Dearest Izaan,
Do you remember when Mom and Dad brought me home for the first time? Probably not, right? You were only two. Well, neither do I. Something so monumental in our relationship as brother and sister—and neither of us remembers it.
I think we have what a lot of siblings don’t have—we both reached our first milestones together. I learned how to walk and climb stairs when I was one, in London, right? I’ve seen the home videos. You learned how to walk around the same time, when you were three. And as we grew up, I taught you so many things without even realizing—how to drink with a straw, how to eat by yourself, so many little skills that we take for granted. But you know what many people don’t realize? What you’ve taught me.
Hey, Izaan, remember that one time, when I went to Sunday school, there was this pizza party? We were running late because you were throwing a tantrum, saying you didn’t want to go. Mom and I had to convince you, and if my memory serves me correctly, I missed half of my party because of you.
Hey, Izaan, remember that one time Mom, you, and I were going to Sears and you didn’t want to get out of the car? Remember how we had to coax you to go inside? Remember how you blew up in the middle of the store, crying and throwing a tantrum? I was blushing so hard as everyone in the store turned and stared at you. But I wasn’t blushing because I was embarrassed of you. I was blushing because I wished, in that moment, that I could stop people from staring at you like you were a freak show, because you were just being honest with how you were feeling—something the rest of us don’t have the courage to do.
Hey, Izaan, remember that one time we went to that birthday party and the only other boy there was my best friend's cousin? Remember how you tried talking to him but he blew you off because he was a jerk? Remember how he wouldn’t talk to you? I saw the hurt in your eyes. I was ready to yell at him. I remember Mom asked that boy not to spray his cologne too close to you because the smell could trigger a seizure. But he did it anyway, and sure enough, you had a seizure. Yet you didn’t look down on him. You still don’t hold any negativity towards him whereas I find it so hard to forget him and what he did. My best friend told me he was asking about me, a little while ago, and I nearly blew up because of how disgusted I was at how he had the audacity to treat you like that and then try to befriend inquire about me. Yet you forgave him, didn’t you? When we left, there was no hate in your expression, no anger. I’m sad to say that I can’t say the same.
Hey, Izaan, remember that teacher you had in middle school? She didn’t treat you right. She didn’t treat any of the other special needs children right either. It cut me so deep, and to this day I wish I had stood up to her directly instead of just ignored her stupid orders to behave a certain way around you. Ain’t nobody gonna tell me how to treat my brother. It didn’t matter that she was responsible for giving me my grade as your peer tutor.
Hey, Izaan, you don’t know this, but I heard the times you got punished when I wasn’t there. My geometry class was right next to your class, and I sat nearest to the wall that our classrooms shared. Whenever we took a quiz or a test or whenever the room was quiet, I heard her yell your name.
Hey, Izaan, you also don’t know this but in eighth grade geometry, Sara laughingly admitted to me that she wasn’t a peer counselor for your class because she actually cared about you guys. She did it for the easy A. And in that moment, I don’t think I’d ever wanted to hit someone so badly.
Hey, Izaan, remember in eighth grade how James, that autistic boy, would push you around, wanting to fight? I was so scared you would hit back, because I knew you’d get in major trouble and I also knew that you would win if you got into a fight with him—he had nothing on you. I was surprised when you calmly walked away. I didn’t know it was possible for one person—any person—to be that tolerant and patient. But remember that one time James cursed me out and pushed me? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you react that quickly, so ready to give him a piece of your mind that when I tried holding you back, I was being dragged across that gym floor just trying to stop you.
