Everything is different when I come back from my summer cruise and begin third-class year. Up to this point, I have spent my time at the Academy aiming for the minimum standard and dedicating myself only to beating the system. I am trying to survive, and I think my actions and poor performance only affect me. I accept mediocrity, and it leads me to the bottom of my class with a failing GPA.

When I see that boy drown, it reminds me how precious life is, and I feel like I am squandering the opportunity I have been given. He had an entire future ahead of him, but he drowns along with his hopes and dreams and any idea of who he wanted to become. Meanwhile, I am still here. I am living out my childhood dreams with a real chance of accomplishing everything I have ever wanted, and yet I can’t get out of my own way. I decide that I want to change and appreciate the opportunity I have been given. I want to honor that boy by living a life I am proud of. I need to find meaning in all the suffering.

The arrival of the fourth-class cadets also forces some self-reflection. Whether I am ready or not, they are watching my class and looking for us to show them how to behave and survive their most challenging year. Before, I didn’t care that my uniform looked like a bag of ass or that I tried to break every rule and spent most of my energy raging against the machine. I believed I was the only one affected by my poor choices. Now I have a sense of responsibility for the class below me, and I want to save them from my mistakes. I want to be a good leader and earn their respect. It is no longer just about me.

There is one other big change waiting for me when I return. The recently graduated Class of 2004 sent five cadets directly to flight school from the Academy for the first time in its 128-year history. I had heard rumors of the change during my fourth-class year, but it didn’t seem real until those five cadets were actually selected. My brilliant “Cs get degrees” plan seems embarrassingly stupid now. The five cadets selected are all at the top of the class. I am scraping the bottom and still need to retake Calculus II.

I mount my best attempt at a comeback. I am motivated to be better, to do better, and I get to work. I have some people on the hockey team tutoring me, and I meet with my teachers and academic advisor. I pay attention in class, take the assignments seriously, and expect some major improvements.

It turns out it’s not much of a comeback.

I manage to get an A- in Calculus II the second time around, but despite my best effort, I finish first semester with a very mediocre 2.49 and second semester with an equally lackluster 2.66. I barely climb in the class at all, and although I’m telling myself I’m fully committed to my goal of becoming a pilot and willing to do whatever it takes, I’m still drinking, partying, and making bad decisions.

The summer going into second-class year, I ensure that any meager progress I have made academically is offset by conduct offenses. I start by getting caught drinking underage and have an alcohol incident added to my record. After that alcohol incident, I take a short hiatus from drinking, which keeps me out of trouble briefly, until the Cadet Aviation Training Program, or CATP, where I outdo myself.

During second-class summer, cadets go on a week-long field trip to the Aviation Training Center in Mobile, Alabama. The aviation training center is where all Coast Guard pilots learn to fly Coast Guard aircraft and return yearly for proficiency courses. CATP is an orientation for cadets to witness Coast Guard aviation up close for the first time. I have been looking forward to this week since I first heard about it during AIM.

Unfortunately, my group is scheduled to go on July 11, 2005, while Hurricane Dennis is threatening the Gulf Coast and aimed right at Mobile. I am devastated that CATP will be canceled, and then, at the last minute, some people scramble and arrange for half of us to take 15-passenger government vehicles to Air Station Cape Cod and the other half to Air Station Atlantic City. I am given orders to report to Atlantic City that Monday with three other cadets.

When we arrive, I meet LT Scott Sanborn, the first Coast Guard pilot I have ever met, and I want to be him. In his flight suit, with his unruly mustache and bushy eyebrows, he is the coolest person in the world, and he is my hero. He shows us around the air station and tells me I am scheduled to fly the next day. I am so excited I can barely function.

The next day, I meet the pilot I am going to fly with, and he takes me around to get a flight suit, helmet, and gloves. I get dressed up like a pilot for the first time, and I’m absolutely floored with excitement. A few minutes later, we are walking out to the helicopter with the rest of the crew, and he tells me about the mighty H-65 Dolphin helicopter as he does his preflight. The H-65 can be flown by a single pilot, so I get to sit up front in the left seat. I have spent my whole life dreaming of this moment.

When he takes off, it is surreal and the most incredible sensation. It feels like a magic carpet. Our mission is to fly out to the Barnegat Inlet to conduct hoist operations with Air Force airmen as part of their Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape course. The pilot gives various briefs and clear tasking to me. I am to watch what he calls chiclets, which are small lights on the instrument panel, and tell him if they show a certain amount of torque. This is the most important job I have ever had. As we pull into a hover, I stare at these chiclets and focus so hard that I barely take in the incredible mission happening around me as we hoist several airmen from the water into the helicopter.

It is the greatest moment of my life, and I wish I could stay out there forever.

A couple of days later, we are not scheduled for anything, so we spend the day at the famed Jersey Shore, and my fellow CATP compatriots have a few drinks to enjoy the beautiful summer day. At some point, and I am not proud of this, the idea of going to one of Atlantic City’s famous gentlemen’s clubs gets socialized. I’m still trying to avoid alcohol, but I don’t want to ruin anyone’s fun, so I volunteer to be the designated driver for this adventure.

At the end of the night, a very late night, we leave the fine establishment and walk a few blocks back to the government vehicle. I’m not used to driving a ginormous van and have a hard time getting out of the parking lot. As I take the turn onto the street, I hit a parked car and scrape the side of the GV. I panic. We all get out to assess the damage, and there are some scrapes, but they blend in with the rest of the GV, which looks like it has been in a demolition derby. The other car has no damage. I know that I need to do the right thing, so we flag down a nearby police officer. They take our statement and assess the damage. Next, I pull out the checklist in the GV and read what to do if there is an accident. I immediately call back to the Academy security office and report the incident and lack of damage. I leave out the part about being at a questionable establishment, but it is nearly 2 a.m.

By the time I get back to the Academy, this has blown up into a full-scale investigation. I have already built up quite the reputation, so they assume I was probably doing something wrong. During the investigation, I tell the truth, and it DOES NOT go over well.

There is an entire cadet judicial process, and I am set to go to mast and certain I will be kicked out. In the cadet regulations, offenses are broken down into Class I, II, and III offenses. Class I offenses are a big deal and can result in disenrollment. I am being charged with several Class I offenses: failure to report; conduct unbecoming a cadet; failure to use good judgment; losing, damaging, or endangering government, public, or private property; unauthorized use, ownership, or possession of a motor vehicle; and aiding, abetting, or condoning a violation of Cadet Regulations of a Class I nature. Things are not looking good.

During the mast, I stand at attention with the other criminals while the Corps of Cadets witnesses the public execution. The Commandant of Cadets runs through all the findings of the investigation and, before wrapping up, angrily tells me, “Your behavior is atrocious, and your consistent poor choices ensure me you will never be a successful officer.”

I am certain that I’m finished.

The investigation finds, through the police report, that the car I hit was illegally parked, we were nowhere near the questionable establishment, and most importantly, I wasn’t drinking. I still get in a sufficient amount of trouble, but by some miracle, they keep me because I self-reported the incident and didn’t try to hide anything.

After the mast, the Assistant Commandant of Cadets makes a point to find me. He glares at me and says, “If it were up to me, you’d already be gone. I am going to make sure that you don’t graduate.” I am not exactly the type of cadet they want to send to flight school.

It turns out that wanting to change and changing are not the same thing. Even though I had finally experienced my dream, I still almost threw it away.