I didn’t have many friends growing up. Poor me.

Before you leave derogatory comments about self-pity, or label me as a dork, hear me out. I didn’t have many friends–except my younger brother. Ok–let the name calling begin.

I remember we used to do everything together. Well, almost everything–we stopped taking showers together when I was ten.

Needless to say, with my brother as my only friend, my social growth proceeded at a snail’s pace. I was shy, awkward, and painfully self-conscious.

This was until I met friends in my later teenage years. They were the catalyst in a reaction that would ultimately end with an incredible product. The “me” of today.

If you met me today, you’d never know who I was before. All I had to trade for this confidence was my innocence. I’m still not sure if it was an even deal.

My brother benefited from my change as well. He didn’t have to suffer through as many years of social ineptitude as me. So, even when we stopped being best friends, we were strong enough so that we didn’t need one another.

We both have other friends now, and the firends that I have can often seem closer to me than my dear brother. Still, I will always feel closest to him. Despite the things that my friends and I have been through, my brother and I grew up together. We aided each ohter when trouble threatened, and helped each other in any ways we could.

I’ll love him all my days. Despite our arguments, our clashes, the screams, and the beating of fists, we are brothers.

I wonder how living with him again would be? I might be able to find out soon…