Many siblings will say that they absolute despise each other. They will fight and physically harm one another, screaming at the top of their lungs: “I WISH I WAS AN ONLY CHILD!”
When I was younger, I “hated” my big brother, Ben, because I thought that was how siblings were supposed to act. I would bite him until he bled, and then burst into tears when my father scolded me for it. I was six at the time. Ben was nine.
We would fight each other, yelling and scratching, but neither of us actually knew why.
When I reached the age of eight, I realized that I didn’t actually hate my brother. In fact, I loved him.
We reached an understanding that we were capable of being friends, but Ben, being the “cool” older brother, would not even say hi to me when we were at school together. I would yell his name and wave my arms frantically when I saw him walking with some of his friends, trying to get his attention, but he would just look straight forward and ignore me.
Once, when I was twelve and he was fifteen, my mom, Ben, and I were standing outside a sushi bar, waiting for our turn to be seated. I was skipping and twirling when suddenly I fell down, scraping my knee and bringing tears to my eyes. I seemed fine at first until I suddenly burst out sobbing (I was always an overdramatic child). My brother, without hesitation, pulled me into his arms and hugged me until I stopped crying.
It was the first time he had hugged in public.
Now, I am proud to say that my brother is not only one of my closest friends, but he is also my hero. I don’t know what I would do without him, and a year ago, I almost found out.
My brother used to race. Not on foot, but in cars. Specifically, he raced a 1996 Mazda MX-5 Miata M Edition in Buttonwillow, CA. He did not race other people, but he raced a clock. Various other people would race against the clock, too, and the person with the fastest time would win.
It was his warm up lap of the third racing event that year when it happened. He was trying to go as fast as possible, to push his limits even while the clock wasn’t running.
It had just rained.
Going around a sharp turn, the car started skidding off the track. His car rolled over not once, not twice, but three times. When his car finally stopped rolling, it was stuck in a ditch that was filled with water. If the car had not landed on its four wheels, and instead landed on the roof of the car, my brother would have drowned.
Ben escaped the nearly-fatal accident with only minor back problems, but needless to say, my mother doesn’t let him race anymore.
I am so thankful that his car landed upright, if it hadn’t, I would have lost the most important person in my life. If that car had landed upside down, I would no longer have my best friend, my hero, my brother.
I remember when I first saw him after the crash. I gave him the biggest hug I had ever given him and gently warned him: “Ben, I love you, but never scare me like that again.”
Rolling:
Lifted off the ground, upside down:
The Aftermath:
A few months later,
still breathing,
and five minutes after graduating from Santa Monica High School:
OVS Journalism Blog 
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