Being in the middle is never fun, much less when your father is Nick Carter. A man who had to grow up on the road, brought up by men who were not his father, and famous from the time he was about thirteen years old. A man who has had seven CDs out, who knew nothing but fame since he was just barely a teen, who came from a dysfunctional family, with a mother who could have cared less about him other than the enormous amounts of money he brought into the family.
But back to the topic. Which for the first time in a while, is me. Because, as all we middle childs know, we tend to be forgotten a bit when it comes to family life. Even more if you are the only child of the four who is a terrible singer, does not in fact look like his father, hates basketball and loves soccer.
Yeah, I'm blessed like that. I can't sing a single note on tune, nor have I ever been interested in playing guitar or drums or any of those other instruments that my dad has constantly tried to get me into. I have dark, brown hair, which I keep kind of long, and brown eyes which are not remarkable in any way. My face is normal and I'm short. I'm not fat, I'm not very thin, either. I can't seem to get into family basketball games- although this is probably more related to the fact that I can't seem to get the ball into the basket than anything else- and I love soccer.
My brother and sisters are called Micah, Jen and Sarah, and they're more like my father. They've all made at least one CD- Jen's got two-, they're great basketball players and they look exactly like my father- blond, blue eyes, the works. I guess you could say I'm the black sheep.
I've never had any problems with all that- always said I liked being different- until now. With all three of my siblings on tour with my dad, I'm stuck at home with my mother, who has to work weird hours so for the most part I have to drive myself to school. What kind of loser am I, that I am staying home almost by myself, and have to drive myself to school? When I am almost sixteen years old and mostly, could care less about algebra, history, and literature?
Ah, the joys of being stuck in the middle. I wouldn't tell my mother how I feel because she wouldn't understand. She's the oldest, just like dad. And like Micah. Micah was born just two years before I was, but considering the diferences it might as well be two light years. And with the girls... well, honestly, I don't get along that well with them.
But life goes on. Tomorrow I'll be happy and the next day maybe I won't, and in the long run, it won't matter that much. I won't remember today, and yet I will remember in general what my life has been like. I will remember soccer practices, long school days, month-long vacations in luxury hotels in the most exotic countries, days spend with my mother, days spent studying, days spent in my pajamas... moments- moments like Christmas and my birthday and all kind of days like that-, and my friends, and to me, this has always been more important.
Life gives you paints and brushes, but you're the one in charge of painting your own picture of your life.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Ok, so not my best, but I hope you enjoy this short story!
