The other day, I had the wonderful opportunity to watch over my friend’s two boys. Needless to say, it was a blast, but before they came over I was anxious because I noticed we didn’t have many toys they could play with.

That is when it hit me how much time had really passed because in the past when children would come over my brother had a wide array of toys, and blocks, and games that my Amma shoved in giant bins in our game room.

Suddenly, gazing around the room there was one yellow block of blocks, a couple of plush toys, and rows upon rows of video games that they would not be interested in. Long gone were the hundreds of tiny cars, giant plush bears, a variety of little legos, and the image I always have of my brother.

To six-year-old Ketaki’s chagrin, when the baby brother she had prayed for finally arrived on May 15, 2003, he was not six years old as well. Although a tad bit disappointed at this fact of life, she was super excited to play the part of “big sister.”

Soon it became clear to her that “big sister,” was not a one-time role, it was the role of the lifetime.

I remember much of my childhood after my brother was born, we had immediately moved from our lovely house in San Antonio to a very small town on the border of Oklahoma and Kansas (yes, it was as boring as it sounds). So outside of school, for most of third grade, my companion was my little brother who took pride in following me around, pulling my hair, and wearing my shirts as dresses.

I’ll be honest, at that age, I was getting exhausted playing the part of “big sister" at times, and with a six-year age difference, they always go through the stages of life you have already been through. There was never an overlapping of our stages in life as children, so I ended up being more of a mother to him than a sister, and that was not a role that I wanted.

We had issues growing up, and most of them were on my part, he was (is) definitely the better sibling out of us (I admit this both admiringly and with the utmost pride of being his big sister), but as we grew older, we got closer.

After middle school came around for me, I was so wrapped up in my own life that I drifted apart from my brother quite a bit. He was just starting elementary school at that time, and although he hates to admit it, he totally cried every day his first year of school.

It's strange because although I was the most absent at that time in his life, the image I have of my little brother is from that time period. This scrawny little dude with a felt blanket, and fleece pants walking around the house carrying one too many cars in his nimble fingers, a giant smile on his face.

He was obsessed with cars, and I was obsessed with books, and we had no common game we could play and enjoy (although jungle explorer was tested and discarded), so many of my fondest memories are far more special to me than just enjoying play time. I don’t ever hesitate to hype up his amazing personality because even as a little child he has always had the softest, most kind heart ever.

There was once when I got mad at him for pointing out the keloids on my shoulder, I think he was seven or eight, and a little while later I got a letter under my bedroom door. Writing it just doesn’t do it justice because I have this vivid memory of a paint-splotched piece of paper slowly sliding across my floor, and as I opened my door to see if he was still there.

He was not, but there was a painted rock outside my door, and in the letter, he wrote with his lopsided, but adorable handwriting:

I am sory plees do not be mad I did not meen it.

I still cry when I see the kindness of his heart.

Over the years though, he has grown up and so have I, and these past few years have shown me an image of my little brother that is somewhat foreign to me as a person.

As the eldest of so many cousins, I have always played the “older sister,” part, but in my brother, I found a companion I could rely on.

Last year, we hiked down the Niagara Gorge together on a set of stone-carved, rain-slicked stairs that could have potentially ended our lives. We did this while our tired parents waited in the car a couple of miles away, as the sun was setting, and our phones were losing cell service, but we were determined and we made it all the way down.

At the bottom was a tree with single red Christmas ornament, and we took it replacing it with my bracelet as a token of our success. It is one of my favorite things I have done ever, and the only person who would have accompanied me is my brother, and for that, I consider myself lucky.

This one is for the little guy who is not so little anymore. I don’t thank you enough, or give you enough credit for being there for me, but you have been such a positive light in my life for the past 14 years.

Thank you for the painted rocks, the lopsided letters, for the check-in texts when I’m out late at night, for being my personal assistant and letting me boss you around, and for your stupidly contagious laughs. Thank you also for your “slick” ways like trying to make me take a road that you know has a Volkswagen bug JUST so you can punch me, and for the dumb games you create like betting on drive times.

Above it all, thank you for being the person who will accompany me in just about anything I ask for. Neither of us asked for the role of being siblings, but you do a much better job at it than I do, so thank you for being my inspiration for being a better person.

(She publishes this knowing very well that he won’t read it anytime soon, but if he does: you’re still dumb).