He was born two days late in the middle of the northern prairie just before Christmas.  Labor began while we were at a party and when I told Jay we had to go, he asked "Can I open my present first?"

"Your present is about to open up me so get me outta here!!!"  I remember calmly replying. 

When he was a few days old, Jay tried to clip his fingernails and accidentally drew blood.  Ty got over it in a matter of minutes.  Jay still won't clip anyone's nails but his own.

His first word was "ball".   Long before he could walk, he would sit mesmerized by a basketball game on tv, never taking his eye off the ball.

When he was a year old, I was taking him to the park across the street from out house when a yellow jacket landed on his forehead.  My hands were full of him and his hands were full of the ball he never left behind and that stupid bee stung him right between the eyes.  He was afraid of bugs with wings long after he'd forgotten the actual bee sting.

He didn't walk until after his first birthday but he began to run the next day and dribble a ball only a week or two later.

He was a fearless little kid (except for the bug thing) and I think he had four different scars from  stitches by the time he started school.

His best friend lived two blocks down our street and I remember how hard it was the first time I let him ride his bike there alone.

He grew up in a gym.   Several gyms, in fact.   His Dad used to take him to practice every day.  He was three or four, playing ball at the four foot hoop we had in our driveway when he said "hey Mom, know what I thay when I mith a fee thow?  I thay 'oh, fuuuuuck!'" That's when he learned that just as certain things stay out of the gym (crying) other things stay in the gym (language).

Ty never seemed to see the difference between college ball players and himself.  He couldn't distinguish big guys from little guys.  He probably could, but what's the point? 

He didn't distinguish between black players and white players, either.  He was four when the Twins won their first World Series.  I remember him saying in surprise "Is Kirby Puckett 'black'?"

"You've seen pictures of him."  I was surprised.

"I just thought he was dark."

"That's all 'black' means."

He was nine when I let him and his sister walk down to the skating rink at the lake four blocks from our house.  I stood at the front window and watched them until they turned the corner and I waited there for two hours and watched them return.

The next summer I let him roller blade around two lakes by himself to get to Grandma's house. 

I wouldn't have let him do any of those things, but his Dad kept telling me "You have to let him grow up some time."

They do it whether you let them or not.

When he started school, he used to bring home his math tests and I saw that he would get all the answers correct in the first two columns but that as the test went on his answers deteriorated dramatically.  I asked him what was going on.

"Mom," he patiently explained to me "If I read all the problems, I won't be the first one done!"

Duh.

In fifth grade we put him and Katie in a new school.  She adjusted easily, for him it was really hard.  Then basketball started and everything was good.  He was always the smallest, skinniest kid on the court but at the age of ten he could do things with a ball that his team mates wouldn't consider trying til they were in high school.  He was little but lightening quick, deceptively strong and perfectly confident in his ability to penetrate the defense and make things happen.  He averaged 22 points a game back in grade school despite not being a natural shooter.  He was a natural point guard.  He loved setting up plays and throwing bullet like passes.  At one game a ref said to me during a time out "He's gonna take someone's head off with a pass one of these days!"

He was in sixth grade the first time he got to watch an NBA team practice up close and personal.  He realized immediately that he was never going to be big enough to play pro ball.  He didn't seem to mind.  He decided that playing college ball would be cool enough. 

He became a ball boy for the Minnesota Timberwolves in seventh grade.  He got free shoes from Stephan Marbury and a head nod form Michael Jordan. 

He also got offered a job as bat boy for the Minnesota Twins.  He shagged flies during batting practice and once accidentally wore Chuck Knoblauch's game pants in practice.  He even got to go on a road trip with the team once.  Those guys were as nice to him as if he'd been their own kid brother.  In Toronto, he went to dinner with a bunch of players.  After dinner, one of the players pulled Ty aside and said "We're going out, get yourself a cab and go back to the hotel" and he handed Ty a hundred dollar bill.  One by one, every player there did the same thing and when Ty got back to the hotel he had seven hundred bucks stuffed in his pocket.  He tipped the cabby very well.

In high school he realized that at his size, he had to make sure scouting coaches never had to worry about his academics so he turned himself into a top student; he started reading all the problems before answering them.

At the urging of his buddies he played football his junior year.  They won the State Championship.

He made the City All Conference Basketball Team (honorable mention) as a senior.

He played ball for two years for his Dad (one dream realized) and they won a Conference Championship.

He made the decision after another year of college ball (and yet another championship) that his playing days were over.  I had worried about that.  Basketball had always been such a huge part of his life, it scared me to think of how he'd handle being a former player.

I needn't have worried.  He gave it up when it became more work than fun and he discovered golf at about the same time.

He coached on his Dad's staff for a while and thought that might be the life for him.  He got a position as the Grad Assistant at a school in Austin TX where he could get a master's degree in Sports Management.  The day he left for Texas, I asked him if he had an atlas or if he wanted mine.

"No thanks, Mom" he laughed.  "If I can't find Texas, I don't belong there!"

And then he left.  I couldn't stand at the window waiting for him to return any more.

He did the whole basketball coach thing for two more years.  The travel, the recruiting, the players, the games...He fell in love with Austin, Texas.  He also got a part time job at a five star resort, working at the golf course.  When he graduated he had to make the choice; Austin or basketball coach.  He couldn't stay in Austin if he pursued that career.  And he had discovered something his parents had known for years; coaching is a lousy profession.  He realized that if he remained in sports, he'd likely never make any money.  If he was going to be broke all his life, he'd rather do it for golf than basketball.

He got a job with Calloway and immediately became the envy of his Grandpa and all his golfing uncles.

Then he met a cowgirl who threw him for a loop.

She too, was born in the Dakotas but came to Texas for work and sunshine.  She too, has a ruling passion for sport, but hers is horses and the rodeo.  She too, understands the drive for excellence in competition.  She has her own thing and doesn't begrudge him having his.  She's smart, kind, fun, funny and good.

She's exactly what I was hoping he'd find.

She got him looking around his cool downtown Austin apartment and thinking "I gotta get outta here and find something cheaper so I can start saving money to buy a place with land 'cuz she has horses."   She got him up on horseback and out shooting guns. 

He asked her to marry him last Sunday and she said yes.

So late next summer, we're going to Somewhere South Dakota to be The Family of the Groom.

For years, I've joked about what it would be like when my kids get married.  It'll be the first time both sides of our family will be joined together as one entity.  Both the PIVEC family and the HUBBELL family are akin to forces of nature.  Any ordinary family could easily be ground to dust between these two dynasties but I have a strong notion that the South Dakota cowboys will be more than able to hold their ground. 

Over the years, I've watched Tyler take on challenge after challenge.  He's accomplished things that on the face of it should have been beyond his capabilities through the sheer strength of his determination.  Not only does he manage to do most everything he sets his mind to, once he determines a course of action, he's extremely good at it.

But this is marriage we're talking about.  This is The Big One.  This is REAL LIFE.  How do I know if he's really ready for this?

A few days ago we were talking on the phone and he told me they had chosen Megan's home town instead of Austin.  Megan had been a bit unsure that Tyler was okay with having the wedding so far from his home and family.

"Megan," he said  "I'm only concerned with keeping two people happy; you and your mom."

My boy is all grown up.

 

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