When I was three-years-old, my aunt took me to Florida Hospital and told me I was going to meet my new baby brother. As a toddler, I hadn’t quite wrapped my mind around the whole pregnancy-baby-sibling thing, so when I got to the hospital that day, my little brain had somehow figured the baby I was going to meet was a doll rather than an actual living, breathing child. So, when my mother handed me a bundle of fabric with a little red face peaking out, I could not believe my eyes. My first words in my baby brother’s presence -- and one of my first memories -- is of my reaction, big-eyed and unbelieving, saying completely aghast, “Mommy, he’s real!”

Once I had worked out the whole big-sister-living-little-brother thing, I became the most interfering and over affectionate big sister ever. I wanted to help my mom do everything my new baby brother needed, that is, until he puked on me about a week after he was born. After that incident, I was a bit more wary of him and his habit of spewing throw up on every occasion (he had a very sensitive stomach as an infant which has manifested into a picky diet later in life). In the months and years that followed, we grew into a classic brother-sister pairing, with the usual jibing and fighting, along with quite a few backyard adventures and numerous pillow forts on rainy afternoons. I remember the bad moments, like when he decided I was “the worst big sister ever,” and I remember the good moments, like when we spent an entire day in our back yard, playing Peter Pan (his favorite game of make believe from age two to age four). I remember a lifetime of moments all mixed together to create our incredible childhood together.

Being a big sister, for me, has meant years of fighting, playing, imagining, and loving with the only other person on this planet who truly understands what it is like to be me, and who I share all the same memories and experiences with. I understand him better than just about any other person on the planet, and he understands me. And though we do butt heads quite often, I wouldn’t change one bit of him, nor one second of our childhood together.

When I look at my little brother, who has now grown from tiny red-faced baby to hulking and handsome six-foot-two, 15-year-old, I see so much potential in him, so much kindness, so much intelligence, and I am so proud to be his big sister. Irritating as he can be, he is my wonderful, weird, not-so-little-anymore brother and I love him to death. And even though he is 15 and is too cool to say it out loud, I know he loves me too. And I look forward to a lifetime of loving and picking on each other.