In an Instant

The warmth of the bright August sun washes over me like a bath, filling me with joy and optimism. The cool breeze gently runs through my hair and brings scents of the changing season to my nostrils. As I sit with my older brother and mom, wool blanket between us and the grass, we watch our German shepherd-husky mix explore Jeffrey Park. At five years old, I cannot imagine being more content with life.

These childhood years of mine were my finest. I would laugh myself to tears, run myself to exhaustion, and play until the sun set. However, this time of frivolity was short lived.

From the first day my parents walked me to my classroom with tears in their eyes, to my high school graduation, school was my life. My father, despite being absent for ninety percent of it, played a prominent role in my upbringing. A law professor at his alma mater Yale, my father corresponded with me only to wish me happy birthday and to remind me that if I didn’t go to Yale that I would fall among the ranks of ditch diggers and garbage men. He explained to me that the boys my age who wasted their time playing video games and hitting balls with bats were degenerates who would be lucky to work for me someday. By the time I was nine, it was engrained into my head that academic success was the only thing that mattered in life.

Soon after marrying my father, my mother relinquished her dreams of becoming a politician in order to become a homemaker and live her life in accordance to my father’s wishes. She was a very intelligent and outspoken woman who was full of life and ambition. However, she loved my father, and her respect for traditional family roles allowed her to subside to his will. She was the kind of person who worked hard and excelled at everything she did. She was always the head of something, whether it was the PTA, bible study, book club, or tennis team, she lead it and made all who came before and after her seem inadequate. On top of all this, she made raising two kids and a dog look like it was nothing. Neighbors envied the cleanliness and beauty of our home, and parents told their children that they should behave more like my brother and me. Loving, supportive, and strict when necessary, mine was the mother of all maternal figures.

My brother was my best friend. Although he was three year older than me, he treated me as an equal and looked after me. Tall, handsome, and athletic, Adam was terrific in the eyes of all, except my father. He suffered from mild dyslexia, which made school a struggle for him. Years of tutoring and all the meds in the world couldn’t help him; he would always be a C student. The only reason he merited any respect of my father’s was that he inherited all of the athletic ability that my mother provided to our gene pool. Being the captain of the football and hockey teams earned him student council president and a full scholarship to the University of Connecticut. Unfortunately for me, his academic shortcomings increased the expectations placed upon me.

The pleasures of freedom and leisure became distant memories of my childhood as I strived to be the best I could be. Even at the prestigious New England prep college prep school that I attended, I was the top of my class. I was brown nose who sat in the front row of my classes, ate lunch in the library, and ruined the curve for my classmates. I was the only student who could boast that I had perfect attendance in school, yet made no appearance at any football games or school dances. I spent my weekends tutoring and involving myself in extra curricular studies. I had no friends (due to lack of time, not social skill), and my only close peers were those who rivaled my studious nature and often consulted me on schoolwork. I didn’t mind my lack of social life because I knew nothing different. When I witnessed others enjoying life, I just recalled the words of my father and knew that someday I would be a greater success than they would, and that would be my time to enjoy life. This mentality kept me going all through school up to graduation.

High school graduation was both the most anticipated day of my life, and the day that would shape my future. I don’t remember many of the details of the ceremony, just what my relatives have told me about how grown up I looked and how proud they were. I graduated with honors as Valedictorian, scored a 2390 on my SAT, 36 on my ACT, and had succeeded in meeting my father’s goal of going to Yale. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. However, the only thing I remember is a flashing light. A flashing light and tires screeching as a Lincoln Navigator ran a red light and crashed into the driver’s side door of my brother’s BMW 3-series. He was supposed to be driving me to my first party since my twelfth birthday; instead he, the drunk driver, and myself were taken to the hospital.

A dim light shone over me, but it had no warmth. Instead it gave me the odd feeling of being watched by strangers that I couldn’t see. The air was still, and all I could smell was the choking scent of potent sanitation products. All I could feel was stiffness throughout my body as I tried to survey the scene that lay above me with my blurry eyes. As my eyes slowly batted in my attempt to clear them, I sensed a movement rushing towards me and voices began to fill the stale air. I soon lost consciousness once again, but when I regained it, a familiar voice filled my ears. My mother quickly noticed me and with tears in her eyes, immediately covered my body with hers. I felt a weight, but none of the softness or heat that I remembered being characteristic of a hug. I was tired and confused. I tried to speak, but my mother pressed her finger over my lips as my mouth lazily fumbled over the words.

I will always remember waking up that day, exactly three years, one month, and seven days after my graduation. That day I learned that life doesn’t go according to plans, whether they belong to a father, mother, brother, or son. On that day I realized that life is meant to be taken and enjoyed as it comes, because the future is not guaranteed. But the memory that left the strongest impression of my mind, the memory that I will never forget, is the memory of my mother pushing my wheelchair out of the hospital as she told me we needed to stop by the cemetery before we went home.