First crushes are like a flame. They start out soft as a candle but you always crash and burn in the end.

I’ve been home for less than 24 hours and I’m already leaving. It’s weird. Ever since my family moved, it seems like I can’t stay in the house for longer than a day. I’m always leaving, just to return again.

Or maybe the house is vomiting me out like a poison. I’m the drug that the house keeps welcoming in. It can enjoy my presence but it has to watch the dosage; therefore, it has to spit me back out into the world so it won’t keel over and die.

That’s a morbid thought the day before Thanksgiving.

I saw my little brother for the first time in a few months. I blink and the kid grows a few inches. When I arrived home yesterday evening, his first words to me were:

“Do you like my hair?” He buzzed it on the sides and has a mo-hawk in the center. Very “David Beckham-esque.” One decade under his belt and he already is so grown-up.

Not only that, but he’s got his first crush. A little blonde girl who plays the oboe and is shorter than him. She also plays lacrosse. I guess those are the requirements these days, although he also reassured me that she loved God. He even wrote down a list of 3 non-negotiable traits:

1) Christian
2) Athletic
3) Musical

He didn’t even compromise on the first crush. You gotta admit, the kid has standards.

He even said he has to learn to play the violin better so he can impress her when he plays. Ah, young love.

I may not be my brother’s keeper but I sure wish he would stop growing up so fast.

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