You know how in the tacky teeny-bop movies we used to watch growing up the main character would have one of two types of older brothers: the overprotective, slightly patronizing older brother or the distant, moody, and angsty older brother? Either the older brother would tell the protagonist not to date a certain so-and-so or he’d slam the door in their face and blast loud music. Sure, it was just part of the typical family dynamic in movies specifically made for preteens, but when I watched some of those movies I never thought to myself, “Gosh, I wish my brother was like that,” or, “I remember when my older brother slammed the door in my face like that.” If anything, I always thought how damn lucky I was to have a brother who was protective, but let me be myself and make my own mistakes. My brother never tried to change me, but rather always tried to understand me and help me figure out what kind of person I am. For that, I believe I am the luckiest younger sister.

Having an older brother rocks. He learns to drive before you so he can drive you places. He’ll probably know the ins and outs of high school culture and be a good informant or guide. If you’re really lucky, he could probably help you with your Algebra II/ Trig homework. My brother taught me how to make Kraft mac-n-cheese, scrambled eggs, Scotch eggs, sautéed veggies (really good ones with lemon and garlic), Chicken French, mixed drinks (when I got older of course-- and how to be responsible with them), coffee (probably the most important lesson) and a whole bunch of other dishes and drinks.

My brother is the best brother. He’s probably better than your brother, honestly. I know a huge part of it is because he’s older than me by three years, but a lot of people have older brothers and rarely do I find a person who has as good of a relationship as I have with my brother. He was the one to first explain menstruation to me, which I know he didn’t have to do, but he did. He was the one I went to when the boy I liked in High School told me he loved me. He was the second person I told when I lost my virginity. He was there every time my heart got broken. He is the kind of brother that let me sleep in his room if I had a nightmare in the middle of the night (and put on the weather channel). He’s the type of brother that calls me on a regular basis just to see how I’m doing. He’s given me priceless advice that has helped me get through some rough patches in my young life.

The best thing about my brother that convinces me that he is better than any other brother is the fact that my dreams are his dreams. He knows what I want to do and who I want to be someday. He knows about all of the crazy or unrealistic things I want to do and he helps me in every way he possibly can. I can clearly remember a few long phone calls where he’s given me advice or let me rant for an hour. He’s the kind of brother that does research about my passions and finds pathways and connections to get me from point A to point B. Not only that, but he’s opened me up to new things that expand and brighten my world. He’s gotten me interested in Norway and cooking. He’s also gotten me into Harry Potter, The Office, Green Day, world news and politics, travel, NPR, Family Guy and so on.

My brother and I have been through a lot together. Losing our mom was one of those things that has definitely shaped us and impacted our relationship as brother and sister. When I was younger I was jealous, and maybe even resentful, that my brother had memories of mom. I was jealous that he knew what her hugs felt like or what she smelled like. I was jealous that he knew the sound of her voice. I was jealous that he knew our dad when dad still had mom. As I got older, I realized I wasn’t jealous anymore. If anything, my heart broke because I knew his loss was far greater than mine. One thing my brother did for me that I’ll never forget is the time he showed me a videotape of my mom in the hospital after I was born. She was wearing a sun hat to cover her bald head (my memory may be off here) and she was in a wheelchair. She was holding me and I can’t remember if she was singing or praying, but all I could really focus on were her arms around my tiny body and goosebumps popped up on my skin. Though I clearly don’t remember this moment when it happened, I got to see it. I got to see my mom holding me and telling me she loved me.

My brother is strong and passionate. He’s loving and understanding. He’s hilarious, even when he isn’t trying, and he knows how to make me feel heard and respected as a young individual stumbling through this life.

My brother is amazing and one of my best friends. It is also his birthday soon, so I hope he’s reading this and filling in all the gaps with things I didn’t include here. I am absolutely confident I would not be the person I am today if it weren’t for him. He has influenced me so much and has become a solid inspiration through the years. Although he doesn’t always agree with some of my philosophies, he knows how to engage in conversation and challenge me, inform me, and also accept me as I am.

To Kris-- for the longest time I was resentful because you were everything I wanted to be, but at some point you helped me realize that I am someone to be proud of. You helped me realize that I am someone worthy of love, respect, kindness, and friendship. I can’t imagine a life or world where you aren’t in it, challenging the facts we believe and pointing out the beauty that’s missed every day. You’ve put up with my gullible, moody, stubborn butt for so long you deserve a gold medal. Happy birthday. I love you, bud.