Back when I was 11 years old, I was convinced that I hated my older brother. He was 13, and everything he did seemed to annoy me. I hated his laugh, the way he ate, really everything he ever did. It got to the point that some of our arguments would turn into physical fights.
Then that summer, my dad had the audacity to announce that our family was going on a road trip. And not just any old road trip but a 10-day, 2,000-mile drive. As expected, the first stretch of the trip consisted of hitting, yelling, and pettiness. Simple things like movie choices and snacks were fodder for fights.
My brother and I were complete opposites with nothing in common and nothing was ever going to change that. Until Utah. Not that we could tell it was Utah. By this time, all the southwest states had blurred into burnt orange sand and tan rocks. So when my dad said we were stopping at Zion national park, well, I was upset. And so was my brother.
All of a sudden, we had something in common. We hated this stupid road trip! It was the first thing we had agreed on in years. After that realization, it was like a dam broke. We started talking trash about the trip, our parents, and of course stupid rocks. And by the time we left Zion, we were laughing. You could have been even called friends.
Now at 18, I can't even express how important my brother's love, support, and friendship have been to my growth as a person. It might have taken 2,000 miles, but I learned that being good siblings takes time, effort, and sometimes, stupid rocks.