When the curtain rose on Byron’s production of Frozen last month, the audience didn’t have to wait long before a second grader named Charlie Wilmarth melted hearts across the auditorium. In the role of Olaf, the lovable snowman, Charlie stepped into his very first theatrical production—and owned the stage like a seasoned performer. His bright voice carried through the house as he sang “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” with all the playful charm of the character he adored long before he ever auditioned.

For Charlie, the magic began with a dream. “I really wanted to play Olaf,” he said. And when the call came that he had won the part, it was a moment of joy that set the tone for his whole fall. Rehearsals, costumes, stage lights—all of it built toward that unforgettable night when the youngest member of the cast proved that big talent often comes in small packages.

During our interview in mid-September, Charlie broke into song, giving a heartfelt taste of his role as Olaf in Frozen.

“Do you want to build a snowman?
Come on, let’s go and play.
I never see you anymore, come out the door, it’s like you’ve gone away.
We used to be best buddies, and now we’re not, I wish you would tell me why.
Do you want to build a snowman?
It doesn’t have to be a snowman.”

That playful performance, delivered with unbridled confidence with the wide-eyed sincerity only a second grader can bring, foreshadowed the charm I knew he’d bring to the stage when Frozen opened at Byron more than a month after the day I met Charlie.

Charlie was one of only a handful of second graders to take the stage, but his confidence never wavered. Yes, there were nerves, but there were also fast friends: Sven, Kristoff, and Anna weren’t just characters, but kids he connected with. That sense of belonging gave him courage, and when the spotlight came, he didn’t just deliver Olaf—he lived him. For the Byron community, watching him beam in that carrot-nosed costume was a reminder of how schools can ignite joy, courage, and creativity in the youngest learners.

Of course, theater is only one slice of Charlie’s story. In the classroom, he’s a strong reader who devours Dogman, LEGO manuals, and dinosaur books with equal enthusiasm. “I have this really big LEGO book with 250 pages,” he explained proudly, sharing how he once built a haunted house with more than 700 pieces—complete with a Frankenstein at the organ, a werewolf, and a skeleton crawling out of a grave. His imagination doesn’t stop when the bricks snap together; it’s the stories he builds around them that make his creations come alive.

He’s also a big brother, which he considers one of his most important roles. To his younger siblings Cane and Lena, he is both protector and entertainer, reading Elmo stories or The Very Hungry Caterpillar at bedtime. “I read books to her when she has to go to bed,” he said of his little sister, with a matter-of-fact pride that any parent would recognize as the heart of leadership.

Charlie’s resilience shines through in countless small ways. When he fell off a nervous horse named Chance, he dusted himself off and got right back in the saddle. When a three-wheeled scooter dumped him on the asphalt, he shrugged off the scrape and kept going. When the zipline at Urban Air looked too high, he struck a deal with his mom—if he tried it, she’d buy him a LEGO set. He tried it, of course, and soared across the air. “It was so fun,” he recalled. “Mom was so proud of me.” Those moments aren’t just childhood stories; they’re evidence of a boy who meets challenges with courage, persistence, and an unshakable sense of fun.

And fun is never far from Charlie’s mind. Whether it’s basketball, recess, snack time, or his second-grade teacher, Mrs. King, surprising the class with vanilla pudding topped with sprinkles and gummy bears, Charlie delights in the joy of everyday life. His dad, a PE teacher, football coach, and wrestling coach at Byron High School, might see discipline and training as central, but Charlie has his own way of interpreting resilience: beat everyone in wrestling once, then hang up the singlet because he’d proven his point. “I’m really good at it,” he laughed, “but that’s why I don’t want to go. I beat everyone at it.”

That blend of humor, determination, and kindness is what makes Charlie remarkable. He is quick to try new things, accepts that not every attempt works out the first time, and always shortens the distance between setback and success.

Byron is full of outstanding students across all grades, but every so often, a younger one reminds the whole community what possibility looks like when it’s just beginning to unfold. With Olaf’s joyful lines still echoing in the memories of everyone who saw him on stage, Charlie is already on to the next adventure, whether it’s on the basketball court, the playground, or with a book and his siblings at bedtime.

The snowman may have melted when the lights came down, but the impression Charlie left on Byron is one that will last for years to come.