A letter to… my lifelong sidekick
We weren’t exactly pally, growing up. First there was me and then there was you – and double the fuss and half the attention. We laugh now, at the story of me aged three smothering you, aged three months, in castor oil that took six baths to wash off; although back then I think I was pretty serious in my intentions. Sometimes, you were an accomplice. Mostly, you were a scapegoat.
Our teenage years put more distance between us. We went to different schools, had different priorities, different perspectives. In every conversation you played devil’s advocate, just to get my goat. You were brazenly rude to my friends and openly mocked the boys I brought home.
Then, out of the blue, during the university holidays, there took seed a shared appreciation of drunken silliness. My belly ached that Halloween when we accidentally covered the new kitchen in UV paint, invisible until we turned the light off. Remember one December when we tried to steal an 8ft Christmas tree from that smelly pub in Cardiff? We were halfway out of the door before -the bouncer noticed.
It was an even bigger shock when, in my mid-20s, what we had morphed into friendship. I turned to you when things got tough and your support was steadfast. When I got married, in a tiny ceremony in a country far away, your homemade gift was so heartfelt. I wrote my PhD thesis to playlists you had created. I went to job interviews prepped by your questions.
It’s a cliche, but my heart swells with pride when I see the person you have grown into. My friends, colleagues and students hear all about you: your degree in biochemistry, your development work in Africa, your career in China and mastery of Mandarin, your altruism, your fierce intelligence.
Related: A letter to... new mothers, from a health visitor
It’s rare to find a personality that balances eccentricity with focus, combines humour with self‑awareness, commands respect but is still sensitive – one that, through charm and charisma, can get away with behaviour that, in most, would be outrageous.
What a wonderful realisation it has been, that I have all of that in the most unexpected of companions, and in the most rewarding of relationships. How lucky I am to have an ally, a mentor, a brother, an inspiration and a lifelong sidekick.
• We will pay £25 for every letter we publish. Email family@theguardian.com, including your address and phone number. We are able to reply only to those whose contributions we are going to use.