Jimmy

Jimmy was his name. Officially James which usually carries the nickname Jim, but neither fit. He was Jimmy.

“Jimmy” because he was a child at heart with an unparalleled zest for life.

There are those for whom zest for life is adventure. Hang gliding, surfing, sky diving, rock climbing.

Not Jimmy.

Zest for life in traveling the world. Mountains, beaches, historic sights domestic and foreign. “The Wonders of the World”.

Nope, not Jimmy.

Finally there are those who define zest for life as life experiences. This is the most dangerous from of zest as defined by John Belushi, Curt Colbain, Freddie Prinz, Michael Jackson, Robin Williams, too many more to mention, famous and infamous.

Gladly and definitely NOT Jimmy.

Jimmy’s zest for life was found in everyone he met.

I met Jimmy because our daughters were in the same grade at elementary school and we were participatory parents. Our common ground was the level and intention of participation in the activities of our athletic girls.

I immediately liked him and here is why. Attending a fourth grade soccer game we both stood within earshot of another "Dad" who was "coaching" his daughter from the sidelines, even though he wasn't a coach.

We both saw the poor girl getting frustrated not living up Daddy's expectations. The game was scoreless when the whistle blew to end the fist half.

When the girls huddled with the coaches for drinks and snacks, Jimmy swung into action.

It started with a handshake. He had an engaging smile that invited every new person into his life and sealed that engagement with his handshake. He looked straight into your eyes, which genuinely and silently communicated, “nice to meet you.”

He was happy to meet you.

If you weren’t convinced by the smile and handshake, the next few minutes would.

Jimmy made you feel as you were the most important person in his world. Whether you only met him once or spent years as a member of his family or a close friend, you felt loved in his presence.

Jimmy loved everyone he met. He wanted to know your story. He was easy to talk to, confide in even. He had a zest for you. You felt good with him.

He approached "coach dad" introduced himself and shook his hand.

"Frank, your daughter is a really good player. I am hoping my daughter will be that good someday. If you could do me a favor and stand with me for the second half, I would love for you to tell me how to help my daughter get better. All I keep telling her is to have fun and listen to your coaches."

I was mesmerized by the transformation. Jimmy had made a new friend and the only noise coming from the sidelines were clapping and words of encouragement for all the girls on the field.

The sideline coaching had stopped.

Frank's daughter scored the winning goal.

Three proud dads exchanged high fives and hugs at the final whistle. We were joined by our daughters and shared a joyous moment.

Frank lifted his daughter, hugged her and said, "did you have fun?" She didn't reply except to hug her dad harder.

Jimmy and I shared many similar moments over the years. We coached softball together and he coached basketball until the girls were in high school and the school coaches took over.

For those years we would sit in the stands talk about many things and encourage our daughters to simply have fun.

He was special and I was touched by his aura.

How many lives he touched is not known, except to say.

All of them.

Jimmy passed at 47 from brain cancer. He lived an ordinary, albeit too short a life. He was an extraordinary man for the lives he touched.

Those with an unbridled zest for life, seem to leave us too soon.

Thank you Jimmy. I miss you.