When I was little I always wanted a little brother. I can remember dreaming of it, and mentioning it to my parents, and I even remember their side glances that I didn’t understand (that actually read as “sorry kiddo, not physically possible”). I thought it would be wonderful because all of our initials were alphabetical and so he could be “SOS”. But as I got older I realized it wasn’t in the cards.

My first year at camp at my now job, for some reason my name got jumbled on the sign-in sheet. My last name got superseded by the surname below me alphabetically. And so it became a joke that I was a part of that family. They had two boys who were in my youth groups. And they became my “brothers”. At the end of the week we even took a “family” picture together (I’m sure much to the enjoyment of me and the mom, and the chagrin of the boys). But whenever I see those two (no longer) boys, I get a wonderful sense of pride. They aren’t actually my brothers, but it makes my heart swell.

Friends and I talked about going to get drinks at a local brewery where one of my “brothers” works. I immediately texted him to see when he works and found that his schedule wasn’t necessarily ideal, and then he said something that tugged on my heartstrings, “if I’m free I can meet you there”. It’s the little things, am I right? He’d spend his time off hanging out with me at his place of employment? Well that’s just cool. It’s wonderful to see the seeds you plant grow. It’s wonderful to see the respectful, considerate, genuine people your kids grow into and the ways they still reach out to you (and each other).

Hopefully I get to take him up on his offer soon!

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