As I was blowing out candles on my 8th birthday cake in the dimly lit eating space at  Skate City, I wished for a little sister to keep me company.

 Anecdote of brother annoying you. 

This year, my little brother will turn eight himself. 

I spent most of my early childhood asking for a younger sibling, and while I wanted a sister, in reality, all I wanted was a friend. By the time April 2018 came around, however, I  realized quickly just how much a sibling would change my life. 

The first time I saw my brother was only a few hours after his birth. I was overly excited when they gave me my own hospital bracelet to wear, and even more excited that it told everyone exactly what I was: a big sister. 

Walking into the hospital room to meet my brother is one of the most vivid memories I have of my early childhood. The room smelled clean, and the lights were glaringly bright around me. The air around me seemed to freeze, and for the first time since I learned about my brother, I was nervous. I was so worried he’d decide he hated me. Then, I held him in my arms for the first time. He was so tiny, smaller than my baby doll, Bitty, that I had come to assume was the size of an actual baby, and he looked so fragile, like a gust of wind could break him. I, however, was eight (and a half, don’t you dare forget it!) and so sure that the small wiggling bundle in my arms would be my best friend for the rest of my life. 

Two years later, when COVID hit, Logan was my lifeline, as he was one of my only human connections. I spent hours playing with him, reading to him, doing whatever I could with the small two-year-old who always seemed to look at me like I was the sun. 

Some days, we would go outside and play with his pirate-boat water table. When he first started climbing inside the boat, I worried he would break it, though he was barely two, and fit inside the table without a problem. After a while, I would put him on the table myself, his lopsided toddler grin egging me on when I placed him there. Before long, my parents found out, and we were no longer allowed to be unsupervised with the water table because we’d wind up wet and covered in mud. 

At the time, I took the moments spent with him for granted, unaware that he would not stay so small and playful forever. 

As I’ve gotten older, my brother has started to feel farther away. He seems to pester me, no matter how busy I am or how often I told him I am tired. He never left me alone. It’s hard to talk to someone when eight years are separating you in age. Still, I’ve never batted an eye at the gap. It was never something unusual to me, since my mom’s brother is seven years younger than her. Growing up, I’ve watched them argue, make up, laugh together, cry together, and everything in between. The gap in their age wasn’t strange to me, and neither was the gap between my brother and I. 

At least, it wasn’t until August of 2025, when one of my softball coaches asked about the gap. 

“Is Logan your full sibling or a half sibling?” 

It wasn’t asked rudely, just with an air of curiosity that left me wondering if anyone else had ever wondered the same thing. I answered no and went on with my day, though I couldn’t shake the question from my mind. It kept eating at me, like the question was an acid of some sort, burning a hole through my brain. 

I found myself wondering how many people had looked at us and wondered the same thing?

When I came home, I was greeted by the loud yell of my now seven-year-old brother. He ran up to me but jumped into my arms, despite being over half my size. He had a smile that made him look so little, and for the first time, I saw just how much younger he was. I had never noticed it before. 

After that, I tried to make a point to play with him more, remembering how lonely I found myself at his age. I started noticing the way he smiled freely, or the way he still threw tantrums, all the things that marked him as a small child. I found it harder to stay angry at him if he was pestering me, when all he seemed to want was for me to notice him in the midst of all my high school activities. So I did. 

And since I have, our relationship has changed for the better. We’ve gotten closer, though occasionally we’ll have days where communication is hard, or he and I misunderstand each other. Despite that, we’ve learned to coexist as siblings. As friends. 

Most days, when I get home, I look forward to the kid yelling my name and jumping into my arms. It’s become the highlight of my week.