The Green Mile

Much to catch up; I've been too long away from desk and chair. But I have been busy—namely because of recent events involving a gifted athlete. No, of course, not me (although I can now run 32 city blocks without passing out; quite the achievement for me but still not where I need to be). It's Prom Girl who is getting the chair. For weeks, in fact, then a walker, then crutches. The sentence has been passed: last Wednesday's school soccer game has resulted in a fractured fibula and torn ligaments, due to be surgically repaired with screws and a metal plate next Monday. She and I are in solitary confinement right now, at least until after surgery and the application of solid cast. She has her eye on team colors, neon green and gold. That's soccer for you.

Soccer, for her, will mean spending the entire high school varsity season on the sidelines. Brother Dave and I will wear our alma mater shirts, and Dad his hat, and we'll sit at the field and cheer for her team. She's made it clear she plans to be there, regardless whether sitting on the bench or bleachers. Or in a wheelchair. There's a message here, I guess, about being a good sport and accepting what comes one's way. Being grateful for what one has, and not what one lacks.

There's nothing this kid really needs—she is finding out—with family, friends and team-mates on her side and ready to support her. May all of us, young and not-so-young—particularly those of us Wildflower TNT-ers—discover this for ourselves, and preferably in ways having nothing whatsoever to do with packed emergency rooms, x-rays, anesthesia, needles or oxygen masks. Although at the end of just a few laps of the track, I might be begging for one of those.