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"He's the duck floating on the lake," she says. "Underneath, his legs may be moving, but he has a demeanor that's in control."

It is that control he called upon in August 1991 when a CT scan of Josh's brain revealed a tumor. As Steve and Josh sat in a waiting room before Josh underwent an MRI, a nurse mentioned how sorry she was to hear about the brain cancer. Josh and Steve exchanged a look. They had heard the word 'tumor,' which sounded fixable. Cancer was a different story.

Josh, 1992

"Does this mean I'm going to die?" Josh asked his father.

"Well, Josh," Steve said, in a tone that he hoped would cover his fear, "we're all going to die sooner or later."

Josh, then 16 and heading into his junior year of high school, pressed on. "But am I going to die sooner?"

Steve studied his beautiful blond son. "Not if we can help it," he said. From then on, when it came to attitude, Steve and Donna took their cues from Josh, who tackled the illness with a fierce honesty. One of the reasons people crumble in the face of hardship, Steve believes, is that their false optimism is crushed by harsh reality. Josh knew his odds were slim and he packed his hours doing what he loved. Two days after returning home from surgery to remove the tumor, he was skateboarding off a friend's new ramp. He spent the winter snowboarding and the spring surfing, despite his doctor's protests. In between, he sketched and painted and jammed on his drums with his friends. When the seizures started, he asked to meet some of the Seattle grunge bands he loved so much. Three weeks later, thanks to the Make-A-Wish Foundation, Josh, his family and his best friend stood on the rooftop of the Sub Pop record label's building in downtown Seattle, surrounded by members of the city's premiere bands, including Pearl Jam, the Posies and Soundgarden. During the three-day visit, he hosted a radio show, hung out with Nirvana, and was featured on the front page of the Seattle Times.

After Josh returned home, his condition worsened and cancer left him limp and blind. Yet he didn't complain, his parents say. "People talk about how brave Nate was, but no one was braver than Josh," says Steve. In the last days, he inspired his friends, too. One classmate, Chris Jerard, says that Josh showed him "how to take life day by day and live it to the fullest. To always hope for the best and to be gracious in the face of unfair events—and even bodily pain."

Lesson #2: Find a passion and pursue it

Josh, 1992

In the dark days following Josh's death, Steve and Donna heeded their son's example and tried to focus on what they loved—their two sons, Ben and Nate, Steve's teaching, Donna's gardening. Ben, who was in high school, channeled his energies into his schoolwork and his soccer. Nate, 14, was angry. He had always been, as Jeanne Beland '76G says, the "ignition," the first one up at sleepovers, the first one to jump from the railroad trestle, the one who wouldn't slow down long enough to turn a knob, preferring to kick open the door instead. "He would set a room in motion," says Beland, who, as the mother of one of Nate's friends, installed a special kick plate on her front door just for him. But Nate's considerable energy became considerable trouble as he moved from middle to high school. Containing his anger was tough; he was always ready for a fight. Donna remembers too many lacrosse games when Nate spent more time on the bench with a yellow card than sprinting on the turf. He was almost sent home after his first day on a soccer trip to England when he started a brawl at a pub. Stopped by chaperone Rick Renner, Nate agreed to behave but then challenged Renner to an arm wrestling contest. Nate lost, but years later, when he was, as Renner remembers, "a monster" from his SEAL training, he challenged "Uncle Rick" again. This time he won—in less than a second.

For Nate, Steve would say, it would be either the SEALs or Sing Sing. And although no one is sure of all the reasons, Nate had wanted to be a SEAL since sixth grade. Both grandfathers were World War II veterans, but it was the physical challenge that Nate talked about—the grueling six-month training that washed out more than half the recruits, and the idea of carrying out secret missions by land, sea or air. He practiced rappelling from the giant beech tree in his back yard and, as his neighbor Pat Lang recalls, ran through the woods in camouflage and black face paint.

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