Last week, twenty-eight years ago, our mother gave birth to the fourth boy in the household. He was over-due and I think our mother was happy to have him out. He was over ten-pounds. Some ladies looking at all the newborn babies commented on the fact he was such a big baby not realizing our Mom was standing right there. 

I don’t know about you, but if I were my Mom I would have laid down a beat down for that comment.

My brother enjoyed being the youngest child for four years before I came along. He had three older brothers to look up to and play with and the world was good in his book. Then, I came along and stole the youngest (read: favorite) position. To top off the indignity of it all, I turned out to be a girl. I think to his four-year old self this was the ultimate act of betrayal since it wasn’t like it was another boy to the mix. No, it was a girl… the first and last my parents would have.

There is a picture at the hospital of my Mom in bed with all her boys around her and me on this brothers lap. He happened to be wearing a crown from Burger King. Our brothers like to call it the ‘I’m not the baby anymore’ crown. 

With the order of things growing up, I was his punching bag since whoever was the child behind you in order was by default. To say we didn’t particularly get along would be the understatement of the century. I can admit I was kind of a spoiled brat when I was younger. Looking back I can see why he used me as a punching bag, especially when I deserved it. We used to fight like cats and dogs… so much so that recently an old family friend informed me she could hear us screaming at each other from down the street.

Plus, I think the fact I’d believe the obviously (years later) very fake stories our older brother would tell me to incriminate his little brother and amuse his little sister, did not help.

My brother and I were as different as any two people could be, something that became more and more apparent the older we got. Where I was shy, my brother was very social. Where I could be a girl of many words, given the right circumstances, my brother was more withdrawn. I was, in time, an academic with a real thirst for knowledge that a classroom could provide me. My brother sought out knowledge in the real-world, preferring to experience stuff first-hand instead of simply reading about it in a textbook.

However, in time, although we were very different in many regards, in others we were very much alike. We both like to avoid confrontation, we’re both fairly withdrawn and enjoying looking and listening.

Then, I moved to Japan as an exchange student.

Leading up to the trip we’d ruthlessly taunt each other; we were making sure the other knew just how over we were of each other and how much the other will not be missed. It took me until summer to admit to my brother on the phone that in fact, yes, I did miss him. Who else was there to terrorize me and generally treat me like the little sister I was? 

In that simple admission our relationship changed from one of open hostility to accepting that we were siblings. When I came back from Japan and I was having a hard time adjusting my brother offered me an ear to talk to and we grew from accepting we’re siblings to being siblings that could, gasp, be friends. 

We are still very different people, yet, we’re similar. No longer will we not admit that we’re similar and genetically linked, but rather, find an awesome support system in each other. 

Whenever we’re in the same town now we like to hang out and, besides my mother, is the family member I keep in regular contact with. When upset or needing an opinion I’ll text him or give him a ring. 

Despite the bickering and general sibling rivalry growing up, in my brother I found a friend for life who I’m fortunate to have as my brother. 

To my brother on his 28th year of life: Happy birthday! with wishes for many more years of life, happiness, laughter, and love!

Luf, your baby sister