When my brother was small, he barely spoke, and certainly never around strangers. He could speak, there was no developmental delay, he just mostly chose not to. We were close in age, under two years apart, and – out in the world – I spoke for him. This is, perhaps, a common dynamic: chatty big sister, quiet little brother.
I was sometimes reprimanded by well-meaning strangers. ‘Stop talking over your brother,’ they’d chide. ‘I asked him a question.’ And I would quieten down, shamed. My brother would say nothing, but entreat me with frightened eyes to step in.
