I guess I must have been about 7 years old.

It was supposed to be an adventure. One with exciting experiences, a few near-death scrapes, and my family. God, I was so excited. We had planned a family vacation to the Grand Canyon, which had been described to me as a place of extreme heat and a lot of hiking. An ideal vacation.

We were on our way to the airport and the excitement was rolling over, around, and all the way through my little frame. We were all excited, really. My mom had made it a family activity to plan all of our hikes and where we were going to camp, so we were all ready for the fun to begin. My brother, Sam, pretended to be bored with the proceedings, but I could tell that even he was excited. The other perk of the plane ride was going to be spending so much time with him, which would end up just being me pestering him.

It seemed like that car ride to the airport took years. It was only the second or third time that I could remember that I had ridden in an airplane. All I could think about was the awesome sight of clouds stretching out like a rolling carpet just waiting for me to jump down and start exploring. My stomach just did a little flip, remembering the roller-coaster feeling of my stomach doing back flip after front flip after belly flop on the plane.

We finally got to the airport, which was a little overwhelming, at the time. And my family getting there late, as usual, didn’t help much. The hustle and bustle of thousands of people rushing to their own separate vacations and destinations, the flash of each set of legs hastening to their own gates, made me itch for the plane ride to come quicker.

As we crawled through the line for security, I heard my parents muttering anxiously about how little time we had before the plane would leave without us. I went through the scanner afraid of the big metal frame, so one parent could let go of my hand and one could secure it again on the other side. So my brother, Sam, went last of all of us. The machine beeped a warning that held up the entire line, and more importantly, made us even later for our flight. I could feel the apprehensive vibes flowing out from my parents, both about the time and whatever might be in my brother’s backpack. The security woman called them over and both of my parents went to see the incriminating evidence.

“Do you know what this is?” the woman asked, holding up something I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see my parents’ faces, either. They had told me to wait in the seat and finish putting on my shoes.

“Oh, God.” It was obvious how embarrassed my mom was.

“It is a pipe used for marijuana.” the security woman said in a robot voice.

In these situations, my parents’ ultimate punishment was for Sam to describe to me exactly what happened. It embarrassed him to death and scared the heck out of me. It took a while, considering I had no idea what marijuana was. But once he mentioned the word “smoking,” the severity of the situation hit me. Smoking was what bad people did who didn’t do their homework. But Sam isn’t a bad person, right? I thought to myself. I couldn’t quite get my head around both views of the situation.

“How long were you smoking?”

“I tried it for about a summer and then I didn’t like it anymore.” He looked so ashamed of himself, I felt a little bad, even though I still didn’t really understand what all of this meant.

My mom tried to explain the situation again as we stood in line for the help desk for a new flight. She tried to explain how my brother had just made a mistake.

“Mommy, is Sam a bad person?”
“No, sweetie, of course not. He just did a bad thing. But that doesn’t make him a bad person.”
“Ok,” I said, Mom couldn’t be wrong. And then I made a decision. “I’m going to be better than that, Mommy” with a determined set to my face.
On the plane, I sat with my dad. I probably fell asleep, but I don’t remember. My mom later told me that my brother cried through the whole 5-hour plane ride.


And I didn’t think about it again until now, eight years later. I’m sitting on a plush orange couch staring off into the space between the trees beyond the deck in my brother’s new apartment. My dad is discussing the rest of the credits Sam will need to graduate with a major in Public Policy and a minor in Spanish. He spent the last semester in Barcelona taking classes for his major in Spanish. He loved the city so much he stayed for the summer and describes it as the best of his life.

“What if I minored in Environmental Studies, too? It would only be a few more credits, I already took a few of the requirements,” Sam suggests.

“Sam, you’re crazy!” My dad stares at him with eyebrows raised, “I know you’re interested, but there’s just not enough time. It’s already your senior year, for Pete’s sake!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll fit it in. The soccer season will have ended by then, so I’ll have plenty of time.”

My dad rolls his eyes a little and chuckles, realizing that he’s already lost the battle.

Before we leave, hugs go all around. As my parents are getting in the car, I run back to him and give him one last bear hug. He beams at me and I run back to the car. As we drive away, I can’t stop thinking about how proud I am of my brother.