I love my brother. Really. Now, I may bitch about the things he's done and decisions he's made, but if he were ever in any real trouble I'd come a runnin'. Five years my junior and dangerously smart, he is, most of the time, a dear friend.
When we were little we would play with piles of either Hot Wheels cars or Legos for hours; helping one another do cool things. We built forts and tents and occasionally fought in true sibling style. He suffered much more than I did and from a much earlier age. In about second grade, he was diagnosed with ADD, something it would take him into adulthood to get a handle on.
Bubby seems strangly absent in some of my memories. I realize that most likely this is because he was hiding in a closet or simply had been sent somewhere else.
