Little bother

I’m pleased you're dressed nicely. We arrive at church. “Oh, doesn’t he look smart today!” they say. You duck your head, grimacing at me behind their backs. I grin back. You do look smart in your black and white checked shirt, buttoned up to the collar in exactly the same way as the boys - five years older than you- in my maths class. I can see the crease on your jeans where Mum turned them down yesterday ("You're getting so tall, darling!"). Your dark  brown Lego Hair™ tops off the look, conditioned only with Herbal Essences and combed to perfection. Awww, go on: I'll admit it. I'm proud you're my brother.