Photo by: Austin Robinson/Texas A&M Athletics
A Friendship To Last a Lifetime
Sep 25, 2018 | Football
The intricate tattoo begins at Jace Sternberger's left shoulder and ends at his left elbow. His parents' reaction the first time they saw it was as expected.
After taking a closer look, though, Jason and Jackie Sternberger approved.
"The first thing, you're like, 'A tattoo? Are you kidding me?'" Jackie Sternberger said. "But you see it, and you're like, 'Oh my gosh. All right. That's kind of impressive.' Of all the things you could have tattooed, and all the crazy things people have, I'm like, 'That's a true testament to your friendship.'"
Sternberger's tattoo honors the memory of childhood friend Alfonso Reynaga, who died of brain cancer in 2011 at the age of 13. The Texas A&M tight end got the tattoo his freshman season at Kansas.
The tattoo includes a stairway to heaven with Alfonso's full name, birth date and date of his death.
Their six-month friendship will last a lifetime.
"I felt that was the best way to remember him, because it's permanent," Sternberger said. "It really means something to me. I want him to be with me forever."
Alfonso's mother, Salome Reynaga, cried the first time she saw it. Sternberger, who has become like a son to Salome, has kept Alfonso's memory alive.
"There was a time I wanted to give up on hope and on faith and on God," Salome said. "It was very heartbreaking seeing my son want to give up and not want to keep going. Jace changed all that. Once I knew Jace was there for him, I knew God had sent him for a really good reason."
Sternberger already has won over Aggies as the team's best tight end since Martellus Bennett, with 13 catches for 205 yards and four touchdowns this season. The story behind the tattoo is yet another reason for the 12th Man to love Sternberger as much as the Reynaga family does.
Jace still chuckles when he thinks of Alfonso sometimes taking advantage of his illness by getting the nurses to "baby him."
Most of all, though, Alfonso is remembered for his bravery in the face of death.
"A couple of weeks before he died, he said, 'Ms. Lindsey, I'm not afraid to die,'" Patti Lindsey, a counselor at Clinton Middle School, said. "He would tell me things like that: 'I'm just worried about my family. I worry about leaving everybody; I don't want everybody to be sad.'
"He never complained or asked why."
Alfonso was starting the sixth grade when he developed headaches and nausea. Salome was driving Alfonso home from the doctor's office with a diagnosis of a stomach virus when he asked her to pull over so he could vomit.
"When I saw his whole body clinch – everything get really tense – and he was trying to throw up and nothing would come out, I was like, 'No, something's wrong. Something's really wrong,'" Salome said. "What I saw is not when someone is sick and throws up."
Salome drove back to the doctor's office and requested an MRI. The doctor called that night recommending the family seek a second opinion from The Children's Hospital in Oklahoma City.
"She didn't want to say anything to me right away," Salome said. "She just said, 'There's something that's not supposed to be there, and it's there.'"
Alfonso went through tests, a biopsy and then brain surgery, where doctors determined Alfonso had too many malignant tumors to remove. Some were large. He was dying of brain cancer. Alfonso spent three months in Memphis at St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, going through radiation and chemotherapy treatments.
"We did everything," Salome said. "But when we went to see the doctor to see if it shrunk – any of it – he told us it didn't. He's like, 'There's really nothing more we can do. Take him home and make him happy and let him live what he has left.'"
"You talk about having to learn how to meet new friends," Jace said.
Jace was going into the eighth grade when Alfonso returned to school for the seventh grade. No one knew how much time Alfonso had left, but everyone was aware it wasn't long.
Teachers and administrators wanted to make Alfonso's final months as normal as possible.
"We had a meeting before Alfonso came to school," said Lindsey, who remains a counselor at the school. "We talked about how we needed to do our best to make him comfortable. When he could be in school, he was going to be in school, and it was important for him to be a part of the activities, as much as he could be."
But when Alfonso returned, he returned without hair, with a swollen face and heavier. He was hardly recognizable to his friends, who treated him differently.
What do you say to a teenager who knows he's dying, who you know is dying?
"He came home one day and said that he wanted to give up; he didn't want to go to school anymore," Salome said. "He said, 'My friends don't talk to me. They don't say hi.' He's like, 'Just because I have what I have doesn't mean they're going to get it if they say hi to me and talk to me.' He didn't understand why they all stopped being his friend. I think it was more because they didn't know what to say to him. They were scared. They knew he had cancer."
Jace Sternberger knew about Alfonso and his cancer diagnosis. Everyone in the town of 9,393 knew. But Sternberger had never met Alfonso until a chance meeting early in the school year.
Jackie Sternberger, an eighth-grade teacher in the school, was on lunch duty when Alfonso spilled a carton of milk on his shirt. Jackie walked Alfonso to the office, where Jace was working as an office aide.
