The Youngest Learns To Be The Loudest.

In the household I grew up in, I was the youngest of 4 (and sometimes all the way up to youngest of 6-7, depending on who was staying with us).

Every Sunday, we would line up by the hallway bathroom to shower before church, and since we were lined up by age, I was always last. No hot water for me!

Did I ever get the remote? No.
Did I tend to get smashed between couch cushions and be made into a "Jacee Sandwich" while my brothers sat on top? Yes.
Did I get sent to bed early with my sister, only to sneak out a little bit later to discover all the older people were eating ice cream? Yes.

I think it's inevitable that the youngest learns to be the loudest. And by "loudest", I don't necessarily mean by volume, but you WILL find a way to get your point across and make sure you're being heard.

I told you that in order to preface this next part.

It was a weekend long event when Papi went back to sea since that's how long I told the out-of-town visitor (let's call him "T") delivering Papi's remains was allowed to stay.

Night #1: It's a HUGE rule of mine to never speak ill of the dead, and on this night, T alleged the worst circumstance and I couldn't believe my ears. I shook it off, smiled, said that I was "Full of questions, but at least for tonight, let's have a nice, family dinner and we'll talk about it tomorrow".

Background Info: My friend "L" was living with Papi and died 2 days after him. She was dying of blood poisoning on the couch while T busied himself ransacking the trailer after learning of Papi's death. T found the cash box, the wallet, dug through everything, took the car, and left L to die, claiming he thought she was just drunk.

Day #2: (Before sending Papi to sea), I was bursting at the seams with anger and questions for T and was doing so well at keeping my mouth shut, but as I sat at a table with my mom and T, chomping on my lips, the conversation went quiet and my mom looked at me to say, "Jacee is thinking something."

Yup! Flood gates opened up and I lost my mouth filter. It's like when you catch a yellow traffic light; you either run with it, or stop. I always run with it.

It is a widely known fact that when I KNOW I'm right, you will quickly hear that you're wrong. I am very blunt and if there's ever a bush to beat around, I stomp through it. Although I've learned to be ladylike and polite when necessary, this Jackass didn't deserve one ounce of politeness.

I literally interrogated T, starting with asking about if he actually knew the medical cause of L's death, and that she had died of blood poisoning from an unattended rash, and if the squatters that quickly showed up at the trailer had enough sense to call an ambulance for her, than why didn't he? Why was he so busy raiding the trailer to notice her on the couch? Would she still be alive if he hadn't been so preoccupied with stealing things? And HOW DARE HE TELL ME on Night #1 that L killed Papi because she knew she was in the will, and then killed herself because she couldn't deal with the guilt?! T's the one that left her there to die while he ran off with cash and Papi's car.

It felt like I could hear jaws dropping all through the house. A few had the same questions, but I knew nobody was going to ask.

I still didn't get any answers to my questions, but I received a lot of dumb shrugs and sighs from a very dumb person. I found peace in being able to call him out on his crap, and now I will live a happier life knowing I never have to see or talk to him again.

Mom visited on Monday and said she was proud of me for calling T out. She even said T told her on Night #1 (regarding me gently saying "We'll talk about this tomorrow") that he wouldn't be attending the memorial the next day because he didn't want me to confront him.

I am proud for standing up for our two passed loved ones, and happy that my mom acknowledged it :). My head is held higher today.

Maybe being the youngest helped me become a more assertive adult, and if that's sometimes considered offensive, than maybe you just can't handle the truth.