We are twenty months apart.

His given name is John. He goes by BJ. I call him Johnny.

Johnny and Katie. We did everything together. There were only three girls in a neighborhood full of boys, so right there on Las Palmas, I learned how to frame stand on a dirt bike with my brother cheering me on. We would walk down to the creek and climb into our tree-house where the bicycle trail ended.

He drove Mary Alice and me to Corpus Christi a few weeks ago, while Riley rode with mom and dad. I had forgotten how much fun we have on road trips. He is one of the few people who I can talk to about religion and politics for hours without noticing time passing. We don’t always agree, but we don’t argue. We just listen. And I learn so much about him in the process.

We took a different route to Corpus Christi. He had spent the past few months fixing up our grandparents’ house. During this time, he discovered shortcuts through the old towns along the Texas coast. As we turned a corner, he told me to grab my camera.

He knew I’d love these old houses. We always have fun making up stories about who lives there and the names of their cats.

I’d forgotten how much I love travelling with him. At each stop, he’d hold Mary Alice and let me wander until I found my Dr. Pepper and Kit Kat. It was so nice to have an extra pair of hands.

He told me to look up, and there it was – the Corpus Christi bridge. Suddenly, I was eight again, laying in the back of my parent’s suburban, listening to Amy Grant on my walk-man, and hoping that we were going  to stop at What-a-burger for a chocolate shake.

Thank you, BJ. I hope my kids love their siblings as much.