by James (Age: Eternal Toddler Boss)

I don’t remember deciding that Jack was in charge of carrying me. I just knew it. The way you know the sky is up, snacks are good, and Mom gets nervous when we’re quiet for too long.

So when I lifted my arms and said, “Carry me, Jack‑Jack,” he didn’t even blink. He just scooped me up like I weighed nothing at all. Like I was his favorite mission.

And honestly? I am.

Jack‑Jack is the best big brother in the whole world. He knows everything. He can do everything. And he always makes room for me.

Like this morning, when I couldn’t open my puzzle box. I tried. I really did. I used my Serious Toddler Strength. I grunted. I made my “I’m working here” face. But the box didn’t care.

Jack saw me struggling and said, “Here, Jamesy, watch.”

He popped it open in one second. One. Second.

Then he handed me the pieces like he was passing down ancient treasure.

Later, my race track broke. The cars kept flying off the curve, which was fun for me but apparently “not the point.” Jack knelt down, tongue sticking out a little, and fixed the whole thing. He even tested it three times to make sure it was “James‑proof.” That’s a real engineering term, I think.

When we built our blanket fort, my corner kept falling. I yelled “HEY!” because the blanket betrayed me. Jack didn’t laugh. He just came over, straightened it out, tucked it in, and said, “There you go, buddy.”

Like he was my personal contractor.

And snacks? Don’t even get me started.

I point.

Jack opens.

It’s a system.

But the best part was when I saw the candy on the counter. It was way up high—grown‑up high. I stretched. I jumped. I made a noise that should’ve counted as a request. Nothing.

Jack walked over, reached up like it was nothing, and handed it to me with a smile.

“Here you go, Jamesy.”

Like he was giving me the moon.

And then—because I’m me—I lifted my arms again.

“Carry me, Jack‑Jack.”

And he did.

Because that’s what big brothers do.

And that’s what little brothers like me are made for.