The very first time I went home with Lee Stuart, I heard all the stories about him. I heard about how he didn’t go anywhere without a basketball in his hand; how he could be found asleep at night, his arm slung over his dirty ball; how he had to be reminded to set the basketball down at the dinner table and actually sit in a chair.

I heard the stories, and I laughed, imagining that dirty little boy who loved the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting pavement. But I didn’t really understand who that little boy was because I couldn’t merge him with the grown man I married.

I couldn’t, that is, until Landon came along.

It took us a long time to find the right name for Landon. We’d had one all picked out, stored in our arsenal after Tia surprised us with all her girliness upon arrival. But by the time Landon came along, too many others had discovered our treasured name and it no longer felt special, so we went back to the drawing board.

For months we went back and forth until we finally settled on Landon as the first name. Then it came time to pick a middle name. We tried combinations of Landon with our father’s and grandfather’s names, and it never seemed to fit just right. Then one night, shortly before he was born, I sat up in bed and looked at Lee.

“What about your name?” I asked.

A slow smile spread across his face. “Landon Lee,” he said, and we both knew that was it.

Lee was pleased with our choice for the obvious reason. What man doesn’t feel a twinge of pride at the thought of his son bearing his own name?

I was pleased for other reasons. First, I found a sort of comical sweetness in Landon carrying Lee’s name given that Lee was so shocked by this surprise third pregnancy that he didn’t talk to me for two days after I told him.

As if I was the sole culprit in our rapidly expanding family.

Second, I just liked the ring of it: Landon Lee. It sounded strong and manly, and the two names slid together like a puzzle piece.

Today, we celebrate Landon Lee’s 8th birthday, and more and more as this child grows I see evidence of the fact that we really had nothing to do with his naming. This was the name chosen for him from the beginning of time – we had only to stumble upon it, and how glad I am that we did.

See, Landon bears more than his dad’s name – he also possesses a great deal of his dad’s personality.

As I watch Landon maneuver around the house, I think back on those stories I’ve so often heard of Lee as a boy, and I see now who my husband must have been as a child.

Delightful.

Funny.

Passionate about sports.

A jokester.

People Pleaser.

Unable to function without a ball nearby.

Landon’s chosen sport (of late) is soccer. He lives, eats, and breathes the sport, and when things settle down, and the corners of our house fill with blissful silence, it won’t be long before you hear, or see, Landon kicking a ball against the wall.

He spends hours each day outside, often by himself, kicking the ball into the soccer net, roaring through the yard as he wins yet another World Cup. It’s all in his mind, of course, but it plays out like a vivid dream for the rest of us to enjoy alongside him.

Though he looks the most like me, he bears his father’s spirit. And so it is that Landon Lee was the perfect name for this delightful boy with the twinkly blue eyes. He plays hard, sleeps hard, laughs hard, and wakes up each day to do it again.

And I’m the one with a sideline view as he grows up.

Lucky me.