Posted by Tim Ernandes on December 28, 2011:

Dear Alex, Words cannot express the joy that I feel. You were a living miracle. God sent you to me and your mother in spite of what the doctors said. You were, quite literally, the answer to a prayer. Had you grown up as any average kid, your mother and I would have been satisfied. But you wanted more. You wanted to be an "Army man" when you were just 7 years old. By the age of 12, you had set your sights on West Point, and began work in earnest, transforming yourself from average student to straight A's... from chubby little kid, into strong, strapping young man. Your introduction to the martial arts was an important part of this, but it was you who made it more than just an afternoon activity. You embraced it as a lifestyle, which helped to mold your character into one that belied your young age. Self-discipline, integrity, and determination became the hallmarks of your persona. It was not long before people began telling me what a nice young man you were becoming. They always mentioned your manners, your respectfulness, and your quiet determination. Fresh off of two years of home-schooling, you entered high school, and made it clear that your goal upon graduation was to attend West Point. It wasn't long before everyone took you seriously. One thing that I admired most about you was your intense desire to learn, especially history. Who needed a history book when you were around? Most of us learned quickly not to mention the name "Napoleon" in your presence, for fear of an impromptu hour-long historical diatribe. I can only recall a single incident in which I was called in to the high school by an assistant principal. The incident in question involved Napoleon Bonaparte, and you had questioned your teacher's knowledge of the subject. As I recall, you were proven correct. It would probably take the next 19 years to cover all the many things that I would like to say about you, but that is because you never believed in wasting time. I used to tell you that you didn't need to live your whole life all at once, that you had plenty of time. Looking back now, I'm glad that you didn't see it that way. For you are a miracle several times over, and now, we have the greatest gift of all. Your friends and their parents have come forward, telling us stories about your unselfish acts of kindness that had never reached our ears. You protected the weak, helped those who were in trouble, and were a friend to anyone who would have you. You and I shared many passions: Movies, political debate, and a peculiar fascination for cats and kittens, just to name a few. One of the highlights of the last few years was the time that we spent together restoring that car of yours. It gave me so much pleasure to know how proud you were of it, and how it became your personal key to freedom. I promise to take very good care of her until I see you again. Another thing we shared was a slightly off-center sense of humor. You may have been the fiercest fighter in the arena, but it didn't stop you from spontaneously exclaiming, "kittens of the world unite!" You didn't fool anybody; you were as sweet and kind as you were rugged and strong. As I look back on our time together, I realize that there was only one thing missing from our father-son relationship. We never had a fight. Disagreements, yes, but never a word spoken in anger, never a sign of disrespect, you never said "Dad, you just don't understand". For the past couple of years, you could easily have bested me in any kind of a fight, but that thought never entered your mind. And just when we all thought we had run out of miracles, you pulled another rabbit out of your hat: You succeeded in getting into West Point. I've been waiting to say this to you for over a year now: OOOH-RAHHH! You made it, buddy! I always knew you would. I will love you forever, my son. Dad

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