Older or Younger?

I have one brother, Michael. He is one of the most special people in the world, and not just because he is my brother. He is a special kind of guy, and he is all mine. Michael is my older brother, and he is autistic.

Growing up with Michael in my life, well, lets just say it was interesting. I can remember being in restaurants with him and having him take food from other tables. He went through this phase where all he wanted was greeting cards. . . everything was about how many greeting cards he could amass. And it did not matter the occasion . . .wedding, birthday, funeral, anniversary. Mike had to have them all. It was interesting to be a kid and try to explain why your brother had a fist full of greeting cards.

Mike also had some interesting tendencies. . .he loves to flap his hands when he is excited or nervous. Picture a bird flapping its wings to try and fly, and that is Happy Full Of Nerves Mike. Mike also talks to himself, and half the time, no one really knew what he was saying. Take Happy Full Of Nerves Mike, throw in a little Chatterbox Mike, and then combine those with some greeting cards . . .well, sufficed to say, my brother used to attract a lot of attention, a lot of stares, and a lot of people who thought they could show their superiority by making fun of Mike.

I think I was probably under 10 the first time I actively wanted to fight someone for making fun of Mike. As I got older, my protective instincts only got stronger. I can remember being left in charge of Mike when I was around 11 or 12, and I was so nervous that I was going to do something to either hurt him or burn the house down.

Time passed, and somwhere along the way I went from the younger sister, to the one in charge. Now, I think of myself, more often than not, as the older "Sissy." Mike is as much my brother as he is my charge.

Either way, he's mine, and I give thanks to God everyday for the gift he is.