"Guys," I said. "There's nothing to be afraid of, it's grandma's house!"
The house was dark, save for the new TV casting colorful oblong shapes against the back wall of the living room and kitchen.
"I don't care," Jason said looking into the darkness of the kitchen.
"Yeah," Nick agreed, pulling the blankets up to his chin.
They were going to have to get used to sleep overs. I'd been doing them for years. Granted I only slept next to my grandmother and never by myself.
"Okay," I said, pulling their pillows closer to mine. "You can lay right next to me. Just concentrate on the TV. They scrambled their way closer and again wiggled into a TV-watching position.
They were soon asleep. Then the only nervous one was me, every time the heat or refrigerator turned on or house settled, it was another ten to fifteen minutes before my brain would allow me to fall asleep.
Looking back on times like that makes me think I did a decent job as a brother, but things weren't always so smooth.
I think the role of a big brother is a dynamic one. It's rules and guidelines are never set in stone. Questions and second-guesses about what is right and what is wrong can take up residence in one's mind for a long time.
Do I keep teasing four-year-old Nick long after I've been told to stop? After all, there are few greater pleasures than bringing mild suffering to a younger brother. Do I get him back fifteen different times after he stool my drink or ate my last pop tart? Or should I have let it go?
Do I shoot twelve-year-old Jason in the leg with a paintball gun from point blank range and think it's okay? Even after I warned him three or four times to stop trying to attack me because I shot him earlier? Watch him fall to the ground because the pain in his leg was too great. And stand there and say 'I warned him.'
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