The Child in the Middle

Sarepta Susie Lee Latty Day

The child in the middle is somewhat a riddle; A little of that and of this;

Sometimes she’s thoughtful and sometimes a handful,

This fun-loving, dreamy-eyed miss.

God made the flowers, the sunshine and showers; 

And surely God must have smiled

When He fashioned this keen one, this come-in-between one,

The lovable middle child.

                                                                                                                                                                                             –Blanche Day Manos

Today would have been my mother’s birthday. If she were here, I’d bake her a lemon pie, her favorite. She much preferred a lemon pie to a birthday cake. If lilacs were in bloom, I’d bring her a bouquet of these, some of her favorite flowers.

Mom was the middle child, coming between her two sisters, Alice and Georgia. Little brother Henry was the youngest of the Latty children. What is there about a middle child that makes one sensitive, mischievous, imaginative, energetic, and kind; all these things rolled into one person? I like to think it’s a little touch of God’s hand, a special blessing on the child in the middle.

Mom grew up in a world that exists now only in books. It was a slower, cleaner, much more peaceful life than most of us experience today. She was a child during World War I yet she lived to see the results of World War II, the Korean War, and Viet Nam. In this last war, Mom and Dad lost their beloved oldest grandson Clint.

The Latty family lived quite a way out in the country, about 15 miles from town. They got from place to place by walking, riding a horse, or loading into a buggy or wagon. In later years, my grandfather bought a Model T Ford.

The Latty family was the hub of social life in long ago Etta. Taffy pulls, play parties, quiltings, all these happened at my grandparents’ home. Ma Latty would never allow dancing; oh my, no. But she did chaperone play parties which are simply movements set to music. And a pump organ had a place of honor in the living room. Mom and her two sisters all learned to play the organ. Ma Latty played too and Ma’s father, Ben Willis, played the fiddle. So they were a musical bunch.

When I think of my mother’s childhood, I think of the word Fun. True, they all worked hard on the farm but they sure enjoyed life. Mom was the one who thought up tricks to play, who was in the middle of any get-together. I wrote about some of her adventures in The Heritage of Etta Bend and Remembering Etta Bend.

Of course, I knew Mom much, much later when she had a family of her own. She was the one who guided me by example instead of lectures. Even when she sorely disapproved of my actions, she loved me. I could always count on Mom being in my corner. She was the champion of all her children, not just this one.

I have often wondered what there was about being in her presence that made problems dwindle and the world seem brighter. The only answer I can think of is that she had a warmth and serenity that flowed out to others. It must have been a  gift.

She is gone now but I miss her every day of my life and suspect that will always be so. I especially miss her on her birthday when it feels like I should be out gathering a bouquet of lilacs or  in the kitchen baking that lemon pie.