Let me tell you something…
Growing up with brothers automatically puts you in the Wild Child Witness Protection Program — because peace? Quiet? Soft girl hobbies? Yeah, those don’t exist when you’re the only girl sandwiched between two mini WWE wrestlers.
First of all, being the middle child AND the only girl is basically a full-time job. You don’t get a choice in who you become — your personality is assigned like a random video game character. And mine? Oh, mine came with:
- Football knowledge I never asked for
- Fishing skills I learned because somebody needed to hold the bucket
- Hunting trips where I wasn’t sure if I was participating or just being used as bait
- And Fourwheeler rides that probably shortened my lifespan by at LEAST five years
And don’t even get me started on the toy situation.
I wanted Barbies.
I wanted cute hairbrushes, sparkly outfits, a whole Dreamhouse moment.
My brothers?
They said the closest thing they were doing to playing Barbies was ripping the heads off and tossing the bodies like footballs across the living room. That was their version of bonding.
So if I didn’t want to sit alone in my room having tea parties for one, I had to buckle up, grab a helmet, and pretend like I LOVED mud, danger, and almost dying on a fourwheeler at least twice a week.
But honestly?
It made me tougher.
It made me funnier.
It made me the don’t-mess-with-me wild child I am today.
Because when you grow up with brothers, you either become soft and hide in your room… or you become the type of woman who can out-fish a grown man, drive a fourwheeler like she stole it, and throw a football better than half the neighborhood.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything — except maybe a Barbie that still has her head.
