I miss my little brother. Although he is physically here, we aren’t the same as we were 10 years ago. He doesn’t call me Whinny the Pooh or follow me around asking to play house with him or if I want to share gummy worms on movie night. We don’t make blanket tents and tell stories or make worm-mud pies in the back yard. I miss being little already. And I’m only 17.