Descriptive Essay About My Little Brother

At 21 years of age, I was surprised to hear that my father was having another child. Actually I wasn’t surprised, I was speechless. Yes I realized that with my dad’s remarriage, things would change, but the thought of him starting another family seemed far-fetched. My father was in his 50’s and already had kids.

I remember when they told me, I listened, and reacted appropriately, but I didn’t believe it. I watched her stomach grow with each passing month, helped them pick a name, and watched a room transform from office to baby’s bedroom, but still I didn’t believe it. It wasn’t until that day, right before Christmas when I got the call that I was a big sister that things began to set it.

My older sister and I drove to the hospital in silence. Right before we walked into the room to meet our brother, I grabbed her hand and without saying anything we shared a moment of being just us, the two sisters. And then we held him, our baby brother James, and everything changed.

I didn’t know you could love someone so quickly. I felt absolutely nothing before walking into that room and then all at once, I felt everything. He was beautiful. He was ours.

We looked at each other again, it was no longer just the two of us, but two was such a finicky number anyways.

Watching him grow has been amazing in ways I could have never imagined. Growing up being the younger sister, I was excited to finally be someone’s older sibling. I thought I would be able to boss him around, teach him to drive and eventually show him how to sneak out of the house. I thought I would be helping him take on the world. I imagined it all. But I imagined it all very wrong.

Since the day James has come into my life, I feel different. I feel as though I’m learning along with him. It’s spectacular to see the raw and beautiful emotions that stream across his face when he experiences new things. To see the joy in his eyes and hear his pure genuine giggle when something entertains him. It’s magical. I didn’t know something could be so untouched, so innocent, so full of hope and belief in the beauty that exists in the world.

I’m in constant awe.

By watching him grow, I’ve grown. The most important thing I’ve realized is that the spark for life that exists in a child never has to die. That desire to wonder and discover, that complete utter fascination for experiencing new things, that ability to love so unselfishly and without fear doesn’t seize to exist with age unless you allow it to. You just have to choose to revive it and make a conscious effort to commit to keeping that spark alive every day.

As an adult, you know pain, and loss and loneliness. You know what it feels like to be betrayed, to have your hopes crushed, to be rejected. You know what it’s like to lose your grandparents and to have work and obligations get in the way of you chasing your dreams. You will know all these things, that children like my brother James, are lucky enough to not know just yet. But knowing these things shouldn’t stop us from searching for and appreciating the good in life. Nothing should ever stop us from that.

You should still try new things with optimism, even with the knowledge that there is a chance they may not work out the way you hope. You should still appreciate the sunset when you get the chance to see it, regardless of how many times you’ve seen it before. You should still take the time to listen and dance to your favourite song on a random Wednesday night after a long day at work. You should ignore the news for a night, remain ignorant to all the problems that exist in the world and hug your mom, hug her really tight.

I’ve seen my little brother see his first sunset, take his first steps, hear his first song and right there beside him, I appreciate what it is he is experiencing for the first time as if it my own first time. I laugh with him unapologetically about something as simple as a grape rolling across the kitchen floor or the dog chasing his tail. Most importantly, I look at my dad with the same eyes as he does. As a man he doesn’t yet know is not invisible or immune to time and aging.

My dad having another child has taught me a lot about life. I’ve changed in more ways than I thought I would. We all have.

Sometimes I feel bad for James. When I was growing up I had children my age around me all the time, and he doesn’t have that. His cousins are married, his sisters are adults, he’ll never meet our grandma and grandpa. I want to hug him. I want to thank him and tell him he’s the best gift our family could ever be given. It isn’t hard to see that having a child around has made us all better people.

I see the amusement in my dad when he re-watches his favourite childhood movie with James. I see the youthfulness in my step mom when she dances around to music with James after a stressful day at work. I see the amazement in my sister when she sees him learn something remarkable like taking his first step or saying his first word. And I see it in myself, when I am able to look at something that with time has become so common and bland as if it is a masterpiece that I’m seeing for the first time.

