When it comes to big sisters, I must admit that I'm the best. While I don't have any sisters of my own to judge myself against, I know enough big sisters out there to say that I would easily win the blue ribbon for being the absolute greatest big sister there ever was. Best in show. No contest.

By the time my first brother was born, I already had the whole early childhood thing figured out. And by the time my second brother was born, I knew that, as the big sister of the family, that it was my job to impart the knowledge that I had gathered over my seven-ish years so that my little brothers could learn how the world worked from my example.

Even though my brothers and I couldn't always communicate through words, we still had some way of understanding each other. As an adult, I'm still not sure how it worked, but it did (it's probably because I was simply so amazing at everything that my communication skills rubbed off on them). This story is a prime example of the effectiveness of communication between siblings.

Before my baby brothers arrived, I had the occasional opportunity to accompany my mother to the hair salon where I would wait in a nearby chair for a pretend trim and a plastic hair barrette as my reward for behaving while mom was there to get a hairdo. Getting our hair "dooded-up," as young me would put it, was always a delight.

So, on the day of my youngest brother's first haircut, I had a few things to tell him about the whole salon experience, and although he was young, he still knew that when sissy had advice, that he should take it to heart. I approached my carefree baby brother, appearing to be quite sorry for him, but he didn't seem to notice.

"So, you're getting your first haircut, huh?" I asked, drawing his attention.

He nodded, smiling.

I glanced aside. "Oh. So I guess mom and dad didn't tell you about what happens when you get your hair cut for the first time..."

My brother's smile slowly disappeared as his expression began to match my worried one. He shook his head, looking at me with wide eyes, begging for me to tell him what I meant.

"Well," I began, "when you get your hair cut for the first time, it hurts really bad. And then, your hair starts to bleed! And then, you die!"

To this day, I'm still not sure why I told my brother this. Maybe it was meant to be a joke. Perhaps I was waiting for him to realize that what I said couldn't have been true because if you die from getting your hair cut, none of us would even be around! I guess I thought it would be a funny prank to make him a little anxious about the most trivial of ordeals.

My parents found it to be a lot less amusing, however, when they took my brother across the street to the hairdresser. We were a family who liked to document firsts, and so they lugged along the enormous 30 pound camcorder to record this special moment. They recorded something, alright...

Somewhere, stored away at my parents' house, there is an old VHS tape with over an hour of footage of my baby brother, face purple from screaming and crying, getting his first haircut. It's not my fault he took me so seriously! I mean, I was clearly just kidding about everything.

Because he was so young, he couldn't explain to mom and dad that he was experiencing some grave concerns about first haircuts and the ethics of taking babies to the hairdresser to be bled to death. He also couldn't tell on me. The best he could do was sit in my dad's lap and shriek every time the scissors came anywhere close to his hair, and I must say that although I am clearly the best big sister, my youngest brother won an impressive streak of gold medals in Not Getting Haircuts for the rest of his childhood.

And as for me? I didn't confess that I was the cause of the first haircut hullabaloo for years...