Basketball Jones

"Eight hundred and seventy dollars for two kids to play basketball?"* I squeaked.

My friend E. laughed as he wrote out a check for his youngest son. "My oldest is done with basketball. You shouldn't have had so many children," he said. "

"No shit," I said. "Thanks for rubbing salt in the wound."

"Children are like wounds," he said contemplatively. "Great, gaping wounds with legs."

"Yeah, and they bleed money," I said.

"Remember when we were going to let my youngest kill himself for the insurance?" he asked.

"Good times," I said. "What do you suppose our boys will say about us when they grow up?"

"It won't be like the Chief's kid," said E.

"No kidding," I said.

E. and I were at a retirement party today for the chief of our local volunteer fire department. After the mayors and commissioners and legislators and other officials had their say, the chief's grown son took the lectern.

"Dad," he said, "When I was little it sometimes bothered me when you'd have to run out to fires and accidents all the time. Look at this room full of people, though." He gestured to the fire station bay, full of people as it had been all day, people from all over coming to say goodbye.

He continued, choking up a little. "I read somewhere that a man's only real legacy is the life he leads. You've made this a better place. That's the best legacy you could leave for me. I'm so proud to be your son."

The chief and his boy hugged while all of us, cops, firefighters and EMTs included, stared at our shoes and snuffled a little.

Now, at basketball sign up, I asked E., "Can you imagine what our kids will say at our retirement?"

"Christ," he said. "How about, 'I hate you, dad. You never did anything for anyone.'" He signed the check for his son's registration, handed it over, and stood up.

"I can hear it now. 'You're the worst dad ever. All the other dads are way better.'" I handed over a check for my own kids.

"Thank God I'll die before I retire," he said.

"You and me both," I said.



* I know. There is no need to remind me I'm fortunate to be able to afford it. Please respect my self-pity, as unattractive as it may be.