And where in God's name are you?

My mother snapped at my little brother as he tried to creep into the front door.

It was half as 12 on the school night, and just mere moments before he had walked in, she assumed he was fast asleep upstairs.

She stood with her hands on her hips eyeing him.

My brother, Daniel, had been on a bad streak as of late.

So, admittedly, I took some pleasure in seeing him finally

get what he needed as I watched this unfold from atop the staircase.

My mom was rapidly tapping a foot, waiting for a response.

But, before my brother could defend himself, she blurted out,

Have you been drinking?

I can smell it on you, Daniel.

Jesus, you're 15!

You're flunking your classes, you come home late, you're getting suspended, and now this? I'm sick of it!"

A smile crept across my face, watching her dig into him, and I had to start for a laugh at a couple of remarks.

It must have been a solid ten minutes of her yelling and by the end of it he looked pretty

dejected.

Daniel's eyes were glued to the floor and his lips were glued together, likely afraid that anything he said would have dug the grave deeper.

When she implored him to say something, all he could do was squeak out,

I'm sorry, ma'am.

In his heart, I'm sure he thought showing that he was genuinely sorry would have gotten

him off.

His biggest fear was getting shipped off to military school or staying with her grandparents in Nebraska, where the only thing he could do all day was Reed and Shuck Corn.

...