“Look at that new girl Tiffany move!” I heard someone shout. Last year it was my name they called.
Once, I had sailed over the hurdles. Now it was as if I were pulling myself up and over. Finally I came across the finish line, dead last in an event in which I had set the record.
I finished the season. I did improve, but never placed first, nor set another school record.
I continue to play softball and run track. I am no longer the fastest, but I play. “Dust off and try again” is an important lesson. I wasn’t great or brave when I was the top player. It was easy then. Courage comes when it’s hard to go on, when others pass you regardless of how hard you work. Trey knows that. I think of his courage in going up to shake the hands of complete strangers, risking laughter from scornful faces.
Now when someone stares at us I pull on Trey’s sleeve. “Go shake his hand, Trey,” I encourage him.
“Ochay,” he happily says.
The person is always caught off guard when Trey offers his hand in friendship. But who can resist this person who brims with confidence and personality?
My crutches gather cobwebs in a musty corner of the garage while Trey’s handicap remains as fresh as the day he was born. Proudly I say he is the friend of my springtime.
I no longer look at what I am teaching Trey; instead, I search for what he is teaching me.
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