even of our great-grandparents who landed on the shores of America about a hundred years ago, because if they would have stayed in Europe, then fat would have been beautiful and fashionable like those Rembrandt paintings where all ladies in the paintings have cheeks hanging down to their stomachs.

Know what I mean?

Of course you do. Because most of us, no matter how successful we are in some areas, have some other areas that we wish we can excel at. And sometimes, when our sisters outshine us in specific ways, we think we have somehow lost out. Or that maybe other people think our sisters are cuter, better, funner, smarter, or whatever more than us. Like our teachers. Our parents. Or even our friends (traitors!).

So let me tell you a secret.

Parents love their kids. Like seriously love their kids. And it doesn't matter to parents who is skinnier or who is fatter; who can play piano and who can ace tests; who can bake and who can eat the cake. Parents just love their kids because (drumroll!) because that kid is their kid!

And the only problem that comes up is when a kid is unhappy with either their cake or weight or mark on the test; then that makes the parent really unhappy too. Because parents hate when their kid is unhappy, including you.

And most parents are pretty much convinced that their children are remarkable and special and everything. And if you get a bad mark on your test after you tried so hard, your parents don't really care about the mark. They care that you are upset. Or maybe they care because they know your life will be better if you graduate with a diploma from school. That's all.

Parents are not perfect. So sometimes, parents like to show off your sister who is a gifted artist. Or display your other sister's A plus plus report card. Or brag how your sister was accepted to all seminaries of her choice (and of course it makes you really, really upset when it's the same sister!), but that doesn't mean they love you any less. Some talents are more braggable (I just made up that word). It's harder to brag about a kid whose talent is babysitting six younger siblings on Shabbos afternoon, but it's definitely a kind of talent that will get you far. With or without your parents's bragging. Because your parents appreciate it deep down where it's past bragging.

Now, I want to add something more over here.

I'm talking about regular parents like yours. Who really love you and when you read this article, you laugh with me, because you know deep down that it's true. And maybe what you just need to do is TALK to your parents how you feel. And they will hug you and say, “Darling, of course you are wonderful and we think you are great! Silly girl!” And when they hug you, you feel the truth of what they are saying. And the two of your—or three—can figure out how to make things better.

But.

Sometimes there are parents who don't behave like parents are supposed to. And you are really not laughing when you are reading this. You are feeling a sick kind of feeling. Sure, on the outside your parent seems wonderful and everyone even tells you your parent is wonderful. But you know—without understanding why—that something is wrong. And maybe your parents really do favor your siblings. Maybe they really don't like you.

Sometimes, you may need to reach out for help to help you work through these feelings because those feelings are in your head and sometimes—and this is even worse—you need to reach out because there's something wrong with your parent.

And you know what my sisters' reactions will be when they read this article? They will laugh. And so will my mother. Because when you are my age, it's hard to remember who is the oldest and who is the youngest and who is the monkey in the middle. And when you are my mother's age, it's hard to remember anything at all (Just kidding, Ma!).

And we all dance now (at our simchos) and we all act now(grownup in front of our grandchildren) and we all know how to bake fancy cakes (and when we don't, we buy).

 THIS ARTICLE ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN TWIRL MAGAZINE, THE TEEN SUBSECTION FOR BINAH MAGAZINE, PUBLISHED WEEKLY

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