When I first heard that my dad was having another child, I was scared, selfish and worried things would change for the worse. That he’d be too busy with his new responsibility, that he would forget about me and I’d be forced to become an real adult before I was ready to take that leap. But those things didn’t happen and what did happen is so much better than I could ever have imagined.

In a way, with my brother being born, we’ve all been reborn and instead of teaching him about the world, we’re discovering the world along with him. 

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I always wanted a baby brother or sister because being the only child got lonely sometimes. I always sat there in my room, playing with my Barbies, but always wanted someone to play with. Of course I had friends my age, but “they couldn’t live with me,” my mother repeatedly told me after my crying sessions when they left. I wanted someone to mess with and blame things on. If I took the last cookie off the plate, I couldn’t blame anyone. It was clearly me. I mean, I loved being spoiled by both of my parents, but my dad wouldn’t want to sit down and have tea parties with me and my stuffed animals, and my mother got tired of it after an hour or so. So where did that leave me? Alone with Mr. Penguin with his overstuffed white belly, and my favorite pink bear with the bright yellow hat that I can’t remember the name of now.

It was hot. Well maybe it wasn’t, but that’s how I felt. I tried to hide the tears that were about to come down by smiling. That always worked. “Cool,” I said. My dad could see that there was some subliminal message that I wasn’t telling him, but he went along with it. I stared into the baby’s big brown eyes, complemented by long eyelashes I envied. He looked back at me and smiled. “Hi Legend, I’m your big sister.”

It was a regular day after school, but I decided to go over my dads for a little while before I went home. My dad picked me up from Broad & Olney and on the ride to his house, he blasted some good ole hip hip in his oversized truck. When we reached a parking spot, he stopped me.

“Symone, I got a surprise for you.”

“What is it,” I said eagerly.

I wasn’t used to surprises from my dad, better yet ones that followed through. He continued into the house, and I followed behind him. The ten step passage seemed like a flight of five stairs due to my excitement. I was cheesing, thinking my surprise was something nice for me. Money, or a new phone. You know, what most kids my age looked forward to. My face immediately dropped.

My step mom was sitting there with a baby in her arms.

“Who is he?” I asked. It came out harsher than I expected.  

“This is Legend, he’s your brother. That’s your surprise.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I should yell at him for having ANOTHER kid without me knowing or if I should pretend to be happy. I didn’t know what to do right then and there. I was thinking about his stupid wife for giving birth to the baby without telling me, and him for lying to me. The day my “little brother” was conceived was the very same day my dad cancelled plans with me. Now I could see why.

“Oh,” I finally got out, “how old is he?”

“Three months,” my step mom replied. Then, silence.

I hated my dad. Well, I didn’t exactly hate him but I was really upset and hurt. This wasn’t the first time he left our hut to make a village with another family. I had a little sister too who was one years old. I didn’t meet her until after her first birthday and even meeting her wasn’t intentional. This wasn’t the first time he let me down and this wasn’t the first time I was left disappointed. But I couldn’t play the victim. I had to come to terms that I now had a one year old sister and three month old brother that I had to take care of. That I had to be around because it wasn’t their fault that they’re here, and had to make sure that I was a good big sister to look up to. I’ll never forget that feeling.
I used to think of disappointment as losing one of my Barbie dresses, or Barney getting turned off when it was time to watch football. But I realized that disappointment can stem from the person you love the most. I realized that I can’t play the victim when things go wrong because you’ll have to deal with it eventually. I don’t dislike my little brother and sister till this day. They’re still my little superstars and I hope I can be a good enough big sister to them. I don’t blame my dad repeatedly for the situation, because his reasons for not telling me could go further than what my age is suppose to know. But I love them all. Victims will always stay victims unless they realize that at the end of the day, you have to get over it.

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