When my parents brought my baby brother home, my first words weren’t “Can we take him back?” I was 19 months old and couldn’t yet form complete sentences.
Most girls hear stories of them trying to bring their baby brother back to where they came from, but not me, I hear stories of two babies in diapers and siblings who loved each other more than words can describe. Instead of pictures of me in a t-shirt saying, “Will trade brother for ___” I see pictures of my brother and I hugging each other while on trips to South Carolina with our parents.
When you give a girl a brother, she’s usually less than willing to take him under her wing because she’s at that age where boys are gross. When my parents gave me a brother, I got a follower, a little duckling, and someone to look after. I don’t remember his first steps, the first time he hit me, or the first word he said. I don’t remember our first thirteen-hour car ride to South Carolina with bathroom breaks every two or three hours. However, the things I do remember and the memories we continue to make will last forever.
We all went through that stage where boys had cooties and girls were smarter simply because we were girls. My brother and I had the wonderful opportunity to go through it at the same time. We hated each other with every fiber of our being. There were fights every hour like clockwork, slammed doors, signs that read “No boys/girls allowed”, and many times we got tied together until we made up.
When my brother and I disliked each other it was the stereotypical brother/sister relationship, without the age gap. We fought over who got to sit in the front seat so much my mom had to designate days or flip a coin for us. If he touched me it was a fight and many times he did it just because he knew it would bug me. On the other hand, if he was playing a game, I wanted to as well, but of course, he didn’t want to share with his big sister because she’s gross and bossy.
When I disliked my baby brother, even though he’s not a baby anymore, I didn’t realize what I actually had. Many days I hung out with my best friend at the time and her younger sister, wishing that 12-year-old boy at home could just be a girl instead. Little did I know that he is the reason I do the things I do today. At the time, however, I was giving him a bloody nose because he refused to go feed the hogs just once because I was a teenage girl and needed to fix my hair for school but didn’t have time. I didn’t realize that he would be part of my motivation to work hard in everything I did. I didn’t know how protective I would become of him when he entered middle school my 8th-grade year, and even more so when he became a freshman my senior year.
When I was given a brother, I got handed someone who would always stand up for me, even if he was smaller than the person he bucked up to. As he hit puberty and towered a foot and two inches taller than me, he stood up for me even more so than before, but with the same fierceness. He was 110 pounds soaking wet but stood up to a football player for me when he heard they were spreading rumors, even though I insisted I could handle it. He helped me realize that the boy I was crying over didn’t deserve my tears, but held me through them anyways.
When I gained a brother, I gained a teacher as well as a follower. He taught me more about compassion than anyone I know and has shown me such a big heart for a boy who has been bullied and shamed more times than I can count. He taught me how to see the world through the eyes of a teenager with Asperger’s syndrome, and how to love him through it. He has taught me about forgiveness and heartache, how the two fit in together but at times need to be separate. My baby brother taught me how to let go of what someone has done to you, but never to forget what they taught you. Most
importantly, he’s taught me how to lead someone in the right direction and how to talk to them about things that may be difficult.
My baby brother still thinks I’m gross sometimes. He’s 18 years old, a junior in high school, and “too cool” for his older sister. He doesn’t always text me back or answer the phone when I call after not seeing him for weeks at a time. He doesn’t always let me hug him or tell me he loves me too.
With this, though, he and I have grown a stronger relationship. One that lets us belt out country songs in his truck, even though we sound horrible. We laugh until our cheeks and bellies hurt at the simplest things. He talks to me about his girl problems and asks me for advice. We still poke and prod at each other but it’s more playful than it is to simply make the other mad. Unfortunately, I can’t pick a fight the way I used to because he’s bigger and stronger than me now, but I still try to no avail.
When I got a brother who was only nineteen months younger than me, I got more than I bargained for. I got a best friend for life, someone to talk to, and the greatest blessing I didn’t ask for.
