Living in a house with four men taller than six feet never brings a dull moment. I have spent dozens of nights watching movies, many hours doing anything related to sports and experiencing more smells than someone in their lifetime should over the span of my seventeen years.

Growing up with four older brothers was thrilling, but it also brought some challenging times. Even with the many fun games we played and endless hours of sports, it also meant getting ganged up on, teased and overprotected.

There still are many nights that end in tears over pointless arguments or by dumb jokes that hit me in the wrong way. But perhaps worst of all, sometimes it seems as if I have five fathers instead of just one.

This is what I called being out-brothered. My brothers are my best friends, believe it or not. In the end, they are the people I turn to the most for advice, a pep talk or just a hug. I get annoyed with the way they act, but I know it is because they love me and want what is best for me.

I am thankful for all the random lessons and memories filled with lots of dirt, but more importantly I am thankful for the love that my brothers have given me. They have taught me to never care what other people think, to love one another no matter what, to never ever give up, that I am stronger than I think and lastly, that family is forever.

I may be the only girl in the family, but there has never been a day I would change that. I love being out-brothered.