Curtis Romey

Jun 12, 2021

4 min read

My Own Billy Elliot

It was a warm, balmy Friday evening in the fall of 2000, I was guarding a side entrance to the local football field so that people wouldn’t sneak into the game. Not interested in high school football at all, I was sitting in a lawn chair reading the novel Dune. I hear the running pattering of tiny footsteps and I look up. I see this little boy, with brown hair and beautiful big brown eyes, I smile at him and I beam at the woman coming up behind him.