I wasn't able to run wild, but with the pressure gone, I thrived where the others had crumbled. My grades in high school were straight As, just like my sisters had done, and for a while I was the star player on the baseball team. I lettered and was followed about by the Pro scouts until the middle of my junior year. Frank was already for the NFL and I was pretty sure I was going into the modern battlefield as well.

That was until I got beaned on a line drive while on the mound. The concussion kept me out for a week and my first game back, a hard fastball rose too much and smacked me back off the plate. I was gun shy after that and useless the rest of the season. I couldn't even make the team my senior year.

My grades got me into any school I wanted, especially combined with my test scores. But I still had the dream I could play pro ball, until I didn't even get drafted. Suprisingly, I found I had a core belief system that dictated that I must exceed in a career. In short, I accepted an offer to West Point. As it stands, I believe I'm first in line in my grandmother's will.

My plebe year was hell, besides all of the other generations of Ryan's who had attended the school, I had to contend with being the son of an active general and the brother of the Navy QB (Henry) who had shelled Army for four straight years.