All Hail the Golden Child

My appetite for gambling with my money usually begins and ends with stocks, but there is one wager I’m always willing to place: if you’re a family of at least five—husband, wife, and three children—then your kids will vehemently insist that one of them has been crowned The Golden Child by either one or both parents.

According to the others, this chosen one is treated like a miniature god-king, while the remaining siblings are relegated to second-class citizenship. The grievances are always the same: fewer chores, lighter punishments (or none at all), preferential treatment from one or both parents, and a general air of being catered to while everyone else must suffer this injustice.

I’m the youngest of four—three boys and one girl—so you probably already know who wore the Golden Child crown. It certainly wasn’t me. No matter how innocent I was of whatever wrongdoing had occurred, it was my cheeks that seemed magnetically drawn back to the belt, flyswatter, or whatever else was closest to hand.

Miriam, on the other hand, is the oldest of three—two girls and then a few years later along came the baby brother. If you ask her, she and her sister practically bowed whenever His Lordship entered the room, routinely completed chores assigned to him by Mom/Dad, and were forced to accept - without question - that the Golden Boy was simply “too busy” to help and would “get to it later.”

Based solely on the number of times I’ve heard Miriam frump about her baby brother’s elite status, you’d think she might take deliberate steps to prevent the continuation of this tradition in the next generation.

And yet…

Let’s see what the kids think.

Shane:

“Kids, do any of you think one child receives Golden Child treatment? If so, who? Please provide specific examples to support your claim.”

Ilyia:

“It’s actually diamond treatment, because his head is as hard as one and Mom still gets on her hands and knees for him. Literally. The rest of us wipe his butt, make him two sandwiches, and take care of his dog. All he doues is just sit on his butt, make annoyingly loud noises, and poops.”

Ziva:

“The so-called ‘golden child’ isn’t even a child—he’s a teen boy named Noah. I could give so many reasons that this would be a very long story. But one time, Noah made a very bad choice and Mommy got mad. He looked her in the eye, held out his arms, and said, ‘Mommy h-hug.’ Her frustration immediately melted. She leaned in, hugged and kissed him, and said, ‘Awwww my baby, you’re so sweet, it’s okay,’ and started fawning over him like a prince. It made me want to vomit.”

Riley:

“He comes into my room when I try to sleep. He wears my clothes. He takes my Legos. I drag him out by his ankles and then he darts right back in. We have to do EVERYTHING for him because if we try to make him do it then we have to watch him every second of the process. He always plays the ‘I don’t know what the heck is going on card’ so it’s just easier to do it ourselves.”

Finally, I turned to Noah.

“Noah, do you think anyone in this family gets special treatment?”

“Uh-h-h,” he mumbled, blankly gazing through the cent of my chest. “So sorry.”

“No,” I said, frowning. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m asking if you think any of you kids receive special treatment.”

“Oh.” He waved his hands dismissively. “No way burgle-durgle-ha-har-ha!” He giggled and wobbled his head from side to side. “Imashowozzywhosethebosshahaha!”

I didn’t bother trying to translate the Noahnese. I was pretty sure he was just enjoying the sounds he was making as he flapped his gums. Anyway, I decided to try one last time.

“Noah,” I asked in a playful tone, “do you think you’re treated like a k-k-k-k-king around here?”

Something short-circuited. He went from giggling and making goofy noises to giving me The Downs Stare—that look of pure, vacant incomprehension. I threw my hands up and walked away, defeated.

It was time to abandon this dead-end investigation and find someone else to agitate.

Now… where is that boys’ mother???

She may not admit it but I know that, deep down inside, she finds my humor amusing.