Jackie introduced Jace to Alfonso and asked Jace to get Alfonso a clean shirt. Jace offered Alfonso his choice of an OU blood drive T-shirt or an Oklahoma State blood drive T-shirt.
"I don't do orange," Alfonso snapped at Jace, who burst into laughter.
After that, Jace changed his lunch period so he could sit with Alfonso each day.
"We slowly became closer and closer," Jace said. "I didn't think anything of the cancer, and he didn't think anything of it. We were just normal friends."
Jace and Alfonso became inseparable. They were together at school, after school and on weekends. They watched movies, played video games and went to the school carnival. They talked about girls.
They did normal teenage things and talked about normal teenage things.
Jace even took No. 12, Alfonso's favorite number, as his jersey number in football to honor his friend.
"As an 8th grade boy, a young teenager, Jace took on a lot, knowing what the outcome was most likely going to be," Lindsey said. "It was tough. It was tough for all of us. We all got used to having Alfonso there and a part of our school and a part of us. But they had a special relationship."In my 23 years working in schools, I've never seen anything like it."
Cancer, though, stole "normal" from Alfonso, eventually taking away his motor skills. It wasn't long until he required a wheelchair, unable to walk. Unable to do much of anything for himself.
"Jace came home one day, and he was just so upset – kind of emotional," Jackie Sternberger said. "He said, 'Alfonso gave up today.' I said, 'What?' He said, 'Alfonso is going to start using a wheelchair.' Jace had been around him enough with his nurses to know what that meant. He said, 'The nurses told me that when he decides that he's going to get in a wheelchair, he's never going to get better. It's over. His body is starting to shut down.'
"It showed that fighting spirit of Jace of like, 'I don't want him to let go. I don't want to let go.' I said, 'Jace, this isn't your battle.' The next thing you know Jace and Alfonso are wreaking havoc through the school in the wheelchair."
Jace wheeled Alfonso everywhere in his wheelchair. He fed him. He helped him go to the bathroom.
"He just kept getting weaker and weaker," Jace said. "It got to the point of, 'Whatever Alfonso needs.' He became like a brother to me. I think that's the point. He told me, 'After this is over, I want you to be there for my brothers.' He was talking so mature. That's when it hit me: This is life-changing."
Alfonso entered Hospice Care in November, and with fears he wouldn't live past fall break, the community raised money for a Christmas in November for the family. Alfonso Sr., who, at the time, was battling lupus, got a fishing rod, Salome a necklace and Alfonso's two younger brothers bicycles and other gifts.
Alfonso saw Christmas and New Year's. But he developed pneumonia in January, requiring hospitalization for his final days.
When the end was near, Jace again was there for his best friend. He spent several days in the hospital and was there, at his best friend's bedside, when Alfonso passed in the early morning hours of Jan. 31, 2011.
Jace was there for Alfonso at the funeral, too, delivering a eulogy that no one who heard it ever will forget.
Jace's message was: "Cancer is a terrible, terrible thing, but Alfonso left something positive and life-changing behind. He taught everyone about character and about the important things in life."
Jace is all about family, a word he also has tattooed on his arm along with a cross and the names of his blood brothers, Jett, 18, and Jax, 14. He considers Alfonso's two brothers, Austin, now 11, and Esteban, now 19, as family, too.
"My son was completely transformed by Jace," Salome said, "and I think Jace was transformed by my son. It just shows you don't have to know somebody your whole life to make a difference."
Jace's dream is to play in the NFL. It's the dream of most college football players. But Jace doesn't want it just for himself. He wants it for Alfonso.
Soon after signing with the Aggies in their 2018 recruiting class out of Northeastern Oklahoma A&M, Sternberger learned of Jimbo Fisher's national foundation, Kidz1stFund. Fisher founded the non-profit to raise awareness and funds to find a cure for Fanconi anemia, a rare genetic disease his son, Ethan, was diagnosed with in 2011.
Sternberger has talked to his head coach about his desire to start a foundation in Alfonso's memory to help find a cure for childhood cancer.
"He changed my life," Sternberger said of Alfonso. "That experience changed how I look at people and changed my perspective on life. It changed how appreciative and grateful I am."
Sternberger added a lion tattoo to his forearm, a reminder of another lesson taught by his childhood friend.
"Alfonso had the heart of a lion," Sternberger said. "He inspired me. He never felt sorry for himself, so how can I ever feel sorry for myself?"
After taking a closer look, though, Jason and Jackie Sternberger approved.
"The first thing, you're like, 'A tattoo? Are you kidding me?'" Jackie Sternberger said. "But you see it, and you're like, 'Oh my gosh. All right. That's kind of impressive.' Of all the things you could have tattooed, and all the crazy things people have, I'm like, 'That's a true testament to your friendship.'"
