Heavy panting

There are some lessons in life you just have to learn for yourself. For example, don’t play basketball while wearing tuxedo pants. That’s one my son learned a couple weeks ago.

Not that playing in tuxedo pants doesn’t make you look quite handsome on the court. It’s just that when you fall and tear the knee, and you need the pants for a concert, it starts to get complicated.

Apparently in the small print on the dad contract, I’m the one who has to repair the damage. So I took the pants back to the tux shop where we bought them to see if they could patch ‘em up. They went in last Saturday for a concert yesterday. Alonso, the swarthy yet rushed counterperson said it would be no problem to fix the hole. Yes they could do it in time for the concert. And of course he’d call me the next day to let me know when they’d be ready.

Which of those things do you think happened? If you said none, then you’ve obviously dealt with Alonso before.

It's frustrating to say the least. Hard to believe, but there actually was a time when businesses couldn't afford not to do what they said they were going to.

Alonso is not of that time.

The pants were ready today. But, and I don't know why I'm surprised at this, they weren't repaired in the way I was expecting. Which was that the hole would be entirely sewn up, with only a hair-thin line left that you could never see unless you were looking for it. I don't know if Alonso did the sewing himself, but if so we clearly had a failure to communicate.

The pants were patched like a pair of jeans. You could see the tear, and behind it an ironed on black patch. The good news is my son wound up not using or needing that pair of pants.

Next time, if I want my tuxedo pants patched up like a pair of twenty-year old Levi's, I'll send them here.

Blackhawk down

Sometimes you read a story that hits so hard the sadness is more than you can bear.

That's what happened to me today when I read about Wes Leonard.

Wes was a 16-year old high school student and star athlete at Fennville High in Michigan. He'd just scored the winning basket at a championship game, putting his team - the Fennville Blackhawks - at an undefeated 20 - 0 for the season.

Seconds after the winning shot and the ensuing celebration, the crowd watched in horror as Wes collapsed on the court and died. He'd gone into cardiac arrest from an enlarged heart, had a massive heart attack and was likely gone before he hit the floor.

I don't know any other way to see this except through the eyes of his parents. I have a son. I know how anxious I feel when he's not home. I can't even comprehend him never coming home again.

I never want to.

Anxiety is the by-product of having kids that they don't tell you about. It's the one you don't read about in "What To Expect When You're Expecting", or Dr. Spock.

It's not in the small print.

We want our kids to be safe in the world, and realize that for the most part they are. But there's always a soundtrack, a white noise playing in the background of your thoughts that something horrible will happen or is happening to them when they're out of your sight.

Of course, we all have to live with a certain amount of denial or we could never get through the day. We'd never be able to cross a street for fear of getting hit by a car, or plug in a toaster for fear of being electrocuted. We choose to ignore the noise because it's just a silly thought. And it'll never happen.

Until it does.

I used to enjoy movies like Ransom or Without A Trace. Now I can't even watch them, because when I do all I think about is how my kids could disappear that fast.

From all accounts, Wes Leonard was a great kid on and off the court. My heart goes out to his friends and family, but most of all his parents.

Tonight I'll be saying a prayer for all of them. While his life was cut tragically short, his memory will live on forever in the hearts of everyone who knew him.

And every parent who didn't.