At two years old, on a family trip to Scotland, we left him in Nan’s capable hands while Hayley and I hiked a mountain. Josh had other plans. He staged his own solo expedition, sending Nan into a panic and proving early on that adventure was in his bones. He was found, of course—but not before leaving a trail of worry and wide-eyed stories.
Josh mastered the art of sibling mischief. If there was an argument, he was likely at the center, winding up his brother and sisters with precision. Yet, at school, he was a paradox. Teachers sang his praises—hardworking, polite, a model student. We’d sit at parents’ evenings bewildered, clutching photos to confirm they had the right child. At home, he was chaos wrapped in charm.
He tried football, but the cold was unforgiving. Tikwando came and went, more about mates than martial arts. But when it came to responsibility, Josh showed up. He took on paper rounds in the dark, in the rain, in the frost—never complained, just did the job. Until one Christmas, during the first wave of COVID, the shop owner withheld his pay and tips while he isolated. That betrayal stung. We never went back.
Beneath the mischief, Josh has always been a worrier. A quiet carer. He checks in, keeps tabs, makes sure everyone’s okay. After Dad passed, he moved in with Mum for a while—offering company, comfort, and proximity to his chosen path: becoming an electrician.
Ben, my sister’s partner, ran a one-man electrical business until Josh joined as an apprentice. Now, four years in, Josh is on the cusp of completing his AM2 performance assessment. He’s worked hard, learned deeply, and grown into a man who balances spark with substance.
This room is wired with memory. The tantrums, the triumphs, the hikes gone rogue. It’s a tribute to the boy who couldn’t sit still, and the man who now builds circuits with care and precision. Josh makes me proud—not just for what he’s achieved, but for the heart he’s always carried beneath the storm.