My little Brother

Chad. 10 years 3 days younger than me. Blue, blue eyes. Blond, blond hair. At least 6'2" now.

Not really "little" anymore, but always my little brother. My brother: burying tractors in the sandbox; climbing high into trees; playing in the real backhoe lifting the bucket up and down; wearing his "RAD" shoes, and running through the house in nothing but his Ninja Turtle underwear. Growing up, I gave him countless "underdoggies" on the swing. We even invented our own names and variations, for example, "the garbage can": shaking the swing and making clanging noises all the way up. As a baby, his giggle was the sweetest laugh. My brother is always full of jokes and fun. He still has the cutest laugh. He loves his sisters too, and when we're sad, his hugs help make the world Ok again. Chad is kind to animals. Playing nicely with kittens and puppies as he grew up. Always gentle, silly, absolutely lovable. From the minute he was born I wanted to protect him from the world. I was so angry when the nurse seemed rough with him in his first hour of life. It was my duty as his oldest sister to watch over him. Babysitting. Holding him, actually arguing with Candice which one of us would get to hold him longest.

When I saw Chad this Christmas at home, the first time seeing him in over a year, I burst into tears. Not a single tear, not a sniffle, out-and-out bawling. I just broke down and cried like a baby at sight of the grown man in front of me.

My baby brother.