A typical conversation about my family follows these lines nearly exactly:

Person: “So do you have any siblings?

Me: “Yeah, I have three brothers”

Person: “So no sisters? Your poor mother.”

While four teenage boys under one roof may seem like a crazy thing that no one should have to go through, for our family it couldn’t be any other way.

There are six of us, and five are guys; that’s just who the Leffingwells are, and it's perfect for us. But sometimes I wonder, how have we not burned down the house or killed each other, or, a more serious and real question, why have our parents not tried to get rid of us?

The truth is that living with three brothers is one of the best things that the Lord has blessed me with.

One of my favorite things about my brothers is that when we pick on each other it's okay, but when someone outside of our family is picking on one of us, then the others step up to defend the one getting picked on. We always have each other's back regardless of the age or size difference between the two opposing parties.

When my older brother was in fourth grade, I was in second grade and one of my younger brothers was in kindergarten (yes we are all two years apart… how cute), my oldest brother was being picked on by a kid twice his size. As soon as my younger brother heard about this incident, he walked up to the bully and proceeded to punch him in the stomach yelling, “Don’t pick on my brother!”

Granted a little 5-year-old hitting a 10-year-old didn’t do anything except make a good story, but it also shows that, regardless of the circumstance, only Leffingwell's are allowed to pick on Leffingwells—all others back off and beware.

Picking on each other is common in our house, but so are arguments and fights between us. An argument or fight with someone that you just met is very infrequent, but when you truly love someone and care about that person, it is easy to get mad, argue and fight. My brothers and I are examples of how true that statement really is.

I see my brothers (and they me) at their best and their worst, more than anyone else. Because of this, sometimes two worsts happen at the same time and a fight breaks out. To be honest, though, the fight doesn’t last very long before we are having a catch, playing music or laughing with each other.

Forgiveness doesn’t come easy all the time, though—sometimes it’s a hurt that is really deep. But once again, the brotherly bond never comes apart.

Having three brothers is great because all of my interests are shared in at least one of them.

Tim (my oldest brother) and I love rock and roll. We are always sharing music with each other and playing music together. In fact, we have been in many failed bands together, so we're a pretty big deal.

My 17-year-old brother, Mike, is a huge baseball guy, he talks about it so much—often with stats I’ve never heard of or cared about. So that’s not really what we share, but on the baseball field, it’s a different story. For as long as I have been playing baseball, I have been a catcher and Mike has been a pitcher. Only having a two-year difference, we have been able to play together a lot. He has pitched countless innings with me behind the plate and often we are thinking the exact same thing as far as pitch type and pitch placement.

My youngest brother, Jonny, and I both love the theater. I always help him out with music and scenes for upcoming auditions or shows, and he is always doing the same for me.

Although six might feel like a crowd sometimes—and there is enough testosterone in our home to kill a cow—the truth is that six is the perfect number for us. Anything less would feel wrong.

Regardless of how I may feel about them at times, I might not always like my brothers, but I will always love them. That’s just how we are—a totally crazy dysfunctional family who somehow functions anyway—and I wouldn’t change it.