Why My Brother is My Superpower

Writer: Kate Mintz

Editor: Riley Zachem

On a walk with my friend Sophie on the Al Buhler trail, our topic of conversation shifted to my little brother. I hadn’t even realized that after nearly a year of friendship, we had never discussed my brother’s autism at length. I was once again reminded of how strange it is that a significant facet of my identity is not visible in my appearance but is something people learn about from within me. Something that people close to me sometimes do not discover until they ask. 

The most memorable moment of this conversation was Sophie’s initial reaction.  

“That actually makes sense.” 

“What?” 

“It explains why you are so compassionate.” 

This was the first time someone responded this way when I shared this aspect of my identity. I am accustomed to a pitiful “I’m sorry,” which has always puzzled me. I understand the urge to relay an empathetic reaction to an obvious hardship in my life, but Sophie saw my brother as the catalyst for one of my greatest strengths.  

I was never directly told that my brother is autistic. His disability was just a built-in part of my life. It was always clear that Charlie was different. At the age of two, he could still not say my name. While the other kids at family birthday parties began to crawl and walk, Charlie sat on the floor and flapped his hands. 

My earliest memories of grappling with Charlie’s disability begin with constant counting. I vividly recall the thoughts always racing in my brain: “I’m seven, so Charlie is five. By the time he is seven, he will be normal too.” Then, “I’m ten, and Charlie is eight. I’m sure that when he is 10, he will be just like me.”  And so forth. 

My thoughts and wishes did not come true, though. Charlie, who was only formally diagnosed with autism in 2016, remains severely impaired. I have always struggled to explain Charlie since every special needs child is different. I usually describe him as follows: Unlike many autistic kids, Charlie is socially driven. He revels at any opportunity to bring our family together. He eagerly greets my friends as they walk through our door. He also has more Facebook friends than the average 18-year-old. But he remains at a second-grade reading level. He has behavioral issues, which have twice led him to be admitted to Bellevue Hospital when his violence could no longer be restrained. He has a photographic memory and a keen sense of direction. Charlie is complicated and fascinating. He surprises me every day.

I often forget that I spent much of my childhood feeling embarrassed of Charlie. I felt embarrassed when he lost his temper while we were out in public, keeping my eyes down so as not to see people staring. I felt ashamed when my friends came over for playdates, nervous that he would pull their hair and roughly pat their backs. I kept my bedroom door closed. I refused to acknowledge that Charlie was not the typical little brother.  

However, my relationship with Charlie has evolved as we have grown up. Although it is not perfect, I am never embarrassed by my little brother. I have learned to embrace Charlie for who he is. Watching him play with the people I love and witnessing my friends grow closer to him brings me endless joy. I am inspired by his love of music and in awe of his savviness with technology. I am proud to be his sister.  

My experience of having an autistic brother has shaped how I see the world. Growing up beside him is why I have built such thick skin. With this tolerance comes a deep sense of compassion and understanding — I know people often have struggles they do not share with the world. This is why Sophie’s words were so meaningful to me—I felt empowered that someone noticed the positivity Charlie has woven into my life. 

There’s a term I recently learned called a “glass child.” The phrase describes the struggles of children who have siblings who require more attention and care from their parents; it is often used for the siblings of children with special needs. The word “glass” implies that we are fragile and delicate that even the slightest bumps could cause us to shatter entirely. 

This could not be further from the truth. Charlie has made me strong and secure. These strengths are parts of me that I have always known in my heart, but when Sophie pointed them out to me, I felt a sense of pride. I am proud of how Charlie has shaped me and am proud to be his big sister.