Privilege - Elizabeth, 37

In the summer, I had to take care of my little brother.  According to my mother, this responsibility was “part of the privilege of being a family.”  The being a family part simply referred to the fact that he was my brother.  The privilege part meant that I wouldn’t get paid like I would if he were not related to me.  Technically, I was supposed to take care of my sister, too, but since she didn’t even listen to my parents, they stopped forcing me to keep her in line and simply asked that I not set the house on fire.  I don’t know if they knew we were roasting marshmallows over candles while they were gone or not when they gave me that restriction.  Anyway, my little brother, Jon, spent a lot of time that summer after my seventh grade year tagging after me.  He went on walks with me, played with my best friend’s cats, and enjoyed the many popsicles proffered by sympathetic neighbors.  I, on the other hand, spent a lot of time trying to practice baseball with Jon.  I think that’s why he is such a good catcher because I couldn’t aim at all.  If he didn’t run to catch it, he would be running to retrieve it, and since we lived on a hill, he could have been running a long way to get it.