From the very beginning, long before his first cry filled a delivery room, Everette’s life was already calling for courage. Doctors had diagnosed him with Down Syndrome before birth, and the news cast a shadow of unknowns over a journey that had not yet begun. His parents braced themselves for a world in which milestones might look different, challenges might come more often, and hospital rooms might become familiar far too soon. Still, nothing could have fully prepared them for the winding path their son would walk—a path marked not just by medical complications, but by resilience, joy, and a kind of brightness only a child like Everette could radiate.

His earliest years were defined by medical machines, whispered worries, and caregivers who quickly became more like extended family. Not long after entering the world, Everette began facing health challenges that would overwhelm even the strongest adults: asthma that made each breath a struggle, the placement of a trach and vent to help him breathe safely, and a series of complications that sent him back to the hospital again and again. For a child so young, it was a steep introduction into a life shaped by tubes, monitors, and procedures. For his family, it was a heart-stopping initiation into a reality in which the PICU felt like a second home.

Atrium Health Levine Children’s Brenner Children’s Hospital became the backdrop of many of Everette’s earliest memories. For months, he remained in the pediatric intensive care unit, surrounded by nurses and physicians who watched over him through sleepless nights, hopeful mornings, and the tense silence of uncertain hours. His care team monitored him, soothed him, played with him, and celebrated every tiny improvement—each stable breath, each hour without complications, each moment of progress that hinted he might someday leave the PICU behind.

But Everette was never just a patient. He was a little boy with eyes that sparkled, a laugh that broke through the beeping of machines, and a spirit that made room after room feel warmer simply because he was in it. He began forming bonds with the specialists who treated him—not the brief, clinical interactions of appointments, but true relationships shaped over long days, shared victories, and battles fought side by side. His nurses learned his favorite songs. Respiratory therapists learned the rhythms of his breathing as if it were a language only he could speak. Doctors learned the joy of seeing him smile on particularly hard days. He became part of their world every bit as much as they became part of his.

Years passed, and slowly, Everette’s life began shifting from persistent crisis to delicate stability. He learned to navigate the world with his unique set of needs. He learned that breathing might take help, but joy never required permission. He learned that even a child who spends months in intensive care can discover new horizons waiting just beyond the sliding hospital doors.

Now, as he prepares to start third grade, Everette is no longer defined by the tubes and treatments that marked his early childhood. Instead, he is defined by something far louder, brighter, and more powerful: his excitement. His pride. His boundless energy. And most of all, his love of getting in the game—literally.

This year, he is especially thrilled to join the Challenger League, a football program in which children with disabilities can play without limits and without fear. In this league, ability is defined not by diagnosis, but by spirit. Kids run—or wheel, or walk, or simply participate—in whatever way their bodies allow. They score touchdowns. They high-five teammates. They build confidence one play at a time. They experience the rush of being seen, cheered for, and celebrated. For Everette, the chance to take part in this world is nothing short of electrifying. It is freedom. It is pride. It is everything childhood should be.

But football is only one piece of his colorful life. Everette has a talent for soaking joy out of the everyday moments people often overlook. He dances with abandon, moving the way only a child with a brave heart and an open spirit can move. He plays Roblox, disappearing into worlds he controls—worlds where monsters are defeatable, friends are a click away, and imagination reigns. He loves the beach, where the roar of the waves replaces the beeps of hospital alarms, and where he can dig, splash, and breathe salty air that once seemed impossible to reach. He watches Spy Ninjas on YouTube, eyes wide, completely absorbed, as though the world has suddenly paused just for him.

In every space he enters, Everette reminds people of something profound: the importance of presence. He carries a kind of clarity only children who have fought for their lives seem to possess. He understands the value of moments—not big milestones, but the tiny ones. The giggles. The dances. The warm sunshine on skin. The comfort of a familiar show playing in the background. The feeling of running—finally running—across a field without anyone telling him to slow down. The safety of a family who never leaves his side. The love of caregivers who believe in him. The miracle of breath.

Everette has lived through what many adults never have. He has endured surgeries, breathing complications, setbacks, and recoveries that required strength far beyond his years. Yet he has never let fear be the defining note in his story. His is a story of joy carved from hardship, resilience shaped from fragility, and hope stitched from countless moments when giving up might have seemed easier.

As he steps into third grade, football helmet in hand, heart wide open, and eyes ready to take in every new moment, Everette is carrying with him not just the challenges of his past, but the extraordinary triumph of still being here—dancing, laughing, learning, and reminding everyone around him w