To both my parents: Just because he's twelve doesn't mean that he's incapable of completing the daily tasks of a regular person. He's twelve. 1-2. That means he's over the age of five. He should be able to load the dishwasher, vaccuum the carpet, and yes, even install his own stupid video games on the computer. And for God's sake, please make him make his own cereal and sandwhiches! I could do that when I was four! It might sound nit-picky and selfish, but I'm the one stuck at home with him all day every day, from seven-thirty in the morning to six at night. If you were here with him that long, you'd know how I feel. I know he's the baby, but please, humor me and at least try teaching him some sort of independence. He's going to be living with you until he's forty if you keep babying him.
To my mom: Okay, really, I would like to at least be able to share my opinion with you. You don't have to agree with me by any means, just hear me out. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, right? Well, mine is that you're treating him like he's three. Guess what? He's nine years older than that.
To my brother: Aside from what I've said up there, grow up! Stop fake crying just to get attention. You're in junior high. If your friends knew that they'd probably stop hanging out with you. I know I would. P.S. I don't care about your video games. Honestly, I'm really not that into Star Wars. It's great that you are, but everything you say pretty much goes waaay over my head.