Trophy Night

Seven years ago yesterday, I was finishing up my first week of a new school semester. It was Friday. I was in class in Ogden while Josh was in surgery in Salt Lake City. We knew it was a risky surgery, but it was also necessary. I vividly remember the moment I knew that Josh wasn't going to survive.

This being the closest relation I have lost, I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. I threw myself into school. Sure, it probably wasn't the healthiest thing to do; I know that we're supposed to talk these things out, but whenever I started talking about him, my friends would change the subject. They meant well. They thought it was painful for me, so they tried to move on to lighter subjects.

I had two classes that allowed me to write and write, and writing has always been the most therapeutic thing for me. I probably would have been a huge mess if it weren't for my Notebooks and Journals class with Dr. Schweibert and Biographical Writing with Dr. M. Cheney. I don't know why this piece stood out among the others, but it was a favorite among my classmates and I put more and more work into it. That year it even placed in the WSU writing contest in the nonfiction category. I dusted it off last year to share with my seniors when we were writing memoirs. I shared it with my sophomores and juniors this year during the same unit. Now I know I'm their teacher and they may have just been kissing up, but my students seemed to like it, too.

A lot of you have heard this before, but it's always nice to remember.

Trophy Night

My entire family surrounds the dinner table—spouses and children, any friends or significant others, maybe even grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Since three of my parents’ five kids have grown up and moved out, Sunday dinner has become an almost ritualistic tradition. The funny thing is, we were never invited. We just started showing up and it grew into a weekly reprieve of togetherness.

The leftovers are put away, the dishes are done, the table is scrubbed, and the floor is swept. Everyone gathers in the family room for a casual conversation to catch up on the last week’s events. Somewhere in the middle of this, a booming voice (with the help of the karaoke machine) projects from the living room, “It’s trophy time!”

When it’s trophy time, all other activity must cease. This is Josh’s time to be the master of ceremonies for the Jepperson Family Awards Show, more specifically titled, Joshua Jepperson Trophy Night. Our wide staircase faces into the open living room, and we all find a stair on which to sit and enjoy the enthusiastic antics of our favorite thirteen-year-old, who also happens to have Down Syndrome. With microphone in hand, Josh welcomes us and begins quickly by reciting the two rules governing Trophy Night, “One. Everyone gets a trophy. Two. Everyone, stay here until it’s over.”

The order is random, with Josh looking out into “the crowd” and calling us down one by one, and sometimes in pairs. It feels like a mini-version of “The Price is Right”.

“Pick me, Josh!”

“Hey! Buddy! Over here!”

“My turn, Joshie! I want one!”

Josh puts his index finger against his bottom lip, pauses, then nods his head to indicate he has made his decision.

“And the winner is...Jeffrey! Come on down!”

The family cheers. Mom whistles. Jeff rushes down the stairs, into the living room, and straight to Josh’s side and is met with a big hug. Josh holds up the invisible award and brandishes it above his head before presenting it, mime-like, to Jeff and gesturing for him to take the microphone and begin his acceptance speech.

“Wow,” says Jeff. “I’m so happy to have this award. Let’s see. I’d like to thank Josh. I want to thank Mom and D–...” Josh takes back the microphone and pushes Jeff off the “stage” in one dramatic movement.

“Wait!” Josh demands.

“What?” asks Jeff. But then he remembers. “Oh, yeah. Here you go.” Jeff holds out the make-believe trophy and Josh takes it back. After all, there is only the one make-believe trophy to go around.

When Jeff returns to “the pit” a few of us ask him about his experience.

“What was your award for?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. “Any ideas?”

“Hmmm. I think I heard something about dinner,” someone suggests.

Someone else agrees. “Yeah, I know I got the word ‘plate’ out of it.”

“I think you got a trophy because you ate all your dinner.”

“Or maybe because you did the dishes after dinner.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the family is shouting, “Pick me! Pick me!”

“Ok,” says Josh. “Now, I will play a song.” The family cheers and Mom whistles.

The entertainment breaks constitute the best part of Joshua Jepperson Trophy Night, because the MC is also the sole performer. He accompanies himself, either on a small, broken ukulele or the piano in the living room. Sometimes, he’ll let two-year-old McKenzie play one instrument while he plays the other. Of course, if she isn’t doing a satisfactory job, he will put an abrupt end to the song and reestablish his solo career.

Josh always sings about the people in the audience. While my sister was dating her future husband Dave, he lived seventy miles away in Provo. He drove up to spend weekends at my family’s house, but during the week, they added up quite a few hours over the phone. So many hours that mom put a curfew on her phone time. In response, Ashley would sneak mom’s cell phone into her bedroom and talk until well past midnight. We all stayed clear of the house the day my mom opened her phone bill to find it was more than 1000 minutes over!

One of our favorite Josh-songs was about this clandestine night-calling relationship. He debuted it during one of his Trophy Night intermissions.

Ashley
and Dave
get married.
Babies
named Josh
like me.
Love you
Ashley
Dave.

Dave call.
Ashley
in trouble.
Up too late
on phone.
Hi Honey.
I love you.
Mom mad.
Go to bed!

Ashley
and Dave
get married.
Temple.
Babies.
Love
Ashley
Dave

Trophy night is Josh’s time to take over and be in charge. It is evident that he loves to perform, as he puts on quite a show. It is undoubtedly everyone’s favorite part of family gatherings.
“Hey Josh. Are we having Trophy Night tonight?”

A big smile illuminates his face. “You got it, dude.”

Now that Josh is no longer with us, we realize the reason for this popularity was Josh’s appreciation for everyone. No matter who you were, Josh thought you worthy of some award. Trophy night showed one of Josh’s best qualities, his unconditional love. Whenever we talk about him, we remember how much he liked people. And those same people he showed love to showed love right back.

Riding in the car, he’d see a tough guy on a Harley-Davidson. This man would be intimidating to most people, with his leather, tattoos, long hair, and bandana. But Josh didn’t see that. He saw a cool guy on a motorcycle. This was a “buddy”. The roughest looking men on the toughest looking bikes would break into silly grins at the sight of the little boy in rear window of the caravan, waving his arms above his head in a signal of approval and triumph.

Wherever he went, people loved Josh. Just being around him made anyone feel loved and special. As his family, we realized quickly how lucky we were to have him in our home. He taught us that love truly does beget love, and that if we would but reach out, we could have all the friends we wanted. He proved to us that we can’t afford to hold back praise and gratitude, or expressions of love and friendship. And he wrapped it all up into a little ritual we called Trophy Night.

The lesson: Everyone gets a trophy