lalala: Dear Nick,

Today you are a graduating high school senior. I never thought about this day because you've always been a baby. You've always been my baby brother, then my little brother. Never my brother who is 18-years-old and a senior in high school preparing to move to Wyoming and start his college career and take the next step in his adult life. I may or may not be ready for my baby brother to grow up just yet.

Please note the hand in the bottom left corner rocking the horse to keep the kid from crying.

You were the baby boy I did not want (good thing I wasn't your parent, huh?!). You should have been a girl. You quickly commanded all the attention from my humans, and even humans who I did not possess (IE: park humans, grocery store humans, random everyday humans). You were a whiney, poopy, stinky, hungry, crying baby who stole my four-year-old heart, no matter how slow to admit that I was.

You grew into a young boy who was completely enamored by his friends. No matter where you were, there were your friends. Do you remember that one time my mother was picking you up from day care at the Rocky aviation building? I told your friends my name was Stacey. You told your friends to be nice to you or your sister would beat them up. We were the coolest kids. But sometimes we didn't like each other very much. Those were the times that mom made us sit face to face and hold hands until we made up.

You became "Nicky," the little boy with the rat tail slash mullet. With the black holey jeans that probably were never washed a single time. You were country when we went to Grandma and Grandpa's; you were dad's little helper always.

Tyler, me, Dani, Kayla, Grandma, Nick (I cannot stop laughing at this picture!)

You became my little shadow. Remember the time you let me dress you up in that horrendous pink, purple and black velvet long sleeved dress? (I AM SO SORRY THAT I DIDN'T PICK SOMETHING MORE FASHIONABLE!!!) Then you even tried on a pair of mom's heels and some 80's jewelry. I'm sure you don't remember, but I have proof to help your little memory along. You also shadowed my music choices and love love loved 98 Degrees like every man should. Way to be!

At the same time we were building homes out of cardboard boxes that were rained on and starting to rot. They were still usable by our standards. We were stealing lava rocks and minute pieces of chalk and throwing them in the street to be hit by cars (first rock to get run over wins!). We were racing through the house to go to "Mema's and back" on our Kettle car, our bicycles, our scooters, our roller blades. We were fighting over who was going to ask permission to watch TV and who would thus be controller of all things remote controlled. We were taking rides in that blasted wooden sliver infested cart through our backyard, through Mema's, over that treacherous bump, and to our front yard. We were aching over the day when we'd be old enough and big enough to finally mow the lawn. YOU were running into tracters and slicing your face open. We were pretending that long rectangle box that the cedar wood came in was a canoe and then we were stuffing it with a sleeping bag and having sleep overs in each others' rooms. We were shooting bottle rockets at each in garages and you started my very favorite Packer's sweatshirt on fire. And then my hair.

Note the holy jeans.

Then you became Nicholas, the annoying brother who most likely had a crush on all my friends. You punched me in the mouth and gave me a fat lip. I had to drive you to school and I tried to beat you up. I tried to drop you off blocks early because you made me SO mad. Then I had to pick you up, but sometimes I wouldn't. You got me a lot grounded.

Then you became Nick. You grew up. You became a cowboy. You went to Washington DC for a few months. You helped me sneak out (don't tell mom!). You started high school. You had a girlfriend. You played football. You went hunting. You were forced to join Speech and Debate and you nervously practiced your speech about wolves in front of me. You wore Wranglers. And a wife beater. (Untuck your shirt, you look like a tool.) You helped me plan out my dreams of building a bed frame, a jewelry rack, a shelf. You took me to lunch, ice cream, dinner, drinks. You turned eighteen, you joined the Marines. Your broken shoulder undid that and I secretly rejoiced. You text me constantly because you secretly love that you can make me laugh so hard. You might be a titch bit racist, but you're my brother, I know you're heart, I let it go. You were in my wedding, you wrote me the sweetest note (made me cry) before hand. You made me some of the best Kahlua as a present that I'm still downing and toasting to you to this day.

Today, you'll begin a new journey in your life. You'll meet new people, make new friends, enter new relationships. You'll meet girls, some of those girls will be worth knowing. You'll skip class, you'll keep secrets, you'll get bad grades. You'll make mistakes, you'll learn from them and you will grow. You'll be glad Mom can be a little concerned, a little clingy, a little nosy. You'll be glad you got in trouble for the things you did because those things shaped who you are today.

Even though I really, and I mean realllllllly wanted a sister, you'll do. Even though I marched right up to our uncle and demanded that he hand over his new born baby girl, exactly one month and one day after you were born (true story.), you did fine. You made having a brother not such a bad thing. (Especially when I got to dress you up and pretend you were a girl.) You made my life. You're a pretty cool kid, I kind of like you.

Girl behind Nick, that's the cousin I tried to steal.

So be safe. Be spontaneous. Be friendly. Make new friends, go to class, like your professors. Don't be tied down by a major you hate, no matter how far into the game you are. Take fun generals if you can, and if you take yoga, get the teacher who lets you sleep through class as long as you show up. Make friends early on who like to go to class. Those are the ones you'll need to cheat off of. Find a professor that you love (gay crushes allowed) early on and stick with them. Don't party too much, mom and dad will murder you if you get the teeniest little alcohol charge. Don't hate your roommate, they might spit in your stuff. The "freshman fifteen" is actually a myth. Once you gain the weight it doesn't go away, also the chances that you only gain fifteen pounds is about 1 in every 150 students. Seriously.

Anyway. I am incredibly happy for you. That you made it this far, with high honors, with scholarships, with teachers who love you. With proud parents and a proud big sister. I cannot wait to hear your insane college stories and come visit you on my way to Denver. You did okay for being a boy, and by okay, I mean okay times 1509182321432. You're my little nig. Happy graduation baby brudda! I love you to pieces! And expect a million hugs and kisses from me from now on, loser.

Love,
Larissa (aka Larry)