The first memory I can recall, or at least the first one I wish to recall, occurred when I was about two years old. I see my reflection staring back at me. I don’t know when the event happened. I think it may have been Halloween. I’m wearing all white, and I have a white hat on my head. It looks like I’m dressed up as a ghost to go trick-or-treating. I wonder what kind of candy I got that year? I’ve always liked Halloween, dressing up, becoming someone else.

One Halloween, when I was probably about nine, I remember having some fireworks left over from the Fourth of July. That year, my dad took me to the fireworks stand and let me pick out whatever I wanted I found these fireworks that you put on the ground and when you light the fuse they whistle off down the street, sending sparks out behind them. My dad called them “n*****-chasers,” so that’s what I called them.

On that Halloween, I had a few of these things left over, and I was getting to the age where the trick part of trick-or-treat caught my attention more than the treat part. I dressed up as a soldier that year, complete with a painted-on beard, a Punisher logo as an arm patch, and a replica sniper rifle. I wanted to be Chris Kyle.

As I walked through our neighborhood, I felt like a patriot, a protector of my family’s and friend’s swath of land. If anyone decided to infiltrate my area, I’d dispatch of them right quick. On my patrol, I saw a couple of suspicious men walking up to an unlit house at the end of our cul-de-sac. I’d never seen these men before, and with my costume, I felt powerful enough to confront them.

Mustering my deepest voice, I yelled out, “Hey, stop. What are you doing?” One of the men turned his head and started to walk back down the driveway towards me. I was so scared that he would hurt me, so I took out some of my “n*****-chasers,” placed them on the ground, lit them, then ran.

The fireworks whizzed across the crowd, startling the men. I was so scared; I ran all the way home. Immediately, I went to my dad and told him what happened. He picked up his phone, said something to the person on the other end, then left. He was gone for about two hours. When he got back, he said, “Everything’s fine.” I don’t know what happened.

College provided the best Halloween parties. I recall one party, my junior year, I think. That year, I went as Kayne West. He’d just dropped My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, and I was spinning that album every day my junior year. I decided to go with a vintage Kanye look so I wouldn’t really have to spend any money. I got my jeans, my polo, my sweater, and my bling accessories. The only thing I lacked was the right skin tone. That was easily rectified though.

That party was the best. A girlfriend at the time decided to dress up as Taylor Swift, so we played up the VMA incident between Kayne and Swift from the previous year. My roommate and his girlfriend kept the music theme going dressing up as Jay Z and Beyoncé. It really was a great night. Every Halloween since then, I look back at my first Instagram post, a picture of all four of us and the caption, “N*****s know how to party! #keepingitreal #turntup”

Since college, I’ve made a name for myself as a rising political star. I’ve always had aspirations of running for office, maybe congress or even the presidency. Last year, I achieved the first step in the goal. I ran for state representative. I had the backing of some major donors, and they all wanted something if I got elected. When election day came, I gathered around the television with my wife and two beautiful kids as a crowd of supporters waited in the banquet hall. They waved signs with my campaign slogans “America for all!” and “Support the Little Man!”

As I awaited the news about the results, I kept thinking back about my life, about what had led me to this point where I would represent the people in my district at the state capital. I thought about my first memory, seeing my reflection staring back at me, and I wanted to tell that young boy, “We’re about to change the world.”

That kid could never imagine the heights he’d reach, the power he’d wield, the change he would enact. I wanted to make that kid proud, to live up to the ideals that kid learned at home, in church, and in his community. When I look at my son, I think of that kid. I want my son to grow up and have the opportunity to be whatever he wants to be so he can bring about a change in this world that will impact multitudes.

I look at my son as he sleeps, and I can only imagine where he will be when he reaches my age. I’ll make sure to raise him well, to share with him the ideals that have shaped and molded me. Who knows, maybe one day he will surpass me, leaving his own indelible mark and le