Let me give you guys an introduction.
I’m 27 years old. As with most people my age, I have a glamorous job at a television station where I sit in a cubicle right beneath the stairs. People don’t know exactly what I do, so I don’t tell them. It adds to the mystery of it all. Also, whatever it is I do, I do it well enough to still have a job at a television station.
I also have a younger brother. He’s two and a half years old. Before you ask, yes, same parents. No, I didn’t know. Yes, probably. That’s gross, go away.
We call him Aiden and he cries a hell of a lot. In fact, he’s crying right now.
My parents just turned 49. They had me during their early twenties, and it still disturbs me to no end that the age gap between my parents and I is smaller than the age gap between Aiden and me. This presents a whole different kind of dynamic between brothers. I don’t really feel a brother at all, more like an auxiliary father figure or a creepy uncle. My fiance, Jill, calls him my practice son, so I should figure everything about kids with Aiden before I settle down and a farm full of kids. She wants a lot of kids.
I’ve started a Tumblog separate from my main blog to chronicle the life and times of being a brother who is 24 years older.
