My mother had been raving about it for weeks. Apparently, it was a big deal in the world of celebrities, being presented with awards named after hot dogs and such. I couldn't have cared less, but my mother had decided that we needed to spend some "quality time" together and that sitting in front of the T.V. watching "history being made" was the best way to do it. Her thinking was a little off, but her intentions were innocent, so I decided to indulge her. It wasn't as if I had a choice anyway.

The first few minutes weren't that bad. Boring, but bearable. The fat-lipped hostess simply rambled on about nothing in particular, and after a while, I wondered if the whole purpose of her being there was to bore you to death so that when the "history being made" part came along, it would seem interesting. I glanced over at my mother to see if she was as ready to make a run for it as I was, but her eyes were glued to the screen and I doubted that she would notice if the world ended right then and there. Sighing, I settled back into the couch and readied myself for the next few hours of monotony.

By the time the "exciting part" had finally come along, I had successfully retreated into my own little world and was actually enjoying myself. My mother, however, was enjoying herself a little too much. I was yanked quite forcefully from my reverie by a high-pitched squeal that I'd had no idea she was capable of. My eyes flashed to the T.V. and I caught a glimpse of a perfect smile and a ridiculously embellished dress before the cameras focused back on the fat-lipped hostess. She announced a name that I assumed went with the smile and the dress, but it left my mind as soon as she'd finished saying it. The cameras flashed back to the lady to whom the name belonged, and she smiled, waved, and glided along the red carpet graceful as a swan.

Then the cameras focused on another woman with the same perfect smile and the same type of over embellished dress. Like the first lady, she too was beautiful and graceful, and, like the first lady, her name disappeared from my mind the moment it was uttered. And so the cycle continued. Sometimes a man would show up in a stunning suit and tie and send my mother into a frenzy with a simple smile and wave at the cameras.

Different as they all were, however, they were all the same. I watched in silence as nameless, faceless people glided across the red carpet and eventually up onto a stage to claim their hot-dog awards. At first, I was confused. What was the purpose of the whole ordeal if everybody was exactly alike? How could they say that one person was any better than another if they were all the same?

My confusion quickly turned to horror, however, when I turned to my mother to see if she saw the purposeless of it. What I saw scared me. She was perched on the edge of the couch, her eyes glued to the T.V. I realized then how many people looked up to these robotic clones and shells of what used to be individuality and character. How could you idolize someone who was involved in the same kind of scandals, wore the same kind of clothes, had the same perfect smile, and said the same generically scripted words as everybody else? How could someone like that be viewed as a role model?

Being needlessly careful not to disturb my mother, I lifted myself from the couch and climbed the stairs to my room, already delving up a mental list of the changes I would have to make and the things that I would need. I'd decided the moment that I'd had my epiphany that I was going to break the mold. I was going to show the world what it meant to follow something meaningful.

Better yet, I was going to change the world.