Dear Kirk and Ethan,

I think I should put it out there that you two were the brothers I never had (and oftentimes never wanted) while growing up. You were at times brutally annoying and whiny to each other and me as we grew up, but enough about the obvious. We were closer than most cousins are growing up and despite the inevitable changes now that we’re older and spend most of our year in different states; I consider you to be two of my closest friends.

Summertime reminds me of our childhood in a couple of ways. The first is that we played in my backyard every day. Looking back, we had incredible tans thanks to all of the time that we spent in my pool. I still remember the bizarre games that we used to play (like the one where I was the old lady, Ethan; you were the cop and Kirk; you were the kidnapper). I also remember playing water volleyball, which inevitably resulted in trash talking each other until our parents reprimanded us. Those days in the pool were great because somehow we always managed to entertain ourselves (before you wimped out and complained that the water was too cold). However, I don’t miss the time you nearly made me drown and the other time you made me throw up from dunking me until I couldn’t breathe (yes, Kirk, you can deny it all you want, but you know that it’s true).

Summertime also reminds me of when we still had the tree house in my backyard. I hardly remember the conversations that we had up there, but I do remember when we’d throw the towels over the sides so that no one could see us and that we’d whisper our secret plans while we ate hot dogs and cheeseburgers. In that tree house, it felt like we were millions of miles off the ground and like we were untouchable. Looking back, the feeling can’t be replicated and neither can those summer evenings as we were eaten alive.

I also associate summer, mid to late August in particular, with Wildwood Crest. I don’t even remember when we first started going down there, but I still know the winding paths that led from the beach to the lukewarm pool and then the way to the pool that had the waterslide like the back of my hand. We had a lot of great memories growing up there from when we stayed on the loft floor of the townhouses (do you remember that street called “Turtle Gut” and how hilarious we found that?) to when we started renting condos and we no longer had to drag the millions of things you wanted to bring to the beach (you had to have your metal detectors). I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention how the family would always go to the Sand Castle, how funnel cake and lemonade on the boardwalk was a must and how it was tradition for the two of you to get sunglasses when we went to Cape May for one night out of the week.

I got caught up in the fond memories while writing this letter, but the point remains the same. No matter where we are, how much we talk, whether we agree or disagree about something or how we deal with external factors that are not in our control, I will always consider the two of you to be my first best friends and most importantly, my brothers.

Thanks for the memories.