His date was draped in white satin and my brother, Steven, was sporting a tuxedo and wearing that hideous mullet. The flashes from the multiple cameras were blinding as my parents fussed over how Steven and his date should pose next and whether they should sit or stand in front of the fireplace. “Come on, mom. We’re going to be late,” Steven whined, but my mother just ignored him as she tried to capture that perfect snapshot. Roaming around the living room in my pink bunny pajamas, I watched my brother get ready for his senior prom. I was awestruck and envious. His date looked like Cinderella and my brother looked like a mulleted version of Prince Charming. He was off to the ball, sweeping his date off her feet in his blue Camero. I was forced to stay home and be in bed by 8:30.

My brother was 15 when I was born. By the time I was 4, he had graduated high school and moved out of the house. I was the flower girl for his wedding at the age of 6 and became an aunt at the age of 7. Steven was born and raised in San Francisco until our mother divorced his father. She moved him to Topeka when he was 7, where she later married my father.

Because of our age difference we didn’t have your typical older brother-little sister bond. I didn’t rat him out to our parents when he misbehaved or torture him with girly makeovers. He didn’t terrorize me with bugs or upset me with the truth about Santa. When I was busy swooning over ‘N Sync, Steven was busy raising a family. Our age difference seemed to keep us apart, and my memories of growing up are those of an only child with an older brother off to the side.

His son, Daniel, and daughter, Brandy, were born almost a year apart. They were everything my brother and I weren’t. They were so close in age that they fought over everything. They fought over attention, which movie to watch, who picked up the toy first and who should get the last cookie. She called him stupid and in turn he called her a butt-head.

Their relationship seemed so foreign from Steven’s and mine. We seemed to have nothing in common. I was a child and he was an adult. When Steven visited I was always sent downstairs to watch Daniel, 3, and Brandy, 2, while Steven and his wife discussed “grown-up things” with my parents. It never bothered me because I didn’t want to sit down and be bored listening to them “catch up.” I was 10 and I wanted to go downstairs and make a tornado shelter out of a box with my nephew and niece.

After I graduated high school, Steven and I tried getting to know each other. I was getting ready to head off to college and Steven felt he could finally talk to me about the important things in life: beer and what I was going to do with my life. The first time I was ever able to introduce him to my friends was when he attended my high school graduation party. He looked through my graduation scrapbook and we started talking about our lives outside the family. He shared stories about his high school graduation and I shared stories about my teenage years. Mostly I remember Steven saying he was proud of me.

Soon after graduation my parents unexpectedly divorced.

Steven knew the split would be difficult on me. He had been through it himself when he was a lot younger. Because of this, Steven came to visit my mom and me more often. He started calling me regularly to make sure I was doing okay. With my parents in a constant feud, Steven became the only sane person I could talk to about all the drama. I shared my frustration and he shared advice as well as moral support. As we kept in touch on a regular basis, we began to form a real relationship. He was no longer just another family member who sent me birthday cards in the mail. He became someone I could depend on. He became my older brother.

We still keep in touch today. We try to call each other on a regular basis. He tells me about his week and I tell him about mine. He complains about work and I complain about homework. Looking back at my childhood I often wish our relationship had started out as close. I wish he had been there to keep me company when no one else was around. But I wouldn’t trade that for what we have now. I have an older brother who is able to share 37 years of wisdom with me.

Our relationship may never be the relationship I often hear other siblings refer to, but that’s okay. It’s our own special bond. To Steven I will always be the little girl in the pink pajamas waving him off to the prom, and he’ll always be 15 years ahead of me.