A little over a year ago my sister gave birth to a boy named Ethan. I bought a plane ticket to try to attend the delivery. Some may call it fate, or good fortune, as my aircraft’s wheels contacted the taxiway one day following the infant’s brutal arrival. Going into it all, I was skeptical. To me the baby was symbolic of each generation taking its one shift forward in time closer to death. It was hard to envision my big sister being a mother. How could anyone else be mom other than, well, my mom?

The day I met Ethan in the hospital it wasn’t love that I initially felt for him. He was simply a small object that I had some untold responsibility to protect. He lacked every element necessary to form a friendship with him. There was no personality, no ability to speak, he could hardly get his little blue eyes to focus on the general location of my face. The word ‘Ethan’ held no significance to the boy and I wondered if the boy would ever hold significance to me.

A couple months later, a strange thumping echoed from my bedroom door waking me from my peaceful drift into slumber. In walks my sister holding a small bundle in her arms. I don’t recall what Dominique was actually wearing; however, in my drowsy trance, I imagined her cloaked in a feathery, vibrant dress paired with long, shimmering jewels cascading from her lobes to the limits of her silky brown hair. She radiated the essence of a maternal goddess realizing her new role in the world. On this particular night, she had finally broken through Ethan’s perplexed daze and he was connecting with his mother for the first time. Their eyes were locked like a safe missing its key as they shared little “goos” and “aghas” for minutes on end. As the observer, it was similar to watching a foreign drama with no subtitles. Truthfully, this was absolutely terrifying to witness, but wildly magnificent. My sister was now a mother.

Ethan spent the first months of his life developing a personality and a sense of humor that aligned with ours. He did his best to win my affection with pacifier comedy bits, applauding at my entrance into a room, and marking me with his drool (not his best work); but I still wasn’t convinced. He was cute enough to single-handedly win The Bachelorette, but for me, looks aren’t everything. I wanted to know if and when I would actually love my new nephew. Slowly, but surely, the boy wiggled his way into my heart. Every morning he would greet me with toothless smiles and squinty eyes that I couldn’t help but look forward to reciprocating. Imagine waking up to someone who is so excited to see you they lose full control of their face muscles. Days when he slept in late were sincerely disappointing. We started hanging out more. I introduced him to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He sat patiently delighted by my guitar riffs.

I taught him how to play catch with plastic colored balls. I never even liked kids. Every milestone, from learning to handle a spoon, to taking his first steps, was a glorious victory for us both. When I moved away from my family, it crushed me to leave my little peanut butter cup. I constantly combed through my camera role to relive moments I shared with him. It was when I couldn’t see him every day that I realized how wrapped up in my heart strings the little one was. Ethan taught me a valuable lesson about the role children play in the world. They are magnificent because they highlight the simple things about human nature that we often forget. They teach you to appreciate the power of a genuine smile. They remind you that we need to be cuddled and hugged in a world where we keep at arms length.

They make you understand that wanting to cry because you’re tired, hungry, frustrated, or even just uncomfortable is normal. You get to experience the world with them like it’s brand new. Most of us don’t remember the first time our bare toes nestled into a patch of cool, dewy grass: the way it tickles and crunches beneath your feet, not to mention the lingering itch. Watching Ethan experience this was shockingly moving, despite my mother shouting out the window that there was dog poop scattered across the yard. You also get to experience the difficult parts of life with them for the first time.

When he caught his first cold my shirt dampened with little tears and a thick layer of saliva. I could relate to his aches and exhaustion because I’d been there before. I wanted to explain that it would get better, but English was far out of his realm of understanding. I held him tight to offer comfort as my heart fractured with each of his wails. As adults we act as guides for children through a dangerous, unfamiliar world. We teach them to tie their shoes, to look both ways, to not touch the fire. They open our trained eyes to the intricacies of the bow tie, the exhilarating speed of cars buzzing between white lines, the mystery behind the flickering flames. Beyond that, they teach us gratitude, patience, and love. Ethan, I am grateful you are my nephew. I will always be available for you. I love you.