Utter Sadness
Sometimes there is a line in the news that just makes you stop and grieve along with a family who you don't even know.
A young boy died after suffering a head injury in a football game. The kid's photo has been all over the news the past few days and the community is in absolute mourning.
There isn't a parent alive who doesn't feel that pain.
How could there be?
The conversation about possibly playing football lasted less than a minute in our house.
Jake: Can I play football?
Kathy: No.
And I'm not of the mindset to condemn any parent who allows their child to play the game. It's not about whether or not the game is safe to play because there are millions of kids playing it and there is an eye on safety. Hell, even the NFL is addressing it on an annual basis. And there are plenty of other activities that could bring the same sort of pain.
Yet the conversation was my wife's to have. She wouldn't allow the boys to play football. No way in hell.
And my thoughts go back to a conversation that I had with a well-respected pediatric surgeon as I was writing House of Miracles.
"I shake my head when I think about parents allowing their kids to jump on a trampoline," he said.
"We have a trampoline," I said.
"Get rid of it," he answered. "I've seen a lot of sad Dad's who hate that they ever owned one."
Two days later I took it down and put it away as the kids screamed in protest.
"It's broke," I lied.
Yet it has all shifted through the years.
When I was a kid we didn't use helmets when we played sports, or rode bikes. I can remember swinging on a grape vine over a moving creek. The vine always seemed to break and we would laugh at the poor bastard who was swinging on it when it happened.
There was little thought of not playing football.
I also recall being knocked out cold one time while playing hockey on ice. I had been on a break-away. The neighbor kid tripped me. I went out. When I opened my eyes I saw my brother punching the kid who tripped me.
I'm not even sure if I had a concussion.
We never went to the doctor.
But my heart aches for the Mom and Dad and the entire community.
They lost a child.
Nothing will change that fact.
Jake: Why can't I play?
Kathy: Because I said so.
A young boy died after suffering a head injury in a football game. The kid's photo has been all over the news the past few days and the community is in absolute mourning.
There isn't a parent alive who doesn't feel that pain.
How could there be?
The conversation about possibly playing football lasted less than a minute in our house.
Jake: Can I play football?
Kathy: No.
And I'm not of the mindset to condemn any parent who allows their child to play the game. It's not about whether or not the game is safe to play because there are millions of kids playing it and there is an eye on safety. Hell, even the NFL is addressing it on an annual basis. And there are plenty of other activities that could bring the same sort of pain.
Yet the conversation was my wife's to have. She wouldn't allow the boys to play football. No way in hell.
And my thoughts go back to a conversation that I had with a well-respected pediatric surgeon as I was writing House of Miracles.
"I shake my head when I think about parents allowing their kids to jump on a trampoline," he said.
"We have a trampoline," I said.
"Get rid of it," he answered. "I've seen a lot of sad Dad's who hate that they ever owned one."
Two days later I took it down and put it away as the kids screamed in protest.
"It's broke," I lied.
Yet it has all shifted through the years.
When I was a kid we didn't use helmets when we played sports, or rode bikes. I can remember swinging on a grape vine over a moving creek. The vine always seemed to break and we would laugh at the poor bastard who was swinging on it when it happened.
There was little thought of not playing football.
I also recall being knocked out cold one time while playing hockey on ice. I had been on a break-away. The neighbor kid tripped me. I went out. When I opened my eyes I saw my brother punching the kid who tripped me.
I'm not even sure if I had a concussion.
We never went to the doctor.
But my heart aches for the Mom and Dad and the entire community.
They lost a child.
Nothing will change that fact.
Jake: Why can't I play?
Kathy: Because I said so.
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