Week 7: Bupkis
Like all things truly breathtaking, it happened when I wasn't paying attention. My baby brother Tanner grew up. One day, I'm taking him to the park, tailing him closely as he scales the slide that's several times his height to ensure his safety, and the next he is 15, taller than me, and asking my sister and I for advice on how to become more responsible. How to deal with the ever-looming specter of drug addiction, which lurks far to close to our family most days. It was enough to make my sister and I tear up when he left, because when had that happened?
Only weeks later came the crushing news that Tanner had gotten his third concussion playing high school football in less than a year. Despite many adults (including a doctor) in his life who told him that he could go back to the sport after a time, he made the choice to walk into his coach's office and turn in his jersey, ending his high school football career before his sophomore year had even started. He made such a difficult decision all by himself, based on his own personal convictions and knowledge he'd gathered doing a school report on concussions. He said it was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he did it anyway. The whole family grieved what could have been a scholarship opportunity lost, a hazy but possible future disappearing before our eyes. But mostly we cried for what Tanner lost in a sport and teammates he loved. I cried because I've never been so proud of him.
Tanner went to every football game this season, an unofficial cheerleader and still very much a leader to his team, even taking it off the field and posting motivational messages to his Facebook page. Instead of losing his way and falling into the wrong crowd, he immediately took to building longboards. When I asked him why, he told me that building them cost less than buying them.
I have told Tanner that he will learn more from the loss of this sport than playing a thousand games. I know that's true. Because he is teaching me every day. He is a role model for hundreds of kids at his school just by being who he is and sticking to his high standards.
I want to be like him someday. I only hope he can say the same for me.
Only weeks later came the crushing news that Tanner had gotten his third concussion playing high school football in less than a year. Despite many adults (including a doctor) in his life who told him that he could go back to the sport after a time, he made the choice to walk into his coach's office and turn in his jersey, ending his high school football career before his sophomore year had even started. He made such a difficult decision all by himself, based on his own personal convictions and knowledge he'd gathered doing a school report on concussions. He said it was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he did it anyway. The whole family grieved what could have been a scholarship opportunity lost, a hazy but possible future disappearing before our eyes. But mostly we cried for what Tanner lost in a sport and teammates he loved. I cried because I've never been so proud of him.
Tanner went to every football game this season, an unofficial cheerleader and still very much a leader to his team, even taking it off the field and posting motivational messages to his Facebook page. Instead of losing his way and falling into the wrong crowd, he immediately took to building longboards. When I asked him why, he told me that building them cost less than buying them.
I have told Tanner that he will learn more from the loss of this sport than playing a thousand games. I know that's true. Because he is teaching me every day. He is a role model for hundreds of kids at his school just by being who he is and sticking to his high standards.
I want to be like him someday. I only hope he can say the same for me.