Today was an emotional day for me. It was my son Michael's last wrestling match. As many of you may know, I wrestled in high school. I was never a state champ, state chump might be closer to the truth. In today's world I would have been tech falled often.
Yet as bad as I was, I simply love this sport. It helped me in ways that I cannot describe. And by my senior year, I think I was actually getting the hang of the sport. Regrettably I tweaked my knee just enough to become ineffectual but not finished. My team did well, I contributed some to that success, but not as much as I could.
In college there was no wrestling team, which was surprising to many since my college was in Iowa which is wrestling country for sure. And I lost track of the sport until my youngest son said he wanted to wrestle. And that love for the sport was rekindled and even more so when my eldest took too it.
Neither son ever became superstars at the sport. My youngest can't even do it anymore. Yet my eldest persevered through some really rough times and managed to stick it out. Did he surpass me, really couldn't say. Did he make me proud? Absolutely. He stuck with it and even when I thought he'd quit something kept him from doing so.
I hope that as he walks away from the sport that somewhere an ember love for it will smolder and that perhaps if he has sons they too might want to be a part of this sport.
I know how much it meant and still means to me, even though it may be a long time before I have anyone to really root for. Now I can watch for the pure love it, not just because I have a son who wrestling who I love dearly and would root for whether winning or losing, but for having the courage to even try, something only a few people have ever had.
Blessings,
Ed
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