My brother’s name is Aaron. He’s the eldest in our family. He has a wife, Rachel (which is also my name o_o), and a daughter on the way, Hannah.
I love my brother. I’ll never go around saying I don’t. But there’s definitely something missing on our relationship. We have absolutely nothing in common. And we are ten years apart.
Apparently when I was a kid I really attached myself to him. He was my favorite. I vaguely remember this. There’s this picture of us where I’m offering him some cake batter on the whisk-thinger and he’s giving me a look of death. But obviously toddler-me doesn’t care because I’m just giggling.
The hardest part of our lives was when he went to Iraq. My brother’s a Marine, and he was sent to Iraq in 2001 for a few months. We were lucky, it was only a few months and he was never sent back. My mom still keeps the letters he sent us somewhere in the house.
After Iraq, my brother joined the volunteer firefighters. I wrote an essay in school where I thought he was happier working with them.
I don’t know much about my brother. He likes beer and his man-cave. That’s about it. But I love him to death. And I wouldn’t trade him for anything.