Andy Andrews - The Young Travelers Gift. Seven Decisions That Determine Personal Success

THE
YOUNG
TRAVELER'S
GIFT

ANDY
ANDREWS
WITH AMY PARKER

2004 by Andy Andrews

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Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Andrews, Andy, 1959
The young traveler's gift / by Andy Andrews with Amy Parker.
p. cm.
ISBN 10: 1-4003-0427-X (softcover)
ISBN 13: 978-1-4003-0427-1 (softcover)
1. TeenagersConduct of life. I. Parker, Amy, 1976 II. Title.
BJ1597.A54 2004
248.8'3dc22

2004012354

Printed in China
07 08 09 10 MT 10 9 8 7 6

Dedicated to Sara Petty,
who is making such
a difference in the lives
of young people

contents

M ichael Holder jumped from the hard, wooden bench each time the steel door slammed shut. He wrung his shaking hands, hoping that the next time the door opened, his parents would appear, and this nightmare would finally end. Through the gray, metal bars, he watched the annoying tick of the red hand of the clock second by excruciating second.

Surely his parents were on their way by now. He had heard the phone callthe officers terse, no-nonsense explanation of the whole mess.

Mrs. Holder, we have your son in custody....

He couldnt imagine what his mother thought when she had heard those words. Thust swirled around in Michaels head:... an accident... hes fine... three in the hospital... alcohol was found... under investigation... charged with reckless endangerment... hospital... alcohol... investigation...

Michael so badly wanted to hear his moms voice on the other end of the line. Had she been asleep? Of course, she had. It was way past midnight. Was she angry? Humiliated? Crying? Why wouldnt she be? She had just received the most dreaded call in the history of motherhood: Your son is in jail. What call could be worse? At least the your-son-has-been-killed call suggests that your son was innocent, right? At least with that call, a mom could get in the car knowing that her attempt at parenting had been successful, that she hadnt wasted seventeen years raising a son who would just get himself thrown in jail.... Michael shook his head. He was a failure. He had failed his mom and dad. He had failed his friends. He had failed himself.

As the clock ticked on, Michael remembered a game he used to play to ease his mind while he was waiting for his parents to pick him up after school or baseball practice. He would close his eyes and imagine what his mom or dad was doing at that very moment. He would think, Its 3:30.Moms getting off work. Shes walking out of the office, down the sidewalk, across the parking lot, and to her car. Now, shes unlocking the door, getting in, starting the car....

He would imagine every little detail of his parents trips, until one of them would pull up beside him and honk the horn, startling him out of his thoughts. The game had always helped to comfort him. Maybe it would at least distract him now. Out of desperation, he began to imagine what was happening back at his house. Moms waking up Dad.... His dad had been so exhausted latelyeven more than usual. Just last week, Michael had followed his dad up the stairs and was alarmed by the way his father had to stop at the top of the steps to catch his breath. A few years ago, a half-hour game of one-on-one didnt even faze him, but something had suddenly taken its toll on that man.

Now, Moms breaking the news. Theyre getting dressed...walking to the car.... Michael wondered what they had said to each other, or worseif they had gotten ready in silence. His dad had always been a man of few words. He never said a whole lothe never needed to. One look from his dad, and Michael knew he needed to straighten up his act. Boy, was he going to get that look tonight!

Slam! This time Michael barely raised his head to look. But he sat up with a jolt when he saw the all-too-familiar figures coming through the door. His moms plaid, flannel pants and slip-on clogs told Michael that she had barely taken the time to get dressed before running out the door. He could see that she had attempted to apply some make-up, but it had done nothing to hide her puffy, tear-streaked face. He felt another knot in his stomach Michael couldnt stand to see his mom cry.

He shifted his gaze to his dad, who met his eyes with a blank stare. It was nothing like the disciplinary look Michael had expected. It was a look of confusion, a what-in-the-world-are-you-doing-here expression on his face, as he stared back at his only son. Michael quickly averted his eyes down to his dads shirt. He had missed a button and the shirt was untuckednothing like the crisp, formal way he usually dressed. Michael knew his parents would be angry with him, but now, he was afraid it was much more serious than that.

As his parents spoke with the officer, Michael wondered what they would say to him. He could handle stern looks from his father and try-to-do-better speeches from his mother. But this? His dad seemed stunned, and his mother already looked as if shed been crying for days. How would he face them? What would he say to them? How would he explain what had happened?

It had been a little less than two hours since the crash. Two hours that had felt like an eternity. But now that his parents were standing there looking at him, wanting to take him home, it seemed like he had just gotten there. Well, they probably didnt really want to take him home. And Michael wasnt really sure he wanted to go. But as soon as the tall, steel bars swung open, he stood and moved toward his parents. They both turned without a word and walked toward the door. When they got to the car, Michael opened the door for his mom. He didnt receive the clumsy curtsey and thank you, kind suhr she typically offered in her worst British accent. Michael would usually roll his eyes at her, but now he wanted to hear her goofy impression more than ever.

The ride home was silent. After a few minutes, they turned onto Northfield Lane, where Michael noted each passing tree. He knew them all by heart. They were only six driveways from home. Five, four, three, two...

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Michael made his way into the house. Once they were inside, he couldnt stand the silence any longer. Dad, I His dad quickly held up a firm hand and without a word went upstairs.

Now Michael was the one who was lost. He was an old pro at handling his parents when he was in trouble. He could predict their every move, forecast every punishment. But this was bad. Really bad.

After gulping down a glass of cold water, Michael went to his room. He put the glass on his nightstand and collapsed into bed, burying himself under the covers. What a night, he thought as he stared at the ceiling.

Michael blinked slowly and opened his eyes to the morning sun. He couldnt remember what time he had finally fallen asleep. At first, he smiled, and then the previous night hit him. A feeling of dread filled his stomach up to his throat.

Michael, breakfast. The deep voice startled him. His dad was standing at his door. Avoiding his dads gaze, Michael jumped out of bed, threw on some track pants and a T-shirt, and slowly made his way down the stairs. His mom was sitting at the table, with a cup of coffee in her hands, staring out the window.