Like you, we raise our children to be strong. We raise them to work hard, to love the land, to respect tradition and to step into the arena — whether that arena is a football field, a rodeo arena or a stretch of fence line that needs mending before dark.
That life shaped our son, Whitt Martin. And he embraced it fully.
He loved football. He loved roping. He loved the responsibility of ranch work and all that it entailed and the quiet satisfaction that comes from a long day's work and a job well done. There was a steadiness to him, a deep pride in earning his place and carrying himself like a man, even as a child. His drive came from a place deep down inside and he just knew from a young age that he was tougher than everyone else.
Watching him live that life brought us more joy than we can put into words. Then one day, it stopped.
No more late night practices. No more ropings. No more riding across the pasture behind our house with the sun settling low. The rhythm we had built our years around shifted and we began learning things we never knew we needed to understand.
When Whitt was five years old, he had what doctors believed was Kawasaki Disease. At the time, we trusted the care he received and believed it was behind us. We were told there would be no residual effects to follow. Like most parents, we moved forward and focused on raising a strong, capable young man.
What we did not fully grasp was how an early childhood inflammatory illness might later intersect with repeated concussions. Over the years, through football, ranch work and the kind of fearless energy that defines so many West Texas boys, Whitt experienced multiple head impacts — six or more confirmed concussions and a final high speed impact, that would most likely be the cause leading to his death. Later, after his death we were told by forensics and medical professionals that there had likely been a brain bleed as well as CTE chronic traumatic encephalopathy.
By the time we understood the weight of it all, the outcome could not be undone.
Concussions are often described in ways that make them sound manageable. Something you rest from. Something you “shake off.” But repeated head trauma in young athletes can carry long-term neurological consequences, especially when layered on top of other medical history.
And not all damage announces itself clearly.
Sometimes it shows up as subtle shifts. Lingering headaches. Changes in mood. A difference in focus or personality that feels small at first. When your child has always been strong, always been driven, always been willing to push through, it can be difficult to see those moments for what they are.
We’re not here to discourage sports. Football, rodeo and ranch life are part of our heritage. They build resilience, discipline and pride. They connect generations. We believe in that deeply.
What we’re asking is simply this: pay attention. Not all wounds are visible. If your child has had Kawasaki Disease, know that there can be lasting effects. If they have experienced concussions, know that there can be lasting effects. If something feels off and you cannot quite name it, ask another question. Request another evaluation. Keep careful track of injuries. Trust your instincts. Strength and vigilance can exist together.
Whitt’s Out West was built in Whitt’s name not just because he loved the cowboy life but because of the way he loved people. He carried himself with kindness. He showed up for others. He lived with heart and that heart is the reason we share this now, so that our experience will help another family look a little closer or move a little sooner. Because awareness is an act of love.
If this message speaks to you, share it. If you have questions, ask them. And if you have walked a similar road, please know you are not alone.
Faith, Family, Friends & Community first. Always.
- Jacie
