"Now Kelly, be nice to your little brother — no matter what happens or where you live he'll always be your greatest friend."

I rolled my eyes during each lecture, but my mother's words of wisdom still continue to echo in my head.

As kids, I tortured my brother. When Grandma bought me my first (and only) make-up set, Justin received his first makeover. When Santa brought darts, Justin's forehead paid the price. That was our relationship: Kelly ruled all.

It's not like I didn't love him — I have always been protective of him. I remember when he burst into my bedroom in his Superman (complete with Velcro cape) pajamas and exclaimed, "I am Superman! I can fly out the window to the garage!" And I sveltely saved his life by blocking the window and replying, "Oh No, Justin. You can't fly to the garage – but you can fly through the wall." Which he did, and has the scar to prove.

But now, things are different. He has had many identity crisis' in the past; from insisting everyone call him Dorothy at age four, to Annie at five, to Superman at six, to Hulk Hogan at age seven and Batman at eight. Now, without me around the house, Justin has found Justin, and is happy.

His Fisher Price super coop has long since been abandoned; Sesame Street lingo has been replaced with lyrics to the "Thong Song". His voice has changed, and he is beginning to grow facial hair. Worst of all, girls are calling my house – for him.

At age 17, my brother, who stands a towering 6-foot-2, has turned into a macho man —truck stereo and all. Still somehow, despite his alarming size and stature, he will always be my little brother.

This week, my first Easter away from home, the Easter Bunny delivered the biggest Easter egg of all time to my front door — my brother.

When met at the dorm entrance by his totally bald big sister, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he hugged me like only Justin could hug me: Squeeze, two feet lift, lift, lift, drop.

During the days we spent together, I noticed not only JP's growing maturity, but also our love growing stronger. Looking back through all the years — through tragedy, illness, school time and playtime, Justin has always been there for me. Even after convincing him to eat mud or making fun of him, he always got back up and continued to love me. Through everything, JP has shown unconditional love, a true test of our friendship. And although he is no longer physically my little brother, he will always be my little brother in my heart.

While running around campus towards the end of his visit, we decided to take some pictures of us together at Notre Dame for our parents. Handing the camera to a passer-by, Justin pulled me close and smiled. Then, after looking up for a second, scooted me over a couple inches, and commented, "Kelly, stand right here. That way, we can get you, me, and the reflection of the dome off your head in the picture."

While the person taking the picture remained speechless out of disbelief, I smiled and smacked him — forgave him quickly and hugged him.

I didn't grow angry. I could never grow angry with him.

Why?

I guess my mom was right all along.

Me and my brother are best friends.

• Ode to JP