text: Kirk Taggert quaked and quivered, standing on the official sized wrestling mat in the Cochran High School gymnasium. He was a popular poster-boy blueprint for a six foot-four, bronze haired, muscle sculpted, teenage boy wrestler. But belying Kirk's coveted physique, unadulterated panic shimmered behind his amoretto colored eyes. Kirk was no one to veer away from any opponent, but the wrestler that stood across from him wasn't just any high school opponent. This opponent could actually mentally break him before the match began. The evidence was in the amount of perspirations already beaded out across Kirk's forehead and upper lip. It was not because the opponent was grizzly bear sized, or a body builder's dream. Kirk could deal with that all day long. He preferred the challenge of making a mountain into a mole hill any day. But the guy standing just a mere three feet from him, he had loved ever since... ...Probably forever. Kirk was hindered in his mind about just how he could violently do a take-down move on him, or forcibly manhandle the guy he loved onto his back for a three second count. Kirk's opponent wasn't even high school age. But was considerably much older than himself. He looked at the man, and gritted his teeth together in worried apprehension. He was about to wrestle an opponent that wasn't even five foot-nine. And who had the musculature of an arm chair quarterback, looking every bit as harmless as a Starbuck barista. Kirk could feel his hands betraying his brittle confidence. They were slick with body dew. And the absence of any sound in the gym was unnerving. Comparable to the soundless void of outer space. For there were no spectators around to cheer or jeer. The referee's whistle was about to shatter the sound void, however, to sharply signal the match to begin. Likely within the span of a meager few heartbeats. *Run up and wrestle his opponent or just plain old run?* The urge to do an early tap out was almost unbearable for Kirk. In his mind, he was no coward, but tapping out early would make him look every bit like one. And he couldn't stand looking like one of those, ever. Still only a few reprieving seconds were left. Seconds for Kirk to make the decision of a lifetime. Without conscious thinking, he crouched into a low center of gravity attack position, and licked his lips. His mouth felt as dusty as an old abandoned garage. Kirk spared a half glance, away from his opponent soft eyes, to register that the referee was now bringing her whistle to her lips. Time had finally run out. In a determined state of mind, Kirk got ready to send his hands away from his body, and to flex his fingers in the anticipation of using them as grapples. But instead, he stood up out of his crouch with a newer resolve. Kirk held up a hand to halt the referee's immanent puff of breath through her whistle's mouthpiece. And un-hesitantly walked briskly over to his opponent with his right hand leading the way. When Kirk was close enough, the opponent took Kirk's extended hand in his own and shook it vigorously. With a relieved heavy sigh, Kirk uttered bashfully, "Dad. I love you. And I apologize for shooting off my mouth earlier; challenging you to this match. From now on I promise not to miss my curfew." He then turns to the referee and says with a wink, "I love you too mom. Thanks for volunteering to referee.