My Brother

My brother is turning sixteen tomorrow.

That is to say, he will turn sixteen around 12:30 am. He's that kind of boy. Random from the start.

Of course, he won't be a boy anymore. At least, according to American culture, he will be a man.

A fact that I delight and mourn.

I delight in it, because he will indeed be a man. A good, godly man that will one day make a wonderful husband for a lucky, lovely girl. He will be a man, from his dark brown hair and steel blue eyes down to his enormous big feet. One with a big, wide smile and a tender love for our mother, whom he hugs on a daily basis.

I mourn in it, for at the tick of that minute hand of the clock, he is no longer the little boy running about with his toys. He no longer stands up to my waist, but towers over me like a skyscraper over a Woolworth's store. His soprano voice is now a booming tenor. And soon, undoubtedly, he will be going to driving school and learn to drive much better than his older sister.

My little brother is growing up.

Whether I want him to or not.

But there is naught to be concerned. Although he can no longer jump on his bed without hitting his head on the ceiling, or fit himself into the dryer (an inside family joke), he will always be my little brother. And as his elder sister, I will have the joy of watching him grow more and more, until he becomes the man God means for him to be.

And I will stand there, and watch it all with a smile on my face.

Happy Birthday, Boo. I love you.