Just kidding. Sort of.
When I was growing up, I wanted to be just like my older brother. I followed him around everywhere, and I don't think he always liked that. I always tried joining in on the football games he played with other boys in the neighborhood, and he would tell me to go home. And I wouldn't. So, he eventually would give up and just let me play but let me know it was my fault if I got hurt. Hurt? I didn't get hurt. I was like him, so I couldn't get hurt. Duh.
And on the few occasions I actually got hurt, I just pretended like I didn't. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
But, even though he said I was pretty much on my own, he was always secretly looking out for me and protecting me from the boys. He even got quite physical with a kid who pushed me down during roller hockey once. I smiled.
I remember how special I felt when I got to middle school and people started calling me "Little Merrill." I still thought my brother was the coolest person who existed, and the fact that he was my older brother made me partially cool by default. Even when he ignored me in the halls on occasion, I figured he was only doing it out of love. He obviously just didn't want to stroke my ego too much.
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| Through the years |
My brother excelled in every sport he did, so naturally I tried to be just like him in that regard, too. I started playing on his soccer team when I was 3 for two reasons: Gatorade at halftime and to be like my brother (I ended up playing that sport for 15 years, oddly enough); I joined a T-ball team because he played; I played golf in third and fourth grades because he played (I actually won two years in a row at a summer tournament. He won for the boys, so it was Merrill domination. I chose not to tell people that I was the only girl in the tournament both years, because I figured it was just superfluous information); I took martial arts after he went to national competitions in Taekwondo; and I tried to play football because he was a quarterback star (it didn't work out—I wasn't allowed to join the team).
I even sacrificed the well-being of my hands and arms by serving as his wide receiver in our front yard when he needed to practice throwing. Let's just say he didn't let up on speed and power just because I was a girl—I think he threw it harder at me than his actual teammates.
I reached a point where I realized I was my own person and didn't need to be my brother or try to be just like him. This is actually a really good thing, because I am a girl. But I sometimes missed following him around and doing everything he did, and I think one reason is because our interests were no longer the same. I guess it was just hard to accept that we were growing up, and everything changes when you start to let that happen.
My brother and I don't hang out as much as we did when we were younger, but he always shows up when I need him most. I almost started crying at my college graduation, because I didn't think he was going to come, but I looked out into the crowd and saw him. And he's always there at my big races, even when he has to wake up early in the morning to come stand around and only see me at the start and finish. And I know he would do anything for me. He's still that big brother in the front yard who will defend me if anyone comes close to picking on me. And I still smile because of that.
My brother is 31 today, and I'm so thankful that I got to join his journey almost 29 years ago.
And if someone were to call me "Little Merrill" because they know my brother, I would still feel just as special as I did so many years ago in those middle school hallways.
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