Story by Angela Britton

I seldom use my son’s full name, he just always has been my Mari. Damarion Lazaia Whitsett came into the world on Feb. 28, 2007. He weighed 7 pounds and 4 ounces. He was beautiful and healthy. 

Mari was a quiet kid growing up. It was always hard to read his emotions, seriously. It could be his birthday, and he could get a brand-new bike as a gift. The adults would all be sitting there, grinning big, waiting for the birthday boy’s reaction. But Mari, he wouldn’t quite smile. He’d kinda just say, “OK, I said I like it, dang!” 

He was not into all those different strands of emotions, he just pretty much kept it simple, and that was always a part of his personality. That personality is also what made him a “cool kid,” and others thought so as well. 

Mari was a very competitive person, always very confident in his skills. He knew that he was good at most things, and he had no problem with telling it like it was either. He was a wonder on the football field; he first started playing around 8 or 9 years old. I remember when he was just starting and he would play around on the sideline too much and then complain that the coaches were not putting him in the game. I would always try to advocate for him to the coaches and try to convince them of his skills, but I knew that he had to be the one to take it seriously. He quickly learned what that meant, and he took off after that. He was a starter on any team that he joined. I was highly impressed by his moves — and that he was not afraid of the other team, even if they were bigger than him. I just knew that he had great potential to be a star if he chose to.

I think Mari secretly enjoyed challenging himself to accomplish things that were new to him. He just wanted to take things to the next level. One year, he decided that he was going to join the wrestling team, and he did. I went to almost all those matches. 

I used to go with some soft peppermints and give them to him for stamina, so he could feel like the sugar was giving him more energy. I don’t know if it truly helped him. I thought, “I’m glad he trusts in me to take care of him.” I was so impressed at how good he was at something he just learned. He tried to teach me about the points, and how much each wrestling move was worth. 

My son and his brothers were always introduced to activities that most kids learned like skating, swimming and bike riding. But Mari always took things a step further. He was not satisfied with just knowing the basics — he wanted the blueprint. As a teenager, he wanted to perfect a hobby he had since he was a little boy — roller skating. As he got older, he would enjoy going to the skating rink with friends on a Saturday evening. I remember the day that he came home and told me about kids he saw that were skating. They had a routine and were competing with other teams. One of the popular groups wanted him to showcase his moves, and they were going to determine if he was “good enough” to join their squad. Well, if you know my son, you would have known that was not going to sit well with him. In his mind, that sounded like a challenge and competition. He said I don’t need to prove anything to those boys, I’ll just put together my own squad.

I knew that was exactly what he was going to do. I ordered him and all his brothers new pairs of roller skates. I watched Mari practice on our street day in and day out, working on his balance, doing a 360 turn and twisting on those skates. I was behind the camera and followed alongside him on the street to record his progress. And boy, did he skate his butt off. I am not a good skater, but he made me want to purchase a pair and learn how to skate. And I did. I’d put on those skates and I would complain to him that it was too hard for me to learn. “I’m too old,” I would say. Mari told me, “Ma, the secret is all in confidence. If you feel like you can do it, then your feet will follow.” His words stick with me to this day. It’s the only motto that I live by.

Photos by Michael Indriolo