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This essay is about my older brother, and how I remember how he treated me, and the memory we had
Rummaging through the attic with the hope of finding old toys, I came across three large boxes filled with photo albums. I opened the first album to find it to be baby pictures of my older brother. Page after page I flipped through each album, anxious to find pictures of myself. I became increasingly disappointed as I found pictures of me to be rare. I went to my room to retrieve a much smaller album I had just bought at the store and made the goal of simply filling that one, so that amongst these piles of albums, I could call just one of them mine. Optimistic once again, I began on my…
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