My Little Brother Poop

16 months. That’s what separates me and my younger brother Ethan. I was born September 3rd, 1992. He was born January 3rd, 1994. The math equates to 16 months. Children of the 3rd.

We might as well have been twins growing up. My earliest memories mostly involve him. Running around Disney. Running around my dads office. Running around the neighborhood. Ethan was in all of them.

We’ve fought. We’ve had arguments. But I think there are a couple things that describe our relationship perfectly. First off, never, not one time, did my brother ever fight me about riding shotgun. Whether, it was because he respected the hierarchy of the family or because he preferred the backseat, I always got shotgun. My sister, whose nine years younger than me has fought me over this. And I repeat, she’s nine years younger. Not Ethan, though. Ethan respected the older brother dynamic when it came to spots in the car, but also when it came to bunk beds. I always got the top bunk, and he was always okay with this.

Everyone knows that the passenger seat and the top bunk are the quintessential embodiments of all things cool, and my brother gave these up like it was nothing. It just shows that this guy knew what was important and knew brotherly love at a really young age.

Me?… Not so much…

I’m the cool older brother. I was always suppose to be faster, cooler and better. On the off chance Ethan was better than me, I had to put him down. Nothing displays this more than the video game, Super Smash Bros.

Our parents bought us an N64 and not long after, Super Smash Bros. The game was fun, but I noticed something immediately… and that something was that Ethan was better than me… Then, Ethan noticed too.

Ethan beat me all the time. In every way. With every character. No matter what. I hated it.

I gave up on Smash and put it in the “stupid game” category in my brain. This of course wasn’t because it was stupid. It’s a fun game. This was because I couldn’t give my little brother this one edge on me. I couldn’t let my brother be better than me at something.

Now, I admit. Ethan Hooper is a lot better than me at Smash. Not only that, he’s a pretty cool kid. He’s more comfortable in his own skin than maybe everyone I know… definitely me… He’s forming quite the legacy at UCF, has an amazing group of friends, and is transforming into an all-around well human being who I’m proud to call my brother.

I can call him at anytime and have him do one of his many impressions. We’re always getting into arguments about the state of Disney movies, Pixar movies, and superhero movies. And I’m unsure if there’s another person who knows me as well as this kid.

I know the younger brother is suppose to look up to the older brother (as he should when the older brother is me… because let’s face it… I’m awesome), but the more I grow, the more I find myself looking up to him.

Overall, at the risk of getting emotional, I guess I’m trying to say that…….. Ethan may never be better than me… or cooler than me… but he might come close. And that’s worth a blog post.

Happy Birthday Poop!

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