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  • This.
  • Micah Whitson

This.


Every morning, as I load up my bike to head into the office, this is what I see. Two kids, banging on the window, sending me off with love.

One born in North Carolina, outgoing and brave. One born in Boston, timid but bullheaded. Both with family names (Rush, Stokes) woven into their names, to remind us of those who came before us. Both filling us with pride and hope and fear.

Old Try isn't just a fun side project for me. It's my wife's job and it's these kid's daycare money and it's part therapy and part public service announcement. It's my way of putting a stamp on a tiny little part of the world. It's my way of dealing with my demons of what being a Southerner is and what being a Christian is and how to use business for good and how to provide for a growing family.

These guys, banging on the window, sending me off with love, give me the strength to make it through the day. And when I lay them in their beds and kiss them good night, they give me the motivation to head down the basement. Turn on the lamp and fire up the radio, and roll prints late into the night.
  • Micah Whitson