Sternberger's tattoo honors the memory of childhood friend Alfonso Reynaga, who died of brain cancer in 2011 at the age of 13. The Texas A&M tight end got the tattoo his freshman season at Kansas.
The tattoo includes a stairway to heaven with Alfonso's full name, birth date and date of his death.
Their six-month friendship will last a lifetime.
"I felt that was the best way to remember him, because it's permanent," Sternberger said. "It really means something to me. I want him to be with me forever."
Alfonso's mother, Salome Reynaga, cried the first time she saw it. Sternberger, who has become like a son to Salome, has kept Alfonso's memory alive.
"There was a time I wanted to give up on hope and on faith and on God," Salome said. "It was very heartbreaking seeing my son want to give up and not want to keep going. Jace changed all that. Once I knew Jace was there for him, I knew God had sent him for a really good reason."
Sternberger already has won over Aggies as the team's best tight end since Martellus Bennett, with 13 catches for 205 yards and four touchdowns this season. The story behind the tattoo is yet another reason for the 12th Man to love Sternberger as much as the Reynaga family does.
"I'M NOT AFRAID TO DIE"
Alfonso was a typical small-town boy. The Clinton, Oklahoma, native played soccer and football and enjoyed rooting on his favorite team, the University of Oklahoma. His mom calls Alfonso "goofy" because he often cracked up his parents by making a funny face or busting a dance move.Jace still chuckles when he thinks of Alfonso sometimes taking advantage of his illness by getting the nurses to "baby him."
Most of all, though, Alfonso is remembered for his bravery in the face of death.
"A couple of weeks before he died, he said, 'Ms. Lindsey, I'm not afraid to die,'" Patti Lindsey, a counselor at Clinton Middle School, said. "He would tell me things like that: 'I'm just worried about my family. I worry about leaving everybody; I don't want everybody to be sad.'
"He never complained or asked why."
Alfonso was starting the sixth grade when he developed headaches and nausea. Salome was driving Alfonso home from the doctor's office with a diagnosis of a stomach virus when he asked her to pull over so he could vomit.
"When I saw his whole body clinch – everything get really tense – and he was trying to throw up and nothing would come out, I was like, 'No, something's wrong. Something's really wrong,'" Salome said. "What I saw is not when someone is sick and throws up."
Salome drove back to the doctor's office and requested an MRI. The doctor called that night recommending the family seek a second opinion from The Children's Hospital in Oklahoma City.
"She didn't want to say anything to me right away," Salome said. "She just said, 'There's something that's not supposed to be there, and it's there.'"
Alfonso went through tests, a biopsy and then brain surgery, where doctors determined Alfonso had too many malignant tumors to remove. Some were large. He was dying of brain cancer. Alfonso spent three months in Memphis at St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, going through radiation and chemotherapy treatments.
"We did everything," Salome said. "But when we went to see the doctor to see if it shrunk – any of it – he told us it didn't. He's like, 'There's really nothing more we can do. Take him home and make him happy and let him live what he has left.'"
A CHANCE MEETING
Jace Sternberger has never lived in one place more than four years. His family moved around Oklahoma, first for his parents' coaching jobs and then after his father moved into public school administration. Jace was born in Enid, and the family lived in Pond Creek. They moved to Fort Gibson when he was 1, and Watonga when he was 6. He spent third and fourth grades in Medford, which was Jason Sternberger's first superintendent job, and then moved with his family to Clinton for fifth through eighth grades. Jason Sternberger now serves as the superintendent in Kingfisher, where Jace graduated from high school."You talk about having to learn how to meet new friends," Jace said.
Jace was going into the eighth grade when Alfonso returned to school for the seventh grade. No one knew how much time Alfonso had left, but everyone was aware it wasn't long.
Teachers and administrators wanted to make Alfonso's final months as normal as possible.
"We had a meeting before Alfonso came to school," said Lindsey, who remains a counselor at the school. "We talked about how we needed to do our best to make him comfortable. When he could be in school, he was going to be in school, and it was important for him to be a part of the activities, as much as he could be."
But when Alfonso returned, he returned without hair, with a swollen face and heavier. He was hardly recognizable to his friends, who treated him differently.
What do you say to a teenager who knows he's dying, who you know is dying?
"He came home one day and said that he wanted to give up; he didn't want to go to school anymore," Salome said. "He said, 'My friends don't talk to me. They don't say hi.' He's like, 'Just because I have what I have doesn't mean they're going to get it if they say hi to me and talk to me.' He didn't understand why they all stopped being his friend. I think it was more because they didn't know what to say to him. They were scared. They knew he had cancer."
Jace Sternberger knew about Alfonso and his cancer diagnosis. Everyone in the town of 9,393 knew. But Sternberger had never met Alfonso until a chance meeting early in the school year.
