Basketball
I Clay) do my best to try and stay away from blogging about Haddon's illness. Honestly, I can only recall perhaps two times in his life that I have even mentioned it from the pulpit. I do not want anyone to get the idea that his story monopolizes my family or my time. All people face struggles on a daily basis. Marriages break up - struggle. Jobs are lost - struggle. College classes are failed and have to be repeated - struggle. I really do want to be known for caring about all people and their struggles. But for just once I want to write in a cathartic fashion.
Just a little over an hour ago I watched my youngest son play in his first little league basketball game. It looked more like hockey between two kindergarten classes with no ice but none the less still a game. We lost 8-4 but who cares. I watched my son run up and down the court with the greatest of ease. I watched his long blonde hair whip around in a sweaty mess like he was on an ESPN highlight reel. We had times out and a half time speech where those might mites came and sat and drank their Power-Aid in all of their glory. I watched Haddon get no less than 4 steals, 6 1/2 rebounds, and make some incredible passes. Haddon had all four points that our team scored. He made one shot where he pump-faked some big kid out of his sneakers and went around him to swish right through the net. The middle school gym has a very loud buzzer on the clock. At the end of a quarter you can see children reaching for their ears because of its deafening BUZZ. Today the buzzer had competition in Haddon's mom. She was even prouder than she was loud!
As I watched my son run and jump and fist pump and trash talk other kindergarteners I could not help but think of all that my little one has to do just to stay in the shape that he is in. On the way home all I could bring to my mind was hearing the sound of my son's *&#*$&@# machine running and the #!(&#% pills he has to take just to get a bag of popcorn and a coke from the concession stand. Please understand that I do not believe in pity parties. I have told him many times that I will never allow myself to feel sorry for him. The gym was full of some great kids with their proud parents. Everyone, including me, was having a blast. It was just very special to witness my son running and fouling and living life as best he can (plus it didn't hurt that he lead his team in EVERY individual category - take that LeBron James!).
I as a father had grace for the moment to sit back and smile. Vicariously through my son I had a brief, ever small chance to tell this horrible monster known as Cystic Fibrosis what was on my heart. As I watched Haddon run and laugh and score and generally be the great kid that he is, I shut my eyes and whispered, "CF...my son just lost his first basketball game but...he is kicking your tail!"
If you can't tell - I am so very proud.
Just a little over an hour ago I watched my youngest son play in his first little league basketball game. It looked more like hockey between two kindergarten classes with no ice but none the less still a game. We lost 8-4 but who cares. I watched my son run up and down the court with the greatest of ease. I watched his long blonde hair whip around in a sweaty mess like he was on an ESPN highlight reel. We had times out and a half time speech where those might mites came and sat and drank their Power-Aid in all of their glory. I watched Haddon get no less than 4 steals, 6 1/2 rebounds, and make some incredible passes. Haddon had all four points that our team scored. He made one shot where he pump-faked some big kid out of his sneakers and went around him to swish right through the net. The middle school gym has a very loud buzzer on the clock. At the end of a quarter you can see children reaching for their ears because of its deafening BUZZ. Today the buzzer had competition in Haddon's mom. She was even prouder than she was loud!
As I watched my son run and jump and fist pump and trash talk other kindergarteners I could not help but think of all that my little one has to do just to stay in the shape that he is in. On the way home all I could bring to my mind was hearing the sound of my son's *&#*$&@# machine running and the #!(&#% pills he has to take just to get a bag of popcorn and a coke from the concession stand. Please understand that I do not believe in pity parties. I have told him many times that I will never allow myself to feel sorry for him. The gym was full of some great kids with their proud parents. Everyone, including me, was having a blast. It was just very special to witness my son running and fouling and living life as best he can (plus it didn't hurt that he lead his team in EVERY individual category - take that LeBron James!).
I as a father had grace for the moment to sit back and smile. Vicariously through my son I had a brief, ever small chance to tell this horrible monster known as Cystic Fibrosis what was on my heart. As I watched Haddon run and laugh and score and generally be the great kid that he is, I shut my eyes and whispered, "CF...my son just lost his first basketball game but...he is kicking your tail!"
If you can't tell - I am so very proud.
Just wanted to see
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