But back to brothers. I have heard one of these two responses innumerable times upon sharing that I am the baby and the only girl: It's either 1) "Oh, you must have been spoiled rotten!" or 2) "Oh, that must have been terrible! They must have been so mean to you!"
My reply to #1: I always knew I was well loved.
My reply to #2: No, three-fourths of them were never mean to me. And I always knew I was well loved.
I love spending time with my brothers, even my eccentric oldest brother. I think they are funny, and nice, and generous people. Three of them are quite quirky and opinionated, and they are all full of ideas. Their minds never stop thinking up new projects, and, like me, they are often completely relaxed in the midst of a frenzy of activity. If you were to meet as a group, you would never question that we are siblings.
And so here they are:
So, yeah. I like brothers. Yes, I did have imaginary sisters named Rebekah and Rachel, but they were unformed, fleeting girls. Real brothers have much more substance.