To the Editor:

Here is a poem that suits my feelings for coaching my son for the last time. It has been the greatest thing in the world. Thank you for the memories

The Uniform

For eight long years Ive washed this suit and goodness, what a chore!

Ive scrubbed the grass, the blood and dirt, the stains and grime galore.

Ive held it very gingerly as I dropped it in the wash

While thinking, Next week, wash again O gee, Oh lord, Oh gosh!

Ive opened all the windows as I squirted on the Shout

Ive breathed the fumes that clogged my lungs, of that I have no doubt.

The fortune on detergent, the time Ive spent I shudder!

Ive scrubbed out so much sweat and mud you now can call me Mudder!

But now Ive washed this uniform for the last and final time

And after all those years of drudger, I did not see the grime.

Instead I saw the boy who wore it, with such pride and dignity

And suddenly that athletes suit looked beautiful to me.

I saw the dedication of my young man to the team

His pride to wear the uniform, to play the game and dream.

I felt the cheering of the crowd, the tumult at the end

The heart, the spunk, respect and pat of every loyal friend.

The character and commitment that this jersey helped to mold

And the precious boy who wore it are more valuable than gold.

My wish now recreation play is over and I face its closing door

Would be to wash this uniform another season more.

John David Edwards