I remember pulling him out of the street when I thought cars were going to hit us. It seemed the only logical thing to do, as the older and protective sister. I managed to save our bikes too in that little incident. I remember watching him get his stomach pumped when he consumed a dangerous amount of my great grandmother’s pills. I remember screaming at him to stop dancing obnoxiously in front of the television while I watched my cartoons. I remember holding his hand when we crossed in front of the school bus every morning and every afternoon. I remember grabbing a little boy’s head into my hands and threatening to “pop it like a pimple” if he tried to bully my brother again. I remember three seperate times where I used my right arm as a restraint in those few “close calls” with other cars. I remember when he was a full foot shorter than me.

And I will never forget the first time he was able to give me a piggy-back ride around the entire house. Like a man, he hoisted me about with ease. And how I laughed and giggled and shouted for my mom to “Look! Look at what Kyle’s doing!” while he danced around the Christmas tree with me strapped around his waist.

My “little” brother is not so little anymore. Ultimately, to my surprise. And delight. For until tonight, I have not had a real piggy-back ride since I was a whopping 65 pounds. Good grief… It has been far too long.

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