By Ashley Slack

It was the third time that day I had caught my younger brother waltzing around the house with his pants hanging halfway down his backside.
I was fed up with continually telling him to pull them up, and watching his feeble little tug that barely pulled them up an inch, which was immediately countered when he repositioned them back to the way he had them.
So naturally, I reacted.
“Pull your pants up!”
As the words came out of my mouth, I reached out to where he was and yanked his pants up so that they were all the way up to his belly button.
He simply looked at me and, in one swift motion, pulled them back down to where they had been just moments before.
He walked away to claim a spot on the couch as I stood there, mouth slightly ajar, feeling flabbergasted and frustrated.
I wasn’t frustrated because he was always sagging his pants, or because he always seemed to wear the same plaid sweater, or because his outfits consisted of more black pieces than a chess set.
I was frustrated because I just couldn’t seem to answer the question that had been nagging at me since August: what happened to my little brother?
His transformation had been gradual; it started with watching television shows like South Park and Family Guy and listening to heavy metal bands like AC/DC and Slipknot.
It then progressed to lowering his voice around his friends and my dad, as well as sporting a head of helmet hair that successfully covered his eyes.
After his first season of football with the Petaluma Panthers and his transition from elementary to junior high school, his change was completed by a whole new wardrobe of rather saggy pants, graphic t-shirts, DC shoes, and plaid sweaters (most of which contained or are completely black).
As I watched him evolve into this new person, I realized that it wasn’t just his appearance that has changed; his new, slightly more mature teenage personality was evolving.
My brother has discovered the world of sarcastic remarks, witty retorts, and snappy comebacks, all three of which I am still a novice at. But I also noticed that he stands up for himself against people who bother him, including me.
I remember when we were both several years younger, I would fight and argue with him because I was older and bigger than he was.
My parents would always tell me that, one day, he would be bigger and he would get me back. I didn’t believe them.
Although I find myself annoyed with some of his new antics, I feel happy and relieved that he is finally standing up to me.
I am not always going to like what he does, who he hangs out with, or how he acts, but I can’t stop him from growing up.
No matter what, I am proud of who he is becoming and, as I watch him sag his pants and try to talk in a lower pitch, I find myself loving him more and more each day.