meeting charles

From the club level windows, I checked the scoreboard, relieved to see the game clock finally nearing the end of the fourth quarter. The home team nursed a comfortable lead, and fans had begun to exit the stadium.

My favorite time of the work day.  Glory!

Behind me, a gentleman steadied a young man against the back wall of the club level, and I rolled my eyes, annoyed at the inevitable game day scene: inebriated fans who lack self control.

I hope no one caught me in that moment of unprofessionalism.

I should check to see if we need medical assistance.

I stepped closer and peered around the corner to get a better visual.

The young man was shaking, but determined; unstable, but trusting in the elder man's strength.  His wheelchair sat empty to his right.

This man wants to take his picture.

"Would you like a picture together?  I'm happy to take one,"  I offered sheepishly.

How lame.  Is that the best you can do here?

He seemed grateful and, given the opportunity to be in the photo, suggested a different location with a better background.  I was more than happy to oblige.

He lowered the young man back into his wheelchair, and we began our short walk together.

Charles Sr. shared proudly with me about his son, Charles Jr., who is approaching the second anniversary of the tragic accident that changed their lives forever. Written off by doctors and expected to have no brain activity ever again, Charles Jr. eventually emerged from a ten-month coma, determined to walk again and to finish his degree on campus.

I was so honored to meet him.

We found the spot for our photo shoot, and Charles raised his son out of his chair with an inner strength that only pours out of a dad with a son in need.  He nudged him and said, "Show her how you can step."

And he did. 

Charles Jr. struggled to get into position.  His dad adjusted his ball cap, so his eyes would shine unobstructed, straight into that camera.  Charles Sr. stood close to his son's side, just like any dad would, making a memory with his son at a football game.

I snapped two pictures, shook their hands, and wished them well.

The moment I turned my face away, tears spilled over easily, without warning.

I cried because I'm a sucker for a good father-son story.

I cried because that dad loved his son hard, and was proud of him.

I cried because that son had more faith than his doctors did.

I cried because just about every "problem" I am paid to solve is altogether absurd in real life.

Real life is unfair.

In real life, some people are working hard to take one tiny, literal step.

I've cried twice more since meeting Charles, and I imagine I will do so again.

He is a sweet reminder to find opportunities to step outside of my self-centered world and into real life, where sometimes, somebody just wants his picture taken.