There are things you’re supposed to say about your siblings—that you love them unconditionally, that they’re your built-in best friends, and that you’d do anything for them. And sure, I guess some of that is true. My brother is fine. He’s an okay brother. But if I’m being honest, I like Danny better.
It’s not that my brother is a bad person. He’s just… there. We share a house, we share a history, and we occasionally share laughs. But where my brother might mumble a “hi” and walk past me on his way to his room, Danny will stop, ask how I’m doing, and actually wait for an answer. There’s a difference between being related and being present. Danny gets that.
Danny is my cousin, technically. But family isn’t always about blood. It’s about who shows up for you, who listens, and who sees you. Danny listens when I talk. He remembers the things I tell him—even the small stuff like what book I’m reading or what I’m worried about at school. He doesn’t brush things off with a shrug or tell me to “get over it” the way my brother often does.
Growing up, I used to think my brother and I would be inseparable. You see these movies where siblings are each other’s heroes, teammates, secret-keepers. I waited for that kind of connection to show up, but it never really did. Sure, we’ve had fun moments: video games, birthday cake fights, inside jokes whispered during long car rides. But those moments are rare and fleeting. Most of the time, it feels like we’re just two people who happen to live under the same roof.
Danny, on the other hand, makes effort feel easy. He texts me randomly just to share a meme or check in. He helps without being asked. When I was sick last winter, it wasn’t my brother who made soup or sat with me watching dumb cartoons—it was Danny. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m a burden, even when I’m not at my best.
Maybe the reason I like Danny better is because he doesn’t treat kindness like a favor. He doesn’t need to be prompted to care. My brother seems to keep score: if he does one nice thing, it’s like he expects a parade in return. Danny does nice things and moves on. He doesn’t do it for recognition—he does it because that’s who he is.
I’ve tried not to compare them. It feels unfair. But the contrast is hard to ignore. Where my brother is cold or indifferent, Danny is warm and steady. Maybe one day my brother will grow into someone more open, more engaged, more interested in the people around him. I hope he does. I’m still rooting for him. But right now? He’s just okay.
And that’s the truth no one really tells you when it comes to family: you don’t have to feel close just because you’re related. You can still care from a distance. You can still hope for better while loving someone for who they are—even if who they are isn’t enough for you.
So yes, my brother is an okay brother. He’s not cruel or absent. He just exists in my life without fully being a part of it. And maybe that’s fine. But if I had to choose who I’d want next to me when things get hard, it wouldn’t be him. It would be Danny. Every time.
