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The Comanche Brother: An almost encounter with Johnny Depp

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The rain fell in a steady, rhythmic patter against the car windshield, blurring the edges of the world around us as we cruised past fields of grazing cows. This was my first father-son road trip with my six-year-old, Liam, a journey we’d both been looking forward to. Our destination? Lawton, Oklahoma, to attend the much-anticipated Comanche Festival. The trip stretched about an hour and a half, and in a moment of preemptive wisdom, I had gifted Liam a Nintendo 3DS to keep him entertained. From the backseat, he excitedly called out every new move he made in his LEGO Jack Sparrow game, eager to share each moment of his adventure. I nodded along, stealing glances in the rearview mirror, but my eyes stayed fixed on the road, accompanied by the familiar crooning of Kings of Leon on the stereo. As we rolled into Lawton, there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air. I’d heard rumors that Johnny Depp had recently been made an honorary brother of the Comanche tribe and that he would be a
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La Isla del Encanto - Puerto Rico 2008

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     Anticipation hung in the air like a bad cologne as we shuffled through the security line, bleary-eyed and barely awake. Seriously, we were running on fumes—less sleep than a college student during finals week. The night before, we had strutted into Starbucks, caffeine-fueled and boasting about our epic adventure. There we were: my dad, and my two friends, Adam and Frank, practically vibrating with excitement like kids after a sugar rush.       To prep for our adventure, we’d stocked up on energy drinks for the drive from Oklahoma to Dallas, convinced we’d need them to survive the flight. So, naturally, while standing in line, we cracked open a couple of those bad boys—Redline energy drinks, no less. Nothing says "smart travel decision" like guzzling caffeine on an empty stomach. By the time we boarded the plane, we were practically doing interpretive dances in our seats, full of energy with no outlet.       As we taxied down the runway, I was practically bouncing in my s
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The Trip that started it all - Mexico 1997

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One of my greatest passions in life is travel. I mean, who doesn’t want to hop on a plane, train, or magical carpet to see the world? Most folks in their 20s dream of globetrotting, ticking off places from their bucket list like it’s a scavenger hunt. In my case, I hit the travel jackpot during the summer of 1997, just before heading into seventh grade. My grandma decided it was a good time for a mission trip to Tula, Mexico—yes, you heard right, a mission trip! My dad thought it would be a brilliant idea for me to gain some “cultural experience,” so he whipped up a permission slip faster than you could say “¡no hay problema!”, and off I went with my great-grandma, my great-uncle, and my uncle Chris, who is slightly younger than I am. Now, Chris and I have been buddies since we were in diapers—literally. Lucky for us, I had a smattering of Spanish under my belt, courtesy of my elementary school (which I suspect was taught by a pair of mismatched socks). We piled into a white Dodge van
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