On occasion, I beg my mother to recount the autumn night seventeen years ago in October when her nine, seemingly endless months of anticipation were over, the day that she gave birth to my twin brother and me. “Your brother cried and whimpered until he was red in the face,” my mother says. “When he would not stop, the nurses placed him alongside of you in the crib, and he immediately calmed.” This memory is satisfying to clutch. Knowing that the relationship that has molded my individuality began moments after birth is gratifying. Despite the nine inches that my brother towers over me, many acknowledge our similar thick, brown hair, large noses, and olive complexions; however, when people compare our intelligence and abilities, I explain that we are both individuals, each unique, distinct, and capable of achieving our own greatness.


There are so many moments that I recall from my childhood years that clearly define the relationship that I share with my brother. I remember during the holiday seasons when my mother would package gifts and wrap them in seasonal wrapping paper. My brother and I, dressed in our thermal pajamas, would stealthily remove the empty wrapping paper tubes from the trash bin and engage in sword fights, using the taupe leather couches as our battleground. During the summertime, on endless, sweltering afternoons, the two of us would gather an assortment of colorful and vibrant sleeping bags and create a tent between the narrow walls of my bedroom where we would sleep for consecutive days. When we grew weary of the monotonous time spent at home, we would seat ourselves in my father’s 1991 ice blue Mercury Sable Station Wagon parked in the driveway. Kevin always acted as the chauffeur and inquired after my desired destination. Even now as maturing young adults, Kevin and I continue to produce everlasting memories. Whether we are singing along to Don McLean’s “American Pie” or celebrating another New York Rangers’ victory, our connection continues to evolve.


Although our samurai stunts and spontaneous off-road journeys were simply a diversion from boredom, each activity contributes to my unique and eccentric personality. If not for the softball lessons at the dirt field down the road from our home, where my brother instructed and encouraged me to perform to the best of my ability, I would not be a starting second baseman. If we hadn’t persuaded our friends on the bus rides home from school that the two of us could communicate telepathically, it is unlikely that my friends would attempt to convince me that I am ready to be a stand up comedian on Comedy Central. I undoubtedly believe that if not for those quirky yet entertaining moments, I would not be the confident, determined, and affable person that I have developed into today.
“Now, wherever I turn, you and your brother are together,” my mother concludes. “As a parent, it is sincerely satisfying to witness you helping each other whenever necessary, still finding enjoyment in the little things like you did when you were younger, and most importantly, never neglecting who you truly are.”