I clearly remember the day when my little brother was born: January 1, 1994. One of my favorite family photos shows me lying with my mother in the hospital bed, happy but un-aware of the small, sleeping baby in the background. I stayed with my grandparents for the weekend of my brother's birth, excited about my new brother but not yet aware of what having a little brother would mean. I didn't truly realize what was going on until we were in the hospital room at Duke University---- coincidentally  , the same room in which I had been born two years earlier. When I looked at my brother for the first time, I felt a mixture of fear and interest. Little did know that small, pink creature would grow up to be one of my favorite people in the world. In reality, though I am two years older than my brother, I am more often than not the real baby in the family. I am very lacking when it comes to common sense. Instructions constantly confuse me and I frequently find myself totally puzzled by things like knowing how to start the washing machine or manage the storage settings on my iPhone. That's where Gibson comes in. The poor kid has had to guide me through more tasks than I would care to admit, but he never complains. Though I should probably be told to figure it out myself, he always comes through. I'm envious of his ability to readily answer the ever-present, "What do you want to do with your life?" question at family gatherings. "Be a doctor," he says----a solid answer, completely opposite to my shaky one, "Well, I'm an English major, so..." My brother truly is my best friend. No one understands me better, and there isn't anyone else I would want to be stuck with in our family. I may not have a clear idea of where I'm headed, but he is stuck with me. What does the brother often help the author do?
Help him deal with many daily tasks. Help him with his studies. Give him advice on how to choose a major. Comfort him when he is in a bad mood.
Question: I clearly remember the day when my little brother was born: January 1, 1994. One of my favorite family photos shows me lying with my mother in the hospital bed, happy but un-aware of the small, sleeping baby in the background. I stayed with my grandparents for the weekend of my brother's birth, excited about my new brother but not yet aware of what having a little brother would mean. I didn't truly realize what was going on until we were in the hospital room at Duke University---- coincidentally  , the same room in which I had been born two years earlier. When I looked at my brother for the first time, I felt a mixture of fear and interest. Little did know that small, pink creature would grow up to be one of my favorite people in the world. In reality, though I am two years older than my brother, I am more often than not the real baby in the family. I am very lacking when it comes to common sense. Instructions constantly confuse me and I frequently find myself totally puzzled by things like knowing how to start the washing machine or manage the storage settings on my iPhone. That's where Gibson comes in. The poor kid has had to guide me through more tasks than I would care to admit, but he never complains. Though I should probably be told to figure it out myself, he always comes through. I'm envious of his ability to readily answer the ever-present, "What do you want to do with your life?" question at family gatherings. "Be a doctor," he says----a solid answer, completely opposite to my shaky one, "Well, I'm an English major, so..." My brother truly is my best friend. No one understands me better, and there isn't anyone else I would want to be stuck with in our family. I may not have a clear idea of where I'm headed, but he is stuck with me. What does the brother often help the author do?
A. Help him deal with many daily tasks.
B. Help him with his studies.
C. Give him advice on how to choose a major.
D. Comfort him when he is in a bad mood.
Answer: