I was six years old. Six years old when I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. A six-year-old with glasses and quite mature for his age. A kid who was interested n learning how things worked. I was six years old when I started to imagine what it felt like to make people feel better.

I had my teddy bears. I had my dolls. And I had Sally Strawberry. No one knew about this. It was a secret. My secret that no one knew about except me. But, then someone found out. Someone found out about my secret. My big brother and his friends found out. My brother teased me when he found my notes that I wrote about my toys and the illnesses. He and his friends giggled.

"What's this?" I heard Cal say. "Sally Strawberry has sore nibbles?"

He laughed out loud when he read it. So did his friends. Their laughter hurt my feelings but I could not cry. Would not cry in front of them. It would only make it worse. Make them tease me even more. They would call me a cry baby.

You want to know why they were teasing me?

I used to spell phonetically. And hence I got the name 'Nibbles'.

My brother has taken pleasure in calling me that name whenever a situation arises even if it's at the most inappropriate times, like when we're at work.

But, even though it annoys me to no end that he takes delight in calling me 'Nibbles' I've come to expect nothing else from him. He is after all my big brother and only he is allowed to use it.