There comes a point in your everyone's life where you're faced with a critical decision to make must be made. It happens to everyone, and it's a different situation every time. Everyone's situation is different, but the parameters are always the same. Do you continue on your path the way you have been? Or do you make the leap, take the chance, and completely turn your life around?

Well, My name is Brett Ferguson, and this is my story.

I guess to really understand my story, you'd have to go pretty far back into my childhood and see where I c(a)me from. I was born on a sunny day in Bellevue, Washington, right outside of Seattle on June 16, 1980 -- the year Reagan was elected and Lennon was shot. My childhood was story book. Prancing around in the tasteless 1980s garb that my parents dressed me in, I teetered my way through play dates and pre-school. Sundays were reserved for church, and I don't think we ever missed a single service at the First Baptist Church of Bellevue.

Elementary school was where I first learned how completely unfair the world really is. Dad signed me up for my first Little League team when I was six. I despised baseball. No, no. Despise is not a strong enough word (verb?). Loathe, that's better. I utterly loathed baseball. Mom finally convinced Dad, after 3 (three) years of torture, that maybe it'd be better to have a son who didn't play baseball, than to have the team "sissy" as his child. Thanks, Mom.

When I was 9 (nine), my two sisters (twins) were born, and became the pride and joy of the Ferguson family. Beautiful, blonde and spunky. (M)y sisters became the spotlight. I was GLAD to relinquish the title. Suddenly, everyone was so preoccupied with the babies that there was no time for Dad to try to pursuade me to join (P)ee (W)wee football, (C)ub (S)couts or karate.

Middle school was awkward, as it seemed was the trend (explain what you mean here). Pimples and abnormal body parts (my ears were ginormous) followed me for three and a half years until puberty was complete. The worst part was my changing vocal chords. It took them a long time to transition, so I was often a baratone and suddenly a soprano. Dad had a hard time with my puberty, and his favorite lines were, "It'll make a man out of you, Son!" and, "This'll put hair on your chest, Boy!", as he attempted to submerge me in one masculine, testosterone-filled environment after another. And so it began, my resentment for my father, and his everlasting disapointment in me. I was dragged from monster truck rallies to hunting trips, while Mom stood in the background, empathetic to her only son's pain. I say pain in correct context. It hurt, the way Dad belittled my study habits, tossed my books away as though they were nothing, laughed at my interest in horticulture. This is where I found my solice. In (eigh)th grade, I entered into the Science Fair with a project determining the effects of tap water, mineral water, and seltzer water on the germination and growth of radish seeds. Mom and I went to the local nursery to pick up the seeds, and I was hooked. The smells and sight of the colors, the outdoor furniture and all of the fixings. It was like entering a backyard eutopia.

In (ten)th grade, when I turned 16- sixteen, I took -out a loan from my parents and started my own lawn care service. With two hundred dollars in my pocket, and my dad's lawn mower and hedge clippers, I convinced my next door neighbor, Ms. Higgins, to peruse my "blue prints" for her "new and improved outdoor area." Pretending to be impressed, she accepted my bid of $50 a visit, every two weeks. Thankfully, my new job kept me busy as my high school years swam by. I enlisted my 7-year-old (twin?) sisters to rake leaves and pull weeds. (W)e made a surprisingly good team.

At the beginning of my senior year, I had relieved my sisters of duty and taken on a real partner, my best friend Mike. We had (ten) yards, excluding Ms. Higgins'. (She) died shortly after my junior year began. However(,) I still credit her to this day for believing in my dream. It was great that I was to be so busy, because the more yards I had the less time I had to spend with my father, who never seemed to be pleased with anything I said or did.

When I graduated high school, I relocated to Indiana, where I had been accepted to Purdue University. I enrolled in their Environmental Plant Studies program, with a minor in Business Administration. Indiana was a bit of a culture shock, but I enjoyed the freedoms that came with being out on my own. Thankfully, Mom and Dad bought into (a) college fund(,) which provided for my experience. As a result, I took on a part(-)time gig working for the City of West Lafayette Parks and Recreation department, to "beautify" the city. This alotted plenty of money for the few dates that I had in those four years. More importantly, it kept me social, and opened up a good networking community for after graduation.

Now that you're up to speed. Let's fast forward to today. I graduated in 2003 with my Bachelor's degree and moved a little further from campus, where I rent a townhouse on a beautiful lake. I still work for the City, but am in the process of pulling out; having started my own (real, this time) landscaping service.

Today is Friday, December 22nd. It's 5:30 p.m. and I am sitting at Gate 86 of the Indianapolis International Airport, sipping a latté. My flight leaves in 45 minutes. I'm nervous as hell. Remember that decision that I was talking about way at the beginning? Well, I made it.

I'm bringing my boyfriend home for Christmas.

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

Danielle: I think some of the earlier chunks of this could be cut or trimmed substantially. It starts slow, and goes through a lot of the same things every young man goes through and, thus, is not all that interesting. If you want to keep it, include specifics. I sort of disagree with using the sexual persuasion of the subject as a rhetorical surprise, because it is sort of written in a way that causes your audience to assume this.