My brother, Brandon, whom I idolize, taught me many things, some more useful than others. For instance, he taught me how to wrap a rubber band around the sprayer on the kitchen sink, so when some poor unsuspecting soul turned on the water, he got quite a shower! One important lesson I learned from being with him - to always be myself and never pretend to be something that I'm not. I never knew how much of an effect he had on me - until I went to my first high-school party.

It was the fall after I turned 15. Most of my friends were going to be there. A few days before the big party, my two best friends asked if I would like to go with them. Since I couldn't drive after dark, I figured this was the only way I would get to go. I halfheartedly asked my mom if I could go. To my surprise, she said I could.

The night of the party, I took an extra long time to get dressed. Partially because I wanted to look cool, although I had no idea what awaited me at this party. As I kissed my mom and dad good-bye, I felt a new kind of independence. It was as if this was a milestone in my growing up. As I soon found out, it was.

When we arrived at the party, I stumbled out of the car in a state of shock and disbelief. This was it! My very first high school party! I walked through the clusters of people, many of whom I knew. Some were as surprised to see me there as I was to see them. Gradually, I began to loosen up and started to laugh and joke. Pretty soon, I grabbed a bottle of Zima from a cooler and began to "sociably" drink. I was not forced to. No one made me do it. It was my choice. I knew that when I took that first sip, I was responsible for everything that happened afterwards.

It didn't take long to figure out that the drinking part was not what was making this night wonderful. I returned to the cooler, this time for a coke. Not more than five minutes later, one of my drunken friends came up to me with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. She slurred an invitation to come smoke with her. As ridiculous as it sounds, I was willing to drink, but I was (and still am) opposed to smoking. I told her no and wandered into the older group of party-goers. Even without the alcohol, I was having an incredible time.

All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my brother. He stood among a group of guys with his arms folded and a half grin glimmering across his face. As I stood in shock, he eased over to where I was.

"Having a good time?" he asked. I nodded. He leaned in toward my mouth and took a sniff. "Ah-ha!" he said. I wanted to tell him how I had wanted to try drinking and how I figured out that it doesn't take drinking to have a good time. I also wanted to tell him how I had refused to smoke, but all of these ideas started to blur and I didn't know where to begin.

When I opened my mouth, he stopped me. "I saw you taking a Zima out of the cooler." I opened my mouth to defend myself, only to be stopped again. "AND I saw you visit that cooler again. Only that time you came back with a cola instead. I also saw you give up the opportunity to have a cancer stick rammed down your throat."

I smiled and felt proud. As if he knew I would, he grabbed me by my shoulders and playfully disheveled my hair. He looked back at me and said, "I'm proud to have a sister like you, so don't ever change."