Brooks Burris

Brooks Burris

Brooks seemed to float across the grass in slow motion, and I took in all of him -- his long, long powerful legs, his gangly arms now beginning to ripple with muscles, his flat stomach and huge chest that looked like a brick wall.
...
As Brooks came toward me and his father, I saw the tears.They were flowing out of his eyes and down his cheeks.My first thoughts were of contact lenses floating out and down the front of his uniform.Funny, I would think of that, but I was afraid that if he had to stop to put them back in, it would have stalled the game, and the momentum.

But as he got closer, I could see that he was trying to control his emotions.He went straight to his father and grabbed him in a bear hug.They clasped each other in unabashed emotion that so many men refuse to express to each other.They wept in each others' arms.

Then Brooks came over to me and hugged me, too, saying only "Mom".I tried to hug him and to hold him like a mother cradling her child.Impossible.
...
Then Brooks pointed his finger to the sky and said, "I'm dedicating my last game to Gregg.
...
There was Brooks, hugging Lumpy face-to-face with each other, both in tears.
...
As my husband and I fought the crowd to get to our seats in the parents' section, my mind flooded with memories of Brooks growing up.He had been so distraught that he hadn't even noticed I was wearing all of his sports buttons from his early days.I had my favorite one, right here, over my heart and next to his OSU '98 button.It showed Brooks in his first football uniform, at the summer practice starting his 7th grade year.
...
My mind was reliving the Halloween afternoon when Brooks was born.Almost 9 and a half months before, we had lost our oldest son.He fell into the river that edges our farm, and drowned.He was just 3 and a half years old.And because Gregg had died, Brooks would be born.

Through the years of his turmoil at OSU, I had always told him that he was meant for greatness.He was meant to be born.He had to continue with his football.He could not quit.When he struggled, I wrote him letters that Gregg would be there with him, through his workouts, in his practices, and there on the field with him, whispering in his ear to watch out for that defensive end, fire off the the inside, pancake that guy before you get a coverage sack....
...
Mother of Brooks Burris, Right Tackle, Ohio State University

Brooks seemed to float across the grass in slow motion, and I took in all of him -- his long, long powerful legs, his gangly arms now beginning to ripple with muscles, his flat stomach and huge chest that looked like a brick wall.
...
As Brooks came toward me and his father, I saw the tears.They were flowing out of his eyes and down his cheeks.My first thoughts were of contact lenses floating out and down the front of his uniform.Funny, I would think of that, but I was afraid that if he had to stop to put them back in, it would have stalled the game, and the momentum.

But as he got closer, I could see that he was trying to control his emotions.He went straight to his father and grabbed him in a bear hug.They clasped each other in unabashed emotion that so many men refuse to express to each other.They wept in each others' arms.

Then Brooks came over to me and hugged me, too, saying only "Mom".I tried to hug him and to hold him like a mother cradling her child.Impossible.
...
Then Brooks pointed his finger to the sky and said, "I'm dedicating my last game to Gregg.
...
There was Brooks, hugging Lumpy face-to-face with each other, both in tears.
...
As my husband and I fought the crowd to get to our seats in the parents' section, my mind flooded with memories of Brooks growing up.He had been so distraught that he hadn't even noticed I was wearing all of his sports buttons from his early days.I had my favorite one, right here, over my heart and next to his OSU '98 button.It showed Brooks in his first football uniform, at the summer practice starting his 7th grade year.
...
My mind was reliving the Halloween afternoon when Brooks was born.Almost 9 and a half months before, we had lost our oldest son.He fell into the river that edges our farm, and drowned.He was just 3 and a half years old.And because Gregg had died, Brooks would be born.

Through the years of his turmoil at OSU, I had always told him that he was meant for greatness.He was meant to be born.He had to continue with his football.He could not quit.When he struggled, I wrote him letters that Gregg would be there with him, through his workouts, in his practices, and there on the field with him, whispering in his ear to watch out for that defensive end, fire off the the inside, pancake that guy before you get a coverage sack....
...
Mother of Brooks Burris, Right Tackle, Ohio State University