When I was 3 or 4 years old, my brother used to go to California every week with his father. This time was different. My mom decided to let him live with his father. He was 12 when he left. I was sad; as a matter of fact, everyone was sad. We did so much stuff since he left, but it wasn't quite the same without him. We missed him so much. We had talked to my brother all the time over the phone. When he called it was always really early in the morning, until we told him how early it was after he had called a few times. He told us that the reason he always called so late was because it was late in California, but early down here. Like we didn't already know that. One day, he and my mother were talking and he told my mother that he wanted to come home, because he was always getting in trouble. He said California did him no good. He was getting in trouble down there and thought he would do a lot better down here with us. I remember the day he came home; I was in the 2nd grade. We were getting ready to eat dinner, but we had to wait until my mother got back from the airport with my brother. He had been gone for 4 years, and today he was coming home. When he got out of the car we barely recognized him, but after we looked at him it was if he never changed. He was just taller and a little more mature. When he came home, he attended school at FPC. He was also in the football team. Even though coming home seemed like the right thing to do at 1st, he got in just as much trouble. He was a bright kid; AB honor roll. He just couldn't stay out of trouble. Later, my brother LA graduated. He now had a job with a welding company. He has 2 kids, 2 demos, and soon enough, a record contract.
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