This is my brilliant, talented, accomplished, kind, thoughtful, beautiful baby sister.
She probably hates it when I call her that–‘baby sister’. Julie and I are six and a half years apart, but despite that, we are incredibly close. Whenever I finished a new writing project, she was always the first person I trusted to read it. We’ve been singing together since she was tiny–from our act in the school talent show when she was in kindergarten, to present-day command performances of the Flower Duet from the opera Lakme. She was always my favorite playmate, whether it was dress-up or My Little Ponies or… Monopoly with our cousins.
…Okay, not all of those were great times.
And, as an older sibling, I have, in the past, been known to be a little bit…zealously overprotective of my baby sister. So the first time Julie introduced us all to Marty, I reserved my judgement.
When Marty really won me over, though, was the second time I met him. We were going to Medieval Times for my birthday, and Marty was invited along. On the way in, I half-joked that I wanted to buy a sword while we were there (like ya do). When we got inside, they were selling these plastic Legend of Zelda Swords—and Marty bought one for me!
And then he bought one for himself.
And then we had a sword fight.
And I was like, all right. This guy is cool.
And as I watched Julie and Marty together over the next few months, I noticed that he would do things for her, like drive her to auditions that were hours away so that she would arrive refreshed and ready to sing. And whether Julie was performing in an opera, writing a term paper, or just having a really good hair day, Marty was her biggest fan. And when Julie was stressed out or worried about something, just hearing Marty’s voice would help her find peace.
These are things that tell an overprotective older sibling that her baby sister is in good hands.
I’ve considered Marty a part of our family for a long time already. We took him on our family vacation this summer. He and my dad both share an affinity for scotch and terrible puns. He even picks on me, just like a little brother.
Therefore, I was extremely gratified, a few months ago, when Marty referred to me as his ‘bro’.
Julie was understandably a little offended on my behalf, but I took it for the compliment that it was. Because a bro is someone who gets you–someone you can rely on. And aside from our shared taste in internet memes and our mutual appreciation for gadgets like the Lawn Roomba, Marty doesn’t have an older sibling. So I hope he knows that he can call on me, any time. And I know that he and Julie will have a happy and blessed marriage together.
To Julie and Marty. Marty—I’m glad we’re bros. And I’m proud to officially call you my brother.
Laura Writes 