The day my brother was born my life changed forever. I was not quite 6 years old, but his little life influenced mine tremendously. I drew a heart poster nearly the size of my body to give to him in the hospital. I used markers to fill the poster with sporadic squares of red, blue and green around the words, “I Love My Little Brother Seth.” From the moment I met him I became his big sister and little mother.

In some ways my childhood stopped then. Some little grownup in the 6-year-old me wanted to take care of this other person. I did my own things too; I had my friends and was an aspiring gymnast. But my driving purpose was to be a role model for Seth. I did the same things two years later when my sister Rachel was born.

My mom appreciated my help. She had remarried a few years before Seth was born, and then after Rachel was born we had six kids living in the house — a seventh was at college. She never asked me to help with the kids; I just wanted to. By the time I was in third grade, I baby-sat Seth and Rachel and could cook mac and cheese for dinner. My mom still tells people that at the age of 10, I could take care of two babies, change diapers, cook dinner and clean. I wasn’t the youngest anymore, and I loved the responsibility.

Rachel and I shared a room when she was 1 and I was 9. I didn’t mind making space for her crib and I loved to bathe her, put her in her pajamas and tuck her in. Seth adored me and loved my attention. We played games together, read books, and I entertained him with my latest gymnastic moves. Seth and Rachel’s lives gave mine purpose and made me feel important.

Eight years of taking care of my brother and sister turned me into a full-blown perfectionist by the time I reached high school. I wanted to get good grades and succeed in sports. I accomplished both of these goals. My cross-country team won state my sophomore year, and I was valedictorian of my class. I never got a detention at school or a grounding at home. My mom didn’t have to remind me to do my homework or laundry. She didn’t have to pack my lunch, remind me of school pictures or sign me up for the ACTs. I decided to come to the University of Kansas on my own. I sent in my application, scholarship essays and financial aid without help. I didn’t need it. I was different than a lot my high school friends who needed their moms to organize their lives. I was my own person.

During orientation at the University, while most parents browsed the information fair to learn about campus services for

their kids, my mom sat outside and waited on me to come back from enrolling. It never occurred to her to get information for me because I always did it for myself. Now she acknowledges, “I wasn’t the parent, you were.” I don’t feel resentment about this because it’s who I am.

I am confident, independent, organized and responsible. I don’t miss deadlines or forget things. I rarely ask people to do me favors. Every winter I dread the snow because my car tends to get stuck, and I hate having to ask someone to drive me. I hate the feeling that I need someone else to help me. I like to take care of myself and everyone else because that’s the way I grew up.

Seth just turned 16. He can drive now. I tell him every day to wear his seatbelt and be careful. I drive the three hours home to Oxford to watch him run the football in his high school games and am his biggest fan and loudest cheerleader when he hurdles during track every spring. Rachel is 14. She is a KU fanatic and will become a Jayhawk in less than five years. She is a scrapper on the basketball court and a leader to her teammates. I do everything I can to support them. They are like my children, and my mom will tell you that I raised them, too. I must admit, they turned out pretty darn good.