My sister has three kids, ages 13, 9, and 8. The oldest is bookish and sensitive. The youngest is independent and stubborn. Both are transparent in their moods and modes. This latter fact is great if you’re an adult trying to keep kids from rending your flesh from bone and feasting on your entrails.
The one who isn’t transparent, the middle kid, he’s the scary one. He’s the one who hoards all the goats in Catan Junior, and then pets them like they are real. He’s the one who knows, without knowing, how to help you and double-cross you in the same turn during Munchkin Adventure Time. He’s a nuclear weirdness reactor; we have no clue what’s going on inside his head, but we can observe the weirdness particles emanating from him, particles infiltrating our bodies, shattering our DNA, and affecting mutations that make the goat-petting permissible.
Needless to say, he’s our favorite of my sister’s kids.