One thing I think you could say about the Tucker kids is that we had no shortage of imagination. Looking back, I can remember countless dumb games that we used to play that are varying degrees of embarrassing to recount.
I remember a silly skateboarding phase we went through. We had a cheap skateboard, and Jordan would try and teach me how to skate. (Spoiler: I never got good at it.) He had a pole laid on the ground, and he would make me try to grind the skateboard over it, helping me balance all the while.
Or this stupid game we used to play on our cousins' trampoline. It was called "Worm in an Earthquake." One kid would lay in the middle of the trampoline while the others all jumped in a circle around them, chanting, "You're a worm in an earthquake, it sucks to be you." 
Or all the times we'd go down the hill we lived on on our scooters, amassing all sorts of scrapes and injuries. I remember walking back up hill with our scooters in hand, banging on our shins. 
The rock fort we made in the middle of our grandparents' property, ostensibly there to wage war against Bigfoot. Jordan actually destroyed our fort as a prank, and I know I was salty about that for a couple years.
One game we played for a long time was with our step siblings at our biological father's house. The boys and the girls were divided into two opposing "armies." We pretended we were in a some kind of kiddie war, gearing up in some old military helmets and camo jackets we found.
Jordan was the general of the boys' army, and I was the general of the girls' army. Our "battles" consisted of increasingly silly pranks we played on each other. The boys would leap out from around corners scaring us, charge into our room shrieking in the middle of the night, or steal our toys.
In turn, we would employ our own "strategies." One thing I was especially proud of was the invention of the sock bomb. I took a baseball, tightly packed a bunch of dirty socks around it, and rolled it through the boys' room, so it deposited stinky socks everywhere.
Of course, all things must end, and so, too, did our war. Jordan and I, the opposing generals, agreed to a treaty. We sat down together, writing out the terms of our treaty in gel pen on Lisa Frank paper. It was all I had to write on. It was no Treaty of Versailles, but it was good enough for us.
-Amanda J. Tucker

An older sibling can teach you many things. They might tell you how to handle upcoming classes or help you with homework. They might teach you how to do some kind of hobby, like playing a game, hunting, or fishing - as was the case with me many times, actually. They might even teach you how to play a sport. 
If I thought about it hard enough, I could probably tell you about several different lessons Jordan taught me. Maybe I'll write posts about them later, as I remember them. 
But one of the first things that comes to mind is the port-a-potties. (I'm not sure I'm spelling that right. I think that's how you'd write it?) I'm not sure how Jordan figured it out, but at some point, he learned how to lock those portable Johns from the outside. 
One summer, while we were out camping with our grandparents up at a campground on Lake Vermilion, Jordan told me he would impart this precious secret with me for seemingly no reason. He took me to the ring of portable Johns in the middle of the campground and demonstrated on one. 
It was pretty simple. I learned it quickly, and I put the knowledge to use. Right before we left the campground, he and I locked every portable John from the outside. 
I'm not sure how anyone discovered what we did or what happened. I imagine lines probably formed outside of them, and when no one ever came out of any of the bathrooms, someone probably reported it to the campground administration. 
Sometime later when we came back, I found that all the portable Johns had levers on the inside that made it extra-difficult to lock them from the outside, so we didn't bother with that again.
However, every once in awhile, to this day, I remember what he taught me when I see a portable John. And I get tempted to lock it from the outside.
It's a dumb thing to remember, but it's one thing I think he'd be proud of.
​-Amanda J. Tucker

This isn't necessarily one particular stories, but I guess kind of a series of them. Pokemon was a thing that brought Jordan, me, and Bre together for several years.
When Pokemon first came out (the trading card game, gameboy games, and the TV show), it was pretty much immediately huge. All the kids at school were into it. All the kids at the apartments we lived in at the time were into it. It wasn't surprising and that Jordan and I got into it, too.
But we weren't able to afford to as many cards as everyone else, and a gameboy was out of the question for a bit, although we ended up getting one later. So in the beginning, what we used to do is sneak out at night. There used to be a gathering of kids in the nearby playground at night that would trade cards in the dark, almost like it was some kind of black market. 
We didn't have anything to trade, but many of the other kids would give us cards they had two of, or cards that weren't very valuable. Jordan and I amassed a small collection together that way. Eventually, we had our own binders of Pokemon cards. 
When we got a gameboy, Jordan was the first one to play Red and Blue version. I didn't really get into those, but when I did try playing them, he taught me that cheat with MissingNo. The one where you get 99 of an item in your bag if you find that creepy, glitchy Pokemon off Cinnabar Island. He insisted that I must always save my game every time I played.
I got more into it when Gold, Silver, and Crystal came out. It was at that time that Jordan started to become bored with it. He said he would pass on his card collection to me or Bre, and let it hang over our heads for a few days like we'd have to compete for it. In the end, he decided to give it to her because her own collection wasn't as big as mine, and she needed cards more than I did to round it out. 
Unlike Jordan, I never really grew out of it. I still actively play the new Pokemon games to this day. I wonder what he would think if he knew how valuable some of those old cards we used to collect are now?

When we were younger (I suppose even quite a few times I was older), Jordan wasn't just an "annoying" big brother. He was oftentimes my protector. 
I have memories of him throwing rocks at the heads of boys in the bus line who wouldn't leave me alone. Or him telling other people to stop hanging out with someone who made fun of me at school.
But one particular memory I have was a little bit different. How do you protect someone from something you don't see or understand completely? How do you make someone who's overly anxious feel better?
Jordan knew how. 
I don't recall exactly how old we were, but it was old enough to be left alone. It was evening, and I remember that it was storming. It was extremely dark in the house, and like always, I was nervous because of the storm. 
For some reason, I had the bright idea of asking Jordan what would happen if someone tried to break into the house while we were alone. We were just kids - like we'd know how to deal with that.
I sat up nervously in the living room, staring at the front door, imagining that I saw someone trying the handle over and over again. I kept this anxiety-ridden vigil for some time before I got any reprieve.
At some point, I was joined by Jordan. He was carrying a BB gun. He assured me that if anyone got in, he would drive them away. 
It's maybe laughable now - it's not as if a BB gun would protect us completely. But he looked so determined that I accepted it, and I felt immediately safer knowing he would guard the house.
​-Amanda J Tucker