100 Happy Days: Day 8

My "baby" brother just turned 25 years old. Technically, it was a few days ago already, on Saint Patrick's Day, but since I so vividly remember other life events in his life as if they aren't as far back as they actually are, I think I can get away with saying, "He JUST turned 25." I might have him beat in years, and back problems, and creaky knees, but he has sprouted his first bright white hairs before me, and while he thinks my jubilation over this fact is borderline obsessive, I don't care. It makes us closer in age somehow. I feel like he is my peer, my friend. Truthfully, sometimes he acts like my father. I can't blame him, since their DNA is so clearly a direct replica of one another. I guess my proudness over him makes my true status as elder sibling prevail. He has blossomed into an impossibly funny human being, quick witted and intuitive. And that is saying A LOT, since he didn't master the order of the months in a year for a VERY, VERY long time. And while me may groan about being a quarter of a century old, I smile, because he just made the last quarter of a century matter.