A few weeks ago, I realized that this picture frame needed a little TLC.
It has a picture of JT at the age of 4, showing off the pirate costume he received from Santa for Christmas. That boy loved himself a costume. At the age of 6, he informed me that he would never be bored as long as he had his imagination. For years, he put that philosophy to work with the aid of an assortment of costumes. From Peter Pan to pirates, Indians, cowboys, and for one memorable year, a Scottish kilt, this kid loved indulging in his imagination. I was that parent who ran her weekend errands with a costumed kid in tow. It was so frequent that when someone looked askance at me and my rope-toting cowboy at Home Depot, I was perplexed by their curiosity and only later realized that my kid was in a costume. In May.
These memories flooded back as I cleaned up the frame that holds the pirate picture. They are also in my mind today, as my little pirate turns 18. Costumes are long gone, replaced by a succession of athletic uniforms. Today he wrestled his final match of the season and, in his case, the final match of his wrestling career.
These memories flooded back as I cleaned up the frame that holds the pirate picture. They are also in my mind today, as my little pirate turns 18. Costumes are long gone, replaced by a succession of athletic uniforms. Today he wrestled his final match of the season and, in his case, the final match of his wrestling career.
As he set out on the mat and got last-minute advice from his coaches, I watched with a full heart. In the last few years, as childhood has faded and once chubby cheeks turned into prominent cheekbones, school teams with amazing coaches have allowed JT to challenge himself and figure out who he wants to be. He’s grown up as these patient coaches guided him forward, put up with his smart mouth, pushed him to exceed his expectations, and taught him that hard work has rewards beyond victory.
He will head off to college in a few months, ready to wear a new uniform and run for a new team. He was made ready by the years he played on the teams of our school. Its fitting that the man who taught him in PE class at age 4 and who was his first cross country coach in 7th grade was also there for his last match in a RPS uniform. One of the other coaches made a picture of them after today's match and I will cherish this photo. In it, I see that boy that was, the 18 year old that is, and the man he will become, standing next to one of the finest human beings I know, a coach who guided him along the way.
I miss the little pirate. But I’m proud and grateful for the 18 year old who replaced him. Happy Birthday, son!
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