Lucas is four now. He never knew Cameron.

But Cameron is helping shape the kind of person Lucas is becoming — and the father that I am. And that, in itself, is legacy.

Cameron, still the teacher, is shaping me as a father. And I still have a lot to learn!

Flash back to the early 2000’s and we are mid Tiny Tumbler class – a room full of 3 to 5 year olds. Sensei Cameron had just handed the class lead to me to run the Concentration Game. In this game, the Tiny Tumblers are challenged to stand still and not  laugh, whilst Sensei Cameron and I tried to make them laugh. I was playing the ‘serious guy’ and Sensei Cameron was the mischievous one. 

Bam! He was off!  The Tinies stood in their lines and collapsed in giggling heaps like jelly dominoes as Sensei bounced past, making all kinds of faces and tumbling all over the place.  The class descended into chaos as I tried to keep some sort of order. “Okay, if you find yourself giggling, just drop to the ground, practice three push ups, and come back up for another shot!” I said.

Up, down, up, down, the class now resembled a bouncing tribe of meerkats. As soon as they popped up from their push ups, Sensei Cameron was over to them, causing them to instantly collapse back into a pile of happy chaos. After five minutes of the game, I tried to move us to the next activity – practicing our Upper Blocks. 

Sensei Cameron’s goal was to always make the Supercentre the happiest place on earth for all students.  He had an ability to create a world of chaotic joy whilst still being in full control. He could bring the class back to focus at any time. So, with this confidence within him and our complete knowledge and confidence of each other’s teaching style, his mischievous eyes turned to me. Brace yourself Sempai! A mix of fear and joy swept through me. I knew that look. 

Sensei Cameron began weaving throughout the lines of the class, causing waves of smirks from the Tiny Tumblers as he went by.  But I was succeeding in my role.  Mr Serious Sempai had successfully gotten the Tiny Tumbers to all stand still and hold their arms up in an Upper Block. Now an Upper Block requires the student to stand with feet shoulder width apart and to raise their arm above their head, fist closed, exposing their armpit. 

A smile crept across Sensei’s face – a  marvellous, mischievous smile. He spotted an opportunity to create absolute joy. Sensei dropped to his knees so he was the same height as the Tinies and shuffled on his knees to join the middle of one of the lines. Tiny smirks started to spread like a ripple down the line. “One, Two, Three,” I counted for the students to execute each Upper Block. Sensei executed perfect Upper Blocks, with a focused face, pretending to be a Tiny Tumbler. The Tinies were fixated on him, following his every move, waiting for what was coming. “Four, Five,”  I continued.  Sensei Cameron finished his fifth perfect Upper Block and started to sniff. Little tummies jiggled and mouths struggled to hold in laughs as I tried to bring the class into some sort of order. “Focus on your blocks everyone,” I played my ‘serious guy’ role. But Sensei Cameron had gotten them all to the top of the giggle mountain, and nothing was bringing this class back down. Louder and louder he sniffed as he bent his head to smell his own armpit. “Peeeeewwwwww!” he exclaimed and collapsed on the floor. The room erupted into laughter.

He then performed what I can only describe now as a magic trick.  He shot up and said a familiar line.  “How do we stand?”

“Like a black-belt!” the crowd replied as everyone stood bolt upright into Natural Stance. He shot me a look to let me know he’d take it from here. “Okay, now let’s try some front kicks,” he said, and the class continued with absolute focus. Big smiles remained on the Tinies faces, but total focus remained in their eyes. 

I think about that day often now — the way Cam could turn a Supercentre full of frenzied four-year-olds into a room of superheroes with a single phrase. It felt like magic then. Now I know it was intention, care, and the kind of presence that most of us spend a lifetime trying to master – one of his many super powers. The power of not just being in the moment, but creating the moment, whatever and wherever that moment was.  

Flash forward to 2025.

It’s time for dinner, so I go outside to Lucas’ play equipment. “Stop right there Joker Daddy!”  Batman Lucas runs at me, trying to catch me and put me in jail. 

“Ahhh you’ll never catch me, mwhahahah!” I yell as I run around in circles.  We chase each other for a few minutes as Lucas gets into a frenzy. My mind flashes back to Sensei Cameron whipping a class into a frenzy.  I’ve got this, I think to myself. I can get him to calm down.

“Okay, it’s dinner time, let’s eat!” I say enthusiastically. Surely food will win him over! 

“To jail!” Lucas proclaims, as he pounces on me. 

“Yes, yes, you got me! Now, dinner time,” I say. 

“You can’t get away from me!” Lucas laughs as he responds, clearly still on top of giggle mountain. 

I continue to try to calm him down for the next 5 minutes, thinking to myself: Uncle Cameron would be much better at this. He could navigate giggle mountain with a whole class of 4 year olds but I can’t get one to the dinner table.

But I don’t despair, because I have another thought. So what WOULD Cameron do?  Uncle Cameron would absolutely love this! Dinner can wait, Batman is having fun, and so is Joker! “Mwhahahah!”

And somewhere, in the space between a giggle and a memory, I know his legacy is right here — holding my son’s hand.