to the one who tells stories

I don't really talk about my family in a whole lot of detail on my blog mostly to respect their privacy, but I suppose if you follow me on Instagram or we're friends on Facebook then maybe you've seen me post pictures with my daddy and occasionally the madre.

Today, however, I'd like to dedicate this post to somebody else in my family. He is the one and only, the annoy--I mean, uhhh, bossy? Sorry, let's try this again. The overly protective (?)

No, hang on, that's not quite right...

What's that word I'm looking for? Loving? Yes! Loving! Amazing. Insert all wonderful superlatives imaginable here. Hey world, meet my amazing brother.

This mister goes by many names in my book, including but certainly not limited to: Bro-bro, bro-heem, bro, brudder, guh, idiot, st00pid, crazy, jerk, goon, dummy, and my personal favorite, dum-dum. But we'll call him R around here. I should also mention it's his birthday today so we have to be nice. It's quite a shame since I had planned to dish all the dirty secrets about him because hey, isn't that what little sisters do? D'aw I know, I'm such a sweet sibling. No wonder he lives so far away. Just kidding. But I guess the proper way to introduce you would be to tell you about him and how much this guy means to me.

Being only eighteen months apart, R and I have always gotten along quite splendidly together. (Well, mostly. He also used to pinch me a lot and coerce me into giving him the last bite of my breakfast while referring to them as "taxes," but I consider those repressed memories.) He always led and I always followed. There was no question about it. Whatever he said, I would do. He was the extraordinary captain who always barked orders at me, the ordinary sidekick.

I remember all through elementary school and the early parts of middle school, he and I garnered a little family of stuffed animals--a pair of turtle siblings as detectives, a dolphin king, an ostrich prince, a dinosaur captain, a bunny cook, a bear chaplain, a whale scientist... seahorses, Pikachus, terrier dogs, poodles, bluebirds. Armed with our misfit toys and our crazy imagination, we spun never-ending adventures.

When we had outgrown our stuffed animals, he and I often stayed up late at night, creating wild tales, casting ourselves and our friends as characters. (Oh, the perks of having to share a room with your sibling.) The elaborate plot lines and adventures we found ourselves in was reminiscent of our stuffed animal-playing days. That was the time I began to realize my brother was a storytelling genius. He'd take an idea, a concept, and suddenly this concept would have a character, and this character would have a name and a (usually depressing) backstory. Then from this character, there were sidekicks and villains and winding drama tossed in between. And suddenly, before you knew what was even happening, you were somewhere deep in the trenches of warfare, shots flying overhead in whatever which way or a spy picking your way through mucky sewage looking for a weak spot into the city. We'd go on for hours until one of us (usually me) fell asleep on the other and then pick up the story again the next night.

After four years of sharing a room and our stories each night, we finally got our own rooms when we moved out of our old apartment. I packed up my stuffed animals and story-telling days and put them behind me. My brother took his stories with him and tucked them away close to his heart as he set off for his own adventure. Somehow his audience went from being his little sister to the big screen. And I got to watch from the sidelines every step of the way.

This kid graduated college in two years and will be walking across the stage to collect his master's this Saturday. And I won't be there to see it happen because I'm a terrible sister and I have four finals right after his graduation and he understands when I say GPA > family. (IM' KIDDING, FOLKS. CALM DOWN. BUT WOW, I AM TERRIBLE. GET ME OUTTA HERE.)

I'd be lying if I said he and I were buddy-buddy all the time and that we have the best relationship in the world, but it's okay. We try and that's what counts. I love how I can literally tell him anything and he'll be half-listening and giving me one word responses (namely "k" and "lol") but if I suddenly bring up the topic of boys (e.g. "Boys are stupid, you know"), he's suddenly all ears and up in arms and it's like his caps lock key gets stuck on his keyboard or something, (e.g."OH MY. IS IT HORRIBLE THAT I WANT TO MURDER HIM RIGHT NOW? WITH A BAT?" "WHAT'S HIS NAME?" "WAIT, I'M ON YOUR FB RIGHT NOW. IS IT ______? WOWW. HE LOOKS... OKAY FINE, I WON'T SAY IT. WAIT HE DID WHAT?! YO, WHERE'S MY BAT!")

Yes, that example was based off of a real conversation we had. And yes, those are the marks of a true older brother. Oh man, I miss him.

R, 
I don't say it enough. 
You're crazy talented at what you do and I'm like bursting with pride because I can say I'm related to you. I have no doubt God has these crazy good plans in store for you and I can't wait to see them all unfold. 
Here's to all the stories you'll tell and the places you'll go with them. 
Happy birthday to the best older brother a girl could ask for. 
I'll see you real soon. 
Always cheering you on,
A