The Prodigal Son

Sam was his father's son. Both had come to blows with their fathers and run away to escape, one to the Marines and one to Stanford.

He was a little brother. He had an unbreakable faith in his older brother and something akin to hero worship still lit his eyes, even at twenty two.

He was twelve when he blew up the microwave with his science project. His father yelled at him and grounded him for two weeks, but had smiled proudly and ruffled his hair when he came home with a blue ribbon.

He was Sammy from the moment his brother had seen the ultrasound and found that he was indeed going to be a boy.

He was the last thing his mother ever saw.

He was just two miles down the road when he began regretting the way he had parted with his father. But he was still angry enough to keep from going back.

He was a regular at the small café on campus and left the smiling blond waitress a ten dollar tip. He also left a note saying he had the outline from that day's psych class.

He was finally able to understand his father's rage after he lost her.

Sam was his father's son.