“Mom, Ryan took my monster truck again!”
“I was just looking at it! I’m giving it back to him now!”
“No, mom, Ryan took it from Adam on purpose and is pretending to throw it out!”
Picture a courtroom scene: you have the judge (me), the plaintiff (oftentimes my youngest brother, Adam), and the defendant (the middle child, Ryan). When I was a kid, every quarrel between my brothers turned into one of these scenes. These arguments would always end in Ryan being wrong and sentenced to read a book aloud, one of the cruelest forms of punishment in his world.
They’d get into quarrels over the littlest and craziest things: one person called the other a name, one of us hid someone else’s possessions, or the most common occurrence – taking part in careless play fighting that launched into a full-scale WWE match.
All it took was one of us to start crying for my mom to tell us to live on separate continents when we grow up. She would assign us each a continent – they changed every time – and explain that if we treated each other horribly now, we’d despise each other as adults.
Upon hearing this, my brothers and I would exchange glances. What went from feelings of frustration transitioned to sadness and regret. Despite wanting to rip their eyes out a brief moment ago, I could not imagine a world without my brothers. When my mom would leave the room, we’d secretly go into a corner, hug each other, and whisper this chant: “Best friends forever, no fighting! Best friends forever, no fighting!”
We did this for years.
Many thoughts come to mind when I hear this word: brothers. Daunting yet refreshing, destructive yet sweet, and finite yet interminable; these adjectives describe my brothers. I’m related to two of these eccentric characters. They take part in the most devious pranks, yet allow their kindness to shine through in small acts. Though they will grow up one day and move on to their own lives, the relationship I have with them will withstand the test of time.
Early on in life I caught on to the idea that I’d be a second mother to them; it comes naturally to elder sisters. You know what’s funny, not once did I ever want a sister. Besides the fact that most of my cousins are girls, I never felt the need for one. I was sophisticated enough to realize another girl meant I’d have to share things, and I wouldn’t be the most adored. I concluded rather quickly that I was content with two male siblings.
As we all mature, their dependency on me lessens. Although a good thing, because it means they leave me alone more, it also means they’re evolving and ready to spread their wings. That in particular is hard for an older sister, to see her little siblings leave the nest. People talk about parents getting emotional, but really it’s still somewhat of a similar feeling for older siblings.
Despite these thoughts running through my head, I realize we still have years down the road together before we truly understand what independence is. They both still ask me for help with their schoolwork and projects, Adam especially. They still ask for my permission before they do anything – Mom’s orders. We still horse around as if we were elementary-aged children.
I still remember when we moved into our new house, we had played hide and seek every single day together that summer. We’d all aim for the hidden closet compartment in my bedroom, despite having used that spot multiple times before. It’s memories like these that often remind me of the special childhood we have and still have left together.
As irritating as little siblings are, especially if they are brothers, they’re the greatest gifts. Knowing I’m their biggest inspiration and role model is the greatest feeling I’ll ever experience. Knowing I’m the number one person they opt to annoy is a blessing, yet most definitely a curse. My mom would always tell me she prefers boys over girls; I never understood how come, but I think I’m starting to get why.
