A Letter To My Son

I know you look up to your sister.  I know you want her approval.  I know you just want to feel like she likes you.  I can see, on the “good days,” how happy it makes you when she’s nice to you, and on those rare occasions when the two of you have fun doing something together - like last week, when you both rolled around in the giant pile of paper in the garage - I can tell that you never want the moment to end. And on the not so good days, when she says she’ll play with you and then changes her mind, I can see your disappointment.  When she yells at you and says you’re being annoying, I can tell how hurt your feelings are. When you ask a simple question and she snaps that it’s none of your business, the pain is written all over your face.  
In those moments, I wish that I could wrap my arms around you and make all of the hurt go away, but I know that I can’t, because only your sister has the power to do that.  
Now, I’m not saying that you’re totally innocent here.  Sometimes, you make weird noises that would grate on anyone’s nerves after half an hour.  Sometimes, you instigate arguments.  Sometimes, you contribute your opinion when you weren’t asked, regarding things that have nothing to do with you. Sometimes, you make mean comments, too, like when you announced at the dinner table that your sister should wax her eyebrows because they’re too wide.