My little brother, Jamie, is hardly my “little” brother. To me, he’s just my brother; my equal; his own person, just as I am mine. I would never call Jamie my “little brother” if introducing him to a stranger, nor would I even refer to him as my younger brother. I would clarify if asked to — “Younger or older?”
I was asked on a date last month as a follow-up to the question of how many siblings I have — but in my eyes, his age is hardly a defining characteristic. To everyone else, though, because of the 801 days between our births, he’s my little brother.