LOTF: Before and After

Ralph Langley

There was no monetary value that could possibly equate to winning the lottery of life. This, Ralph Langley's father had been ingraining in his son's mind since the boy was old enough to toddle. Of course, this went straight over the little head of young Ralph in his first grade year. Sometimes, his father would let him stay up late and watch the announcing of the lottery numbers on the TV. Ralph knew, even at six years old, that the number on the cheque handed to the winner determined how lucky the person had just become.

But everytime they watched the lottery on TV, Jeffery reminded his fidgety little boy that the number on that cheque, no matter how big, was much less valuable than winning the lottery of life.

"We should buy a ticket for that lottery" six-year-old Ralph had so brilliantly suggested.

"There are no tickets, buddy, only opportunities" Jeffery responded with a squeeze of the boy's shoulder.

"Opportunities for what?" Ralph questioned curiously.

"For a beautiful life" Jeffery answered with a certainty and pride that in and of itself was enough to satisfy his son.

"So how do you know if you win if there's no tickets?" Ralph had wondered, too small and too inexperienced to really grasp the complexity of the conversation.

"Someday, when you're bigger, you'll just know" his father had assured him.

"But how?" the little boy had persisted.

And four years later, he figured that out on his own. The lottery of life had nothing to do with money because money's just an object. And if Jeffery and Laurie had taught their son one thing, it was that objects were just that; objects. If you were lucky enough to win the lottery of life, you'd struggle to count the things that are of more importance to you than any object money could buy.

This was hot on Ralph's mind as he pondered the decision to transfer to military school. The nearest in-state school was over three hours away, and would require a full commitment. There would be no going back, no changing his mind, no hesitancy, no room for uncertainty. And at just shy of ten years old, it was an especially daunting decision to make.

Ralph and his parents met with his current elementary school counselor to talk about the prospect of transfering to military school. She'd done some prior research and informed the Langley family that Bainbridge Military Academy would require three recommendation letters from staff at his current school, a disciplinary report, transcripts, and possibly other documentation pertaining to his citizenship and birth records. It would also, as they knew, require him to move over three hours away from home. The family sat on the decision for the entirety of Ralph's second semester of his forth grade year at Hamilton Elementary School.

By mid-May, the decision was finalized and the application process began. Jeffery and Laurie gathered all the necessary documentation for submission. Jeffery hadn't a doubt in his mind Ralph would be offered admission. His son was respectful, intelligent, determined, and had a good head on his shoulders. Ralph was the strongest and most inclined person the man knew, and he couldn't have been prouder to be his dad. Although, the prospect of admission was bittersweet simply because he knew saying goodbye to the boy would be inevitable.

The day the letter came in the mail from Bainbridge Military Academy, Ralph was too nervous to open the damn thing. He was afraid of what was inside, regardless of what that might be. He feared the possibility of rejection; thinking about all the kids he was up against who'd been groomed for this since birth; kids who came from a long line of military families. On the other hand, an acceptance letter would mean leaving East Point, his school, his family, his friends, and everything he'd ever known. Either way, whatever it said in that letter would be life-changing.