The following weeks were far from a fairy tale. He started out guarded. Then appreciative. Then ashamed of his own appreciation. The physical rehab left him aching and cranky for a period. His advisory role evolved into a permanent position, though he had to figure out how to sit among corporate experts without automatically feeling like the least intelligent guy in the space.
Before long, he was assisting in educating the instructors at our fresh facility. Then guiding traumatized youth. Eventually, presenting at public gatherings because no one else possessed his raw, straightforward honesty.
A teenager once confessed to him, “If my athletic days are over, I have no clue what my identity is.”
Jude responded, “Then begin by figuring out who you are when the applause stops.”
An evening a few months into this new routine, I was at my house sifting through a vintage memory chest because my mom requested dance photos for a scrapbook. I stumbled upon the snapshot of Jude and myself under the lights and carried it to work on pure instinct.
He spotted it lying on my workspace.
“You actually held onto this?”
“Without a doubt, yes.”
He lifted the paper very delicately.
Suddenly he admitted, “I attempted to track you down after we graduated.”
I looked at him in shock. “Excuse me?”
