I remember those times.

I remember when I was playing on the trampoline with my dad and little brother. Jumping like crazy. Maybe too high because before I knew it, I was lying on the black rubber tramp crying. Sprained thumb. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when I was in mid-air heading a soccer ball into the net for a goal. Scoring like crazy. Maybe too much because before I knew it, I was lying on the blue plastic tiles in a cold futsal arena crying. Broken foot. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when my Grandmother died. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when my brother was in the hospital running tests to see whether or not leukemia was his fate. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I remember when I decided to end things and she said screw you. And I thought I knew what pain was.

I now watch my mother's face turn red and eyes swell up any time I mention me leaving for two years. As I hugged her and handed her a rose and said I love you, she began to cry. Last home game. Senior year. I needed to keep composure because kick-off was in ten minutes. And she stood in front of many today bearing testimony to ME. Crying. It's only two years mother. Yes I leave in 37 days, but we can do this together. And I used to think I knew what pain was.

-J.Stamos.