Robert Lee Weddle, III, aka “Trey,” was born on March 23, 1999. His mama and I had read somewhere that “Trey” meant “three” in French, so that’s what we nicknamed him.
When my wife was pregnant she kept craving Sonic’s cheddar peppers (even though she’d always hate herself the next morning), and I always jokingly blamed my son’s hyperactive nature on the peppers she ingested. Trey would carry on entire conversations while running in circles around the coffee table. Not even kidding.
He was such a quirky child. When he was two years old he got on a hot dog kick for a few months, but I didn’t realize how anal he was about them being in perfect condition. He asked for a hot dog once, and not wanting him to try and eat the whole thing at one time, I broke it in half.
If you’ve watched “The Mummy,” with Brendan Fraser, my wife’s reaction was kinda like when the guide comes up out of a deep sleep and yells, “NO! You must not read from the book!” He burst into exaggerated tears, and my wife came running down the hall, screaming, “NO! You must not break the hot dog in half!”
Another time he stepped on a moth with his bare feet in the family room, and I swear to you, he didn’t step foot on that wood floor for a month. He would jump from the dining room floor to the chair, run across the table, jump to the couch and then dive onto the loveseat to settle in for another “Spongebob” episode. Hilarious.
Then came a time when my wife, my mom and my aunts jetted off for a girls’ weekend in Vegas. In the same vein, I seen this as the perfect chance for Trey and I to have a “guy’s weekend” at home, but when I stepped into the house Friday afternoon there was glass everywhere. Someone had broken into our house by shattering the back patio door, and stole items worth thousands of dollars. His laptop was gone, as were some of his video games, all my pain pills, the promise ring I’d given my wife when we were teenagers, and her high school class ring.
I knew this would frighten Trey, so I met him at the door when he returned from school and gave him the devastating news. He took it harder than I thought. That event birthed in him a spirit of fear which took years to defeat, and for weeks he and I would go outside and circle the house, checking every window and door. He rested a bit easier when we installed a home-alarm system, but still struggled with fear for a long time.
He fought through it, however, and went on to accomplish much in high school, including wrestling, marching band, football, JROTC, the A+ program and tutoring younger kids. To say nothing of the fact that he’s an amazing drummer, fully self-taught, and plays in our church’s worship band. Yep, that’s my boy.
He also became a published author at the tender age of 12, when he and I released a book of poetry, called “I Bleed Dark – Poems about Pain, Life, Heavy Metal and Jesus Christ,” on the “Smashwords” website. For any interested parties, you can get the book for free by creating an account (they won’t hassle you at all) at Smashwords and downloading it here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/142755
To know Trey is to love him, and anyone acquainted with him will tell you the same. I do not exaggerate when I say he’s got the biggest heart of anyone I know. Like most of my family, he’s a hugger, and our Pastor says her Sunday morning doesn’t feel complete until she gets one of Trey’s famous hugs.
The cynicism and sense of entitlement some of his generation have chosen has never worn off on him, and he remains a true gentleman, hard-working, kind-hearted, sincere, warm and funny.
Yep, that’s my boy.