I really enjoy my youngest brother, the Clark. (If you would like to know a few reasons why, I suggest clicking on the link.)
Clark is the youngest member of our family, and thus, he never really had a childhood. It's hard to want to watch teletubbies when your elder siblings really want to watch Will and Grace.
In fact, when you think about it, it is quite the miracle that Clark appears to have grown into a decent 12 year old human being, considering that he was practically raised by a band of cynical heathens.
Perhaps my parents prevailed.
He is kind to the elderly. He is tolerant of small children. He recycles. He likes to read, and only occasionally vandalizes private property. (He and his friends are engaged in a very intense neighborhood-wide toilet-papering war.)
Last night however, he showed his true colors. While driving home from a family activity, my mother asked him,
"Clark, what do you like best about being the youngest child?"
Clark pondered, and responded,
"Well. It is nice that I'm not a retard like the rest of you (looks at nearest sibling.) And that I don't have to follow any stupid rules."
My mother was a bit appalled. I was proud.
It seems as though we (the retards) got to him. Or his other siblings, Jack, Karen, Will and Grace.