During the summer of 2006, I stayed up late one night while spending a week with my uncle

aunt in Cousin at a beach house in southern New Jersey.

I was 15 years old.

I didn't know it at the time, but I'm fairly certain my inclusion on the trip was an attempt

to keep my cousin occupied while his father and, um, new young stepmother attempted to

conceive their first child together.

Or maybe it's just a coincidence that my youngest cousin was born nine months later.

Anyway, since my cousin and I are the same age and we've been close since birth, it was

a week well spent in our opinion.

One night after a day spent being pummeled by the Atlantic Ocean and an evening strolling

the length of Wildwood's considerable beach nightlife, we finally settled in to crash

back at the beach house where the adults had already been quietly sequestered in their locked

bedroom.

It was late, probably a bit after midnight.

And the day's sun and near ceaseless activity had finally caught up on us.

In the room we shared, my cousin had turned on the TV and crumbled into his bed.

He was asleep before I even had a chance to change into a pair of sweatpants.

Usually, I'm not one for late night TV watching.

Actually, believe it or not, I've never been much of a TV watcher, even as a kid.

Not to say that I didn't watch anything, but compared to a lot of kids I grew up with,

I wasn't addicted to the flash box.

And of course, for some reason I decided to just lay there for a bit, minus to stare

...