I was 6 years old when my baby brother was born. Up until then, I had been an only child. Although most only children resent siblings for taking away their “baby of the family” status, I was actually thrilled to have my very own live baby doll to play with and take care of. I thought he was the cutest little thing I had ever seen, and I was the very best babysitter.

After about four years, I started to notice that my cute little brother wasn’t so cute and little anymore. He was actually very annoying. He was so loud all the time. He left a mess everywhere he went, including my room. He was always trying to play with all my stuff. And he was stinky. Very stinky. Even at Disney World, we could not pose for one good picture without grimaces.

By the time he was eight years old, it was a full blown hatred. You may not be able to tell from the forced picture below at the Palo Duro Canyon, but that is because it is from behind so you can’t see our grumpy faces. I may or may not have bit him really hard that morning, and he may or may not still have a scar from that. But he had it coming, LOL!

Around the time he was eleven, we started to get along better. It definitely helped that we weren’t living together. The phrase “distance makes the heart grow fonder” was very true in our case. We weren’t super close yet, but it was gradually getting better year by year.

Now he is sixteen years old and I am twenty-two years old, and we are the best of friends. We are both super weird all the time, so that helped form a connection. Between swapping faces on Snapchat or making poop jokes, and talking about personal issues or consoling sorrows, we are finally to a place where we are the perfect example of what siblings should be. I am thankful every day that we have gotten to this place. I love you, bro!