Jackie Sternberger, an eighth-grade teacher in the school, was on lunch duty when Alfonso spilled a carton of milk on his shirt. Jackie walked Alfonso to the office, where Jace was working as an office aide.
Jackie introduced Jace to Alfonso and asked Jace to get Alfonso a clean shirt. Jace offered Alfonso his choice of an OU blood drive T-shirt or an Oklahoma State blood drive T-shirt.
"I don't do orange," Alfonso snapped at Jace, who burst into laughter.
After that, Jace changed his lunch period so he could sit with Alfonso each day.
BEST FRIENDS FOREVER
Jace and Alfonso knew each other for only six months. It felt like a lifetime."We slowly became closer and closer," Jace said. "I didn't think anything of the cancer, and he didn't think anything of it. We were just normal friends."
Jace and Alfonso became inseparable. They were together at school, after school and on weekends. They watched movies, played video games and went to the school carnival. They talked about girls.
They did normal teenage things and talked about normal teenage things.
Jace even took No. 12, Alfonso's favorite number, as his jersey number in football to honor his friend.
"As an 8th grade boy, a young teenager, Jace took on a lot, knowing what the outcome was most likely going to be," Lindsey said. "It was tough. It was tough for all of us. We all got used to having Alfonso there and a part of our school and a part of us. But they had a special relationship."In my 23 years working in schools, I've never seen anything like it."
Cancer, though, stole "normal" from Alfonso, eventually taking away his motor skills. It wasn't long until he required a wheelchair, unable to walk. Unable to do much of anything for himself.
"Jace came home one day, and he was just so upset – kind of emotional," Jackie Sternberger said. "He said, 'Alfonso gave up today.' I said, 'What?' He said, 'Alfonso is going to start using a wheelchair.' Jace had been around him enough with his nurses to know what that meant. He said, 'The nurses told me that when he decides that he's going to get in a wheelchair, he's never going to get better. It's over. His body is starting to shut down.'
"It showed that fighting spirit of Jace of like, 'I don't want him to let go. I don't want to let go.' I said, 'Jace, this isn't your battle.' The next thing you know Jace and Alfonso are wreaking havoc through the school in the wheelchair."
Jace wheeled Alfonso everywhere in his wheelchair. He fed him. He helped him go to the bathroom.
"He just kept getting weaker and weaker," Jace said. "It got to the point of, 'Whatever Alfonso needs.' He became like a brother to me. I think that's the point. He told me, 'After this is over, I want you to be there for my brothers.' He was talking so mature. That's when it hit me: This is life-changing."
Alfonso entered Hospice Care in November, and with fears he wouldn't live past fall break, the community raised money for a Christmas in November for the family. Alfonso Sr., who, at the time, was battling lupus, got a fishing rod, Salome a necklace and Alfonso's two younger brothers bicycles and other gifts.
Alfonso saw Christmas and New Year's. But he developed pneumonia in January, requiring hospitalization for his final days.
When the end was near, Jace again was there for his best friend. He spent several days in the hospital and was there, at his best friend's bedside, when Alfonso passed in the early morning hours of Jan. 31, 2011.
Jace was there for Alfonso at the funeral, too, delivering a eulogy that no one who heard it ever will forget.
Jace's message was: "Cancer is a terrible, terrible thing, but Alfonso left something positive and life-changing behind. He taught everyone about character and about the important things in life."
Jace is all about family, a word he also has tattooed on his arm along with a cross and the names of his blood brothers, Jett, 18, and Jax, 14. He considers Alfonso's two brothers, Austin, now 11, and Esteban, now 19, as family, too.
"My son was completely transformed by Jace," Salome said, "and I think Jace was transformed by my son. It just shows you don't have to know somebody your whole life to make a difference."
Jace's dream is to play in the NFL. It's the dream of most college football players. But Jace doesn't want it just for himself. He wants it for Alfonso.
Soon after signing with the Aggies in their 2018 recruiting class out of Northeastern Oklahoma A&M, Sternberger learned of Jimbo Fisher's national foundation, Kidz1stFund. Fisher founded the non-profit to raise awareness and funds to find a cure for Fanconi anemia, a rare genetic disease his son, Ethan, was diagnosed with in 2011.
Sternberger has talked to his head coach about his desire to start a foundation in Alfonso's memory to help find a cure for childhood cancer.
"He changed my life," Sternberger said of Alfonso. "That experience changed how I look at people and changed my perspective on life. It changed how appreciative and grateful I am."
Sternberger added a lion tattoo to his forearm, a reminder of another lesson taught by his childhood friend.
"Alfonso had the heart of a lion," Sternberger said. "He inspired me. He never felt sorry for himself, so how can I ever feel sorry for myself?"
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