My Family Role Model, a Lesson Learned

I always looked forward to seeing my first cousins and their parents. When I visited them, I spent most of my time with Daniel, whom I had admired for as long as I can remember. His endless good humor and unbreakable attitude captivated me since I was a kid. Each time my family and I pulled into my cousins' driveway, I would be burning to jump out of the car to be the first on their front porch, but my mother would always say, "Wait until we park. We're all carrying something in."

My cousins actually didn't lived too far from us, but my family would treat each visit as a vacation nonetheless. My mother would bring her camera, my brother whatever interested him during that time of the month, and I brought a few extra Nintendo 64 controllers so that my brother and I could play video games with Daniel, as was one of our routine activities.

Naturally, I was given the honors of ringing the doorbell, my heart pounding as the door began to open, revealing a warm greeting by my Aunt Sherry. She would welcome us into her comely home with great enthusiasm and a bright smile. Aunt sherry was always so full of life, her very soul like an infinite well of youth and energy. She was also very beautiful for her age, and despite her enduring stress, even today she looks as lovely as ever.

My brother and I would usually have to wait for Daniel to walk down the stairs from his room, meeting us halfway. In the meantime, I would engage in lengthy conversation with my Aunt while Brittany and Natalie, my other cousins, and my Uncle Steve, would talk with my mother. Brittany was a couple years younger than Daniel and was really nice, although she always gave me the feeling that she'd open the gates of Hell if provoked. Natalie was the little sister and by far the sweetest little girl I've known. I doubt that Natalie's parents ever had trouble with her.

Once Daniel was ready to join the family, he would greet my parents and then hang out with my brother and me, usually in his room. We would also hang out in his tree house where he would show us whatever small gismos he made for conventional use, things that usually consisted of copper disks, electric wires, and wood.

Daniel seemed to be everything a boy should be. He was very intelligent, he respected his parents, and he never ceased to grow, towering above his own father by the time he was 15. Daniel was a computer geek, he had a fascination for minerals and insects, and he was well fit. I'll bet that his parents wondered whether he would become an athlete or a biologist.

I spent as much time with Daniel as I was able, and sometimes I would call him from home, although my Aunt would usually answer, "He's sleeping and had a long day at school." No big deal for me. He was my hero, so he could never disappoint me. As a matter of fact, whenever I was in a fix or was about to do something foolish, I would think, "What would Daniel do?"

But as I grew older and saw Daniel less often, I learned to establish my own friendships among my high school peers. I didn't need Daniel as much as I used to, and during my senior year, he did disappoint me. As graduation neared, during periods when I saw Daniel again, I would spark brief conversations with his mother in which she would all too often talk about her son's personal life, not to say she meant to smear him. Through these little conversations, I learned things about Daniel that began to cause pieces to fall into place, such as why he was always waking up when I visited or couldn't talk with me on the phone. He was often depressed, and I suppose that during his depression, he stumbled a little as he grew up.

When I met Daniel again in early January of '06, he was upbeat as usual, and he had the same interests and bold ideas that made him Daniel. Bu he changed his overall appearance. It was at Starbucks where I ran into him, and the first words to come out of my mouth were, "Whoa! Big hair!" Daniel took my remark as the joke it was meant to be. He too on what he called a 'Goth-Anime look." It was original, but he could have lost the eye shadow. We didn't chat. He was too busy with a friend. A girl, I might add, which was reason enough for me to leave him alone.

I went home and remarked to my mother that Daniel didn't seem to be as talkative as he used to bet. She sighed and said, "That family is in their own little world." And what a world it was. My Aunt Sherry, who I thought didn't have a care in the world, was rushed to the hospital for migraines on numerous occasions. Nobody knew the Gilbert family better than my mother, so I knew who to ask. "It's because she's been under a lot of stress for a long time, Dane." I was oblivious. What did the Gilbert family have to be stressed about?

My cousins weren't quite the same, either. Brittany was sometimes too busy with her boyfriend to visit. When she did visit, she brought her boyfriend with her, and I couldn't help but notice that she has taken a liking to more revealing attire, but blessed Natalie was living reminder of the old Brittany, sweet and innocent, not to say that Brittany isn't a kind soul. At last, Daniel was not one to be counted, at least not usually when it comes to family visits.

But one day Daniel did visit, and shortly after he left, my brother took me aside and said, exasperated, "I all day I smelled cigarettes from Daniel's breath from ten feet away!" Indignantly, I pointed at my brother and shouted, "No! Daniel would never do anything so stupid! He's too smart for that!"

When Daniel came over that Christmas Eve, I sat next to him on one of the couches, my eyes drawn to a little square box protruding from his pant pocket. I asked him what he had on him and he patted his pocket, saying, "Oh these? These are my cancer sticks!" When I asked him what motivated him to smoke, he told me that he "just wanted to try them out," but I he wasn't being truthful.

That moment, I realized that no family is perfect, and Daniel is no longer the heroic figure of my past, although I am confident that he will always live up to his namesake in spirit if not in wisdom.