Both of my parents had left by the time I was four years old.
I had moved 16 times before I saw my 19th birthday.
I stayed mostly with my grandparents and uncles.
When I was thirteen, I caught back up with my mother in a small town in rural Virginia where a schoolmate asked me if I would try out for the wrestling team.
I may have set the record as the least talented wrestler ever to walk on a mat.
Despite my lack of success in the sport, wrestling taught me some great life-lessons.
Most importantly, it taught me that although things are tough, you can win if you don’t give up.
This lesson has made me be a better husband and a better father to this day.
Fast forward a couple of decades.
I introduce my son to the sport that I love.
For the past dozen years, we have been trapped in a car for at least six hours a week going to practices, clinics, and tournaments all over the east coast. We have attended NCAA’s together.
My son has now won four Virginia State Championships and will be attending a George Mason in the fall.
I am grateful for all that God has given me, especially for the first time he helped me lace up my shoes.
All the on the mat success is great, but I am most grateful to wrestling for being the glue which has kept my family closer together.
The time my son and I have spent together, is priceless to me.
Even more priceless, is the fact that I know he will do the same with his son one day too.