Dear Graham,
For years, the word "brother" has been taken for granted in my mind. You have always been just another constant factor in my life. There was never any doubt in my head that you would ever change or grow.
In the past couple of precious months, I've come to realize that I am a super duper lucky girl to have you as my little brother. While I've always considered you something of a pest, there are so many other traits about you that I often forget: you are sweet, incredibly silly, happy and bursting with creative energy. Mom and I marvel at your 24/7 goofiness, but secretly we are relieved to have another day of your youthful innocence. Someday you might wake up a moody teenager, and I hope to God that you never do.
I love the way you still talk in a baby voice around your family at the age of 11. I love how you call me your 'three-quarters-mom'. I even love making you thick, ooey-gooey french toast for breakfast whenever you ask (which is on a daily basis).
I love how you beg for a mug of tea just so you can dunk biscuits in it, and then you get so proud when you chug the hot contents of the cup down.
I love your skinny boy legs that are capable of doing many things, from bouncing a soccer ball to sliding you to home base.
Graham, even if you are a goof ball, I can see that you are going places. And when you are the all-star player for the Toronto Blue Jays, I won't be quick to forget that young boy who collects beach pebbles and secretly likes to rug hook.
Love, your sister.
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