When I was little, my brothers, at the oh so mature ages of thirteen and fifteen, pulled me out of my bed in the middle of the night, locked me in their closet, turned out all the lights, scratched at the door, and told me monsters were coming to eat me. Brothers sure are something, aren’t they? It’s amazing that I didn’t get claustrophobia or nyctophobia from that experience alone. It’s all right though since I got back at them by dressing like the girl from “The Ring” and standing over their beds the following night. All these personally traumatic experiences aside, older brothers, or really any kind of siblings in general, do some awful things. I don’t know why exactly, but I haven’t ever met anyone who has a perfect relationship with their siblings. It’s just the way it is. Like cats and dogs, it seems like siblings are cursed to be at odds. Well, at least it’s always that way when you’re young.
Now days, I’ve been getting along just fine with my brothers. Don’t get me wrong; we still butt heads occasionally, I still find them incredibly annoying, and sometimes they do things on purpose to irritate me. However, it’s definitely not as horrid as before. I can be in the same room as them and not want to push them down the stairs. Maybe it’s because we’re not in each others’ presence as much anymore. With them off to college or living away, they’re not over too often. It’s kind of amazing because when they are over now, I actually get along with them more so than not. I know it’s not a glowing improvement, but it’s still good. They’re my brothers, so I’m glad that we don’t completely “hate” each other anymore.