Why every girl needs a brother

Jamie Parsell
Bluefield Daily Telegraph

July 11, 2008 01:16 pm

— Not wanting to allow their daughter to grow up as an only child, my parents felt the need to add to our small family in 1982. Enter the little brother. A quite puny baby (he was really born premature), the little brother stayed in the hospital during Christmas until he gained weight. Both parents say that the tiny brother, who curled up in a ball in his car seat, got lost in all his new baby clothes on the way home from the hospital.
The tiny baby grew up to be a rambunctious boy — full of mischief and equally bursting with brotherly taunts and pranks, much to my dismay. But nevertheless, a brother is one of the best companions that a girl can have, even if they torment you day and night. But why? That’s easy. A brother is a girl’s first friend — a partner, adventurer and sometimes an enemy.
I like to consider my brother as my first adventure partner. After all, he was the best bike partner in the world. Together we would ride our bikes up and down our road in Glenwood. We would race, try to ride without holding onto the handles, crash into the hillside and fly down our steep driveway. When boredom struck, I would draw road signs and we would ride our bikes through an imaginary town with make believe red lights and stop signs. As the leader, I would yell “Stop.” Sometimes my brother would stop. Other times, he would crash into the back of my bike.
A brother will defend you from the evils of the world. OK, so maybe brothers do not have superpowers, but they can still defend you from bullies and mean dogs. Growing up, my brother and I would were quick to defend each other. It is perfectly fine to fight with each other, but if anybody else started to pick on either one of us — the other was quick to the rescue. On many bike adventures, we would run into strange dogs. I (being a big chicken) would often want to ride away in a mad dash toward home or the nearest tree. My brother would talk to the dog, pet its head and let me ride past without notice. Being a notorious wanderer of the neighborhood, he knew every dog in Glenwood Heights.
A brother can easily become a sister with just a few simple changes. Like most women stuck with a brother, I always wanted to trade-in or upgrade for a sister, which didn’t set well with the parents. Instead, I dressed up my brother as a girl. I like to believe that I was expressing my creativity in style and design. The only accessories that I needed was a pair of big, bright blue sunglasses, a white floppy Easter dress hat with a pink bow, long beaded necklaces and a pair of play high heels. With his light brown hair and big brown eyes, he was a cute little girl — so cute, that my parents took a picture of their “daughter.”
A brother will play with “girl toys” — until he realizes that he has been tricked by his clever sibling. Need a second person to be Barbie’s sister Skipper? All you need is a brother. And no, he did not tear off the golden locks of any of my Barbies. A willing participant, he took up residence in Barbie’s dream house, until he was old enough to realize that he was playing with “girl toys.” If I wanted to play superhero, he would tie a pillow case around his shoulders and fly around the room. We were superwoman and superman — ready to save the world. And if I wanted to play in my play kitchen, he would stir, bake and wash dishes. Of course, there was the time he shoved himself in the oven, shut the door and rolled out with a big smile on his face. (Hopefully, our mother warned him about the dangers of crawling inside of ovens.)
As much as I hate to admit it, life without a brother would have made childhood boring. There would have been no one pulling my hair, chasing me with the water hose, using my expensive shampoos and conditioners and calling me names like “dork.” Now that my little brother is no longer puny or little (he towers over me like a giant), I miss the days when we stuck together like glue, only a bedroom apart in our childhood home. And I think I miss his willingness to play Barbies without hesitation — simply because his sister wanted him to play.
We are more than four hours apart, 300 miles away from bike rides in our old neighborhood. Even though our childhood play days are gone, I can still take comfort in the fact that brothers never lose the characteristics attributed to their role. My brother still calls me a “dork”, makes loud noises, pulls my hair and a host of other annoying habits — all in the name of brotherhood. Some things never change.
Jamie Parsell is Lifestyle editor at the Daily Telegraph. Contact her at jparsell@bdtonline.com.