My brother and I bickered a lot when we were kids… a lot. We never had any knock-em-out/drag-em-out fights, but we definitely knew how to push one another’s buttons. He’s four years younger than me, which is a big gap when you’re 10 and he’s only 6, or you’re 15 and he’s a pesky 11. Both of our parents told us on more than one occasion that we should be nicer to each other because one day, we’d be friends, and to be honest, I really couldn’t picture it. I figured Matt would always be my annoying little brother.

He turned 26 on January 1st. And since we hit our 20s, I understand now what my parents said: we really are more than just siblings – we’re true friends. I have more fun with him than I ever thought possible. A friend who is a sibling shares more with you than any of your actual non-blood friends could. You have more history, you’re part of the same family (and their quirks), and that creates very special circumstances for a unique friendship.

Matthew has grown from a ball-busting, mischievous little boy into a funny, smart, confident, amazing man. He can always make me smile, he’s a wonderful listener, and I can’t imagine having a better brother or friend. When he walks into a room, so big and strong, I often find myself picturing the boy with a mop of dirty blond hair sporting orange shorts and cowboy boots, sitting on the couch zoned into The Wizard of Oz. I see that glint of naughtiness in his eye as he spies on me and my friends from the crack of the open bedroom door or the fearlessness he had when he’d roller-blade at full tilt and then fly off of a homemade wooden ramp in the street outside our house. And now, his eyes are filled with savvy and self-assuredness and  genuine humour. When we hang out together my heart swells with happiness. He can make me laugh till it hurts and we can tell what we’re thinking just by exchanging a look. He’s an awesome well-rounded person.

Oh how I love my little brother so!