“All right, are you ready? Okay, the camera’s going.”

It was with those words that I was finally fulfilling my dream. I stood inside the empty school hallway on a spring afternoon. A slight chill wisped through the air, as the heat had been turned off for the weekend. In my slightly shivering hand, I held a fresh white script reading On Patrol.

“For this scene,” I explained, “all I need you to do is walk by looking overly sneaky.”

In front of the camera was my best friend, Gavin, wearing a navy button-up adorned with a silver badge reading “Hall Monitor.”

“Would it be funnier if I looked at the camera and gave a wink?” Gavin suggested.

“Hmm,” I pondered. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s do it that way.”

This was definitely no Hollywood blockbuster. I didn’t have a producer, a script supervisor, or even something as simple as a light setup. The only equipment I had was my camera and my tripod, but it was enough fuel to get my dream chugging forward.

“Okay, are you good?” I asked, “Okay, and…ACTION!”

I was directing a movie.

From as far back as my preschool years, movies had been my life. Most think back to their childhood as they hear the sharp crack of a bat, sending a baseball soaring into the blue sky during a backyard game. Some may smell the tropical, salty air of the ocean breeze during a family vacation. As for me, I hear the faint hum of the VCR, echoing off the concrete walls of my basement, as it rewound the tape of a video for the ten-thousandth time. The movie I watched most as a child was Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man. Whenever the VCR clicked to signify the tape had finished rewinding, my face glowed red with giddiness as I lost myself in the two-hour brawl between Spider-Man and the Green Goblin for what felt like the first time but in reality was the fiftieth time. As my years progressed, I managed to watch as many movies as I could, despite constantly hearing from my family, “Nathan, you need to stop watching movies and go outside.”

When high school began, the black shadow of choosing a career was slowly looming overhead. After months of not having the faintest idea of what would become of my life, a solution appeared:  if I loved movies so much, why not make it a career?

Entering sophomore year, experience seemed to be key in turning this dream into a reality. With this realization, I penned my first short film, On Patrol, a ten-minute silent video about a hall monitor attempting to stop rambunctious litterbugs perpetrating the school. A script in hand, it was now up to me to make my movie.

The short was filmed over the course of a weekend at my school. The hallways were dimly lit, giving off a cold atmosphere:  perfect for my movie. The filming process was anything but perfect. The lighting never matched up; my cheap camera battery kept dying (forcing us to record on an iPhone), and there were countless takes of nothing but laughing. Despite the grueling production, I was still learning. I was learning to work with my actors and listen to their ideas.

“Here’s an idea,” Gavin would say. “What if instead of running by, I do a barrel roll?”

“We’ll try it both ways,” I’d respond. "But that is a great idea."

Nine times out of time, these suggestions made it into the final product.  On top of learning to take ideas, I was learning to frame my shots and I was learning to tell a story like a professional filmmaker. When filming was finished, it took another week of editing for my first film to be brought into fruition.

It was no masterpiece, but it was my stepping-stone. Looking back at On Patrol still gives me a grin that could give the Grinch a run for his money. Along with the final product, the memories of filming remain etched into my brain like stone carvings. For me, it was the moment I was no longer a silly kid with a passion for movies; I was a director. Watching my first film not only gives me a laugh but also gives me the motivation to continue pursuing a love I have had since I put Spider-Man into my VCR and hit rewind all those years ago.