For most people, the relationship they have with their sibling is the longest relationship they will have in their lifetime, for better or worse. You fight, you laugh and you argue about who gets to ride in the front seat of your parents’ car. You share a history that no one else understands.
For some, the sibling relationship is hardly what everyone makes it out to be. Highlighted by toxicity or incompatibility, their sibling is nothing close to a best friend, no matter how hard they may have tried.
For me, I got lucky. My brother, Beau, is two-and-a-half years younger than me, and I wouldn’t trade our relationship for the world. Let me tell you why.
We’re 21 and 18 now. Beau always answers my FaceTime calls on the first few rings and never looks at the TikToks I send him.
He is the only person who knows what incredible parents Tim and Emily Swett are and the joyful feelings that accompany waking up in our house on Christmas morning.
My younger brother, my best friend, the one who keeps me humble while also offering me a shoulder to cry on.
We’re 21 and 18 now, but we were once:
Eighteen and 16. I was simultaneously moving off to college while he was getting his license. I remember feeling like our lives were literally being driven in different directions. He finally outgrew me, and all of a sudden I was the one looking up to him.
Sixteen and 14. I got my license and we hit the road. He’ll always have dibs on shotgun in my car.
Fourteen and 11. When he endured the 5 a.m. wake up calls, the cross country travel trips and 12 hour days in the gym, all to watch his big sister play volleyball and still never miss a game.
Thirteen and 10. Sharing the experience of Disneyland for the very first time, together. We took pictures with Mickey and Minnie and rode each ride side by side, him in his Mickey hat and me in my Minnie ears.
He also traveled with me alongside our die-hard alumni parents to many University of Washington games and was never ashamed to wear matching Husky gear with me.
Nine and 7. Sharing the backseat of our parent’s Mitsubishi Endeavor as we road trip halfway across the country. We spent a few weeks of our summer in the small town of Albion, Nebraska, where the only kids we knew our age were each other. He rode in the basket of our grandpa’s tricycle while I pedaled us to Shorty’s ice cream stand.
Little did we know this is where we would spend many of our future summers, rating each other’s tricks off of the diving board at the town pool and blissfully twirling sparklers every Fourth of July while the fireflies twinkled.
Seven and 5. Our family got our first dog, and that first night Beau and I shared a bed where our new puppy slept right in between us. On nights when we’re both home you can hear the click of his paws on the hardwood floors, as our now graying dog wanders back and forth to each of us sleeping in our childhood bedrooms.
Four and 1. He couldn’t talk yet but that was no problem — I could do it for him.
Two and he was born. Now not only did I have someone to share my toys with, but also some of my fondest memories.
He had no choice when it came to being my little brother, but to be one of the best ones there is — he decided that all on his own.
There were arguments between the two of us, sure, but nothing that has impacted my life as much as the collection of memories I’ve reminisced on here.
To my brother — I thank him for making the choice he made 18 years ago to grow up by my side while showing me unconditional love and support along the way.
And to anyone who hasn’t been as lucky as me — I hope you can mend the relationship with your sibling that may be suffering. If not, hug the person in your life that has filled the sibling role for you. This bond goes past blood relatives for most people. I am just one of the lucky ones.
Emma Swett is a sports reporter for The Beacon and can be reached at swett25@up.edu.
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