His turn

On November 24th, 1991 I was leading the La Vida Golf Club Championship by 6 strokes heading into the third and final 18 hole round. It was a blustery Sunday morning, and I had won many golf championships in my time, and I would continue to win many more after this particular day. What was unique about this particular championship was La Vida country club, 55 years old at the time, was situated in the heart of Savannah, Georgia, and was home to some of the best amateur golfers in the entire state. If you know anything about Georgia, the state is large and the number of talented athletes - in every sport amateur and professional - is an extensive list indeed. Any time you can crack the code and win something is a monumental achievement. I had played the first two rounds in 3 under par 69, and 1 under par 71. I was firmly in command of what would have been my 35th amateur championship of the club level or higher.

Thing is, my wife was nine months pregnant. As we sat together at the breakfast table that morning, discussing what I planned to do to celebrate afterwards, I noticed her enthusiasm for the moment was not there. I hastened my way to my car, totally aware of what was going on. As I went to back out of the driveway, my wife opened the front door and shook her head. I knew the tournament at that moment was gone.

I rushed her to the hospital at Ft. Stewart, where they admitted her for delivery. After several conversations with the doctor, I made what was at the time a horrible call to the golf club, where I stammered out the fact that I was withdrawing from the championship. It must be noted that what I did might well be considered a rare feat in the world of sports. Who would withdraw from a 54-hole tournament, only 18 holes from the finish with a virtually insurmountable lead?

Evidently, that person was me.

This morning, the boy that came out that November day was formally informed he has been selected to the National Honor Society at his high school. He and I have known for about a month or so, but today was the day they officially announced it in the school.

He was born 24 November, 1991...7 lbs, 3 oz. He is a 15 year old sophomore, a year ahead of his peers because he started school in California, which has a different age cut-off than Florida. So this sophomore - who should by rights be a freshman - is enrolled in a school who's "Institute of Engineering" is considered one of the top public school programs in the entire state. He has transcended local and regional standards, and has placed himself in a very unique group of people.

He has been a varsity soccer player both years, even though he looked no more than 10 years old his freshman year. He is the media editor of his 2006-2007 Yearbook Committee, he's a 5 year captain of his club soccer team, and he has done most of this under some very suspect conditions.

You see, he was diagnosed as a Type 1 diabetic in March of 2005.

He injects himself with a syringe at least two times a day (sometimes three) and sticks his fingers and checks his blood sugar 7 times a day (10 when he's playing soccer), suffers from the ups and downs of sugar overload/deficiency [try that sometime while running non-stop for 80 minutes in a soccer game], and he has never complained.

That's right...never.

Oh sure, he cried when he found out, stating that it wasn't fair - and it wasn't. But he has pushed on academically, socially, and athletically, routinely taking on bigger and stronger players on the soccer field and putting them in their place. For those of you who don't know it, diabetes limits your growth and physical development, because doctors limit your diet and the subsequent intake of sugar. So my 5-7 inch tall, 125 lb son has to take on man-sized boys, many of them 6-1 and 190 lbs, and he does so with courage and resolve - and he NEVER backs off.

He could have quit the day he was diagnosed with this awful affliction - but he didn't. He could have claimed that the kids he's competing against on the soccer field are too big and too strong for him - but he hasn't. He could have said that he felt like crap...the diabetes getting the best of him, and skipped his homework or school itself, but the proud young fighter of a man that he is - he just couldn't.

And on the 23rd of April, in this the 2007th year, he will make his father realize that the best day he ever had was when he cashed in his chips on a winning hand, and went to the hospital to meet the newborn boy that would become a bigger man at 15 than that father had ever been in his entire life.

Perhaps that was the message of that November Sunday, 15 and a half years ago: "Move over dad, it's my turn now."