Remarkable Sobriety

 

Bryce Brooks did not know Arthur Ashe.  He could not have.  Arthur Ashe died a bit more than thirty years ago.  Bryce Brooks lived only sixteen years.  In spite of having never made his acquaintance, young Mr. Brooks personified Mr. Ashe's definition of heroism. 

An honor roll student at Maynard Jackson High School in Atlanta, Georgia, Bryce was on vacation with his family in Pensacola, Florida the first week of April.  While relaxing on the beach with his family, he saw four teenagers - strangers to him - struggling in the Gulf of Mexico.  He dived into the water to rescue them.  

Bryce Brooks' heroism saved their lives.  It cost him his life.  His mother, Crystal, speaking of a son whose resemblance to Arthur Ashe went far beyond their alliterative names, said, "We're never gonna get to see Bryce grow up to be the full man that he was going to be.  But, we know that he stepped into his manhood to save these children, and that makes me proud.  It doesn't take away an ounce of pain, but it makes me proud of our son." 

If there is a greater disturbance to the Universe's natural order than a parent outliving her child, then I am not aware of it.   May it be a source of solace to the family of this young man that his life, which tragically lacked length, was a life of breadth and depth.  

Perhaps, having not shared time and space in this life, these two extraordinary souls shall have the chance to get to know one another in the next one.   

-AK

 

Seventy and Counting

 

On the last night on which I saw Mom, which was roughly two months before her death, we sat on the couch in her living room in Jupiter, Florida and watched the second National Semi-Final of the NCAA Men's Basketball Final Four.   North Carolina defeated Oregon in what was a really fun game.  The game ended late (the 2017 Final Four was in Phoenix, Arizona) and we each struggled to stay awake.  We made it to game's end at which time I kissed her good night, knowing I had an early flight home on Sunday morning.  

Mom was a sports fan.  We spent too many hours for me to accurately calculate watching sports together on tv.  During my high school years, when the only network on which to watch the NCAA Tournament was CBS, we used to sit up together late in our living room in Neshanic Station, New Jersey watching whatever late game from the West Region was being played on that Thursday or Friday night.  

Forty-plus years later, I smile still at that memory.  Tonight, the NCAA Men's Basketball season shall end in the National Championship Game in Houston, Texas.  Full disclosure demands my acknowledgement that I do not know the name of a single player in this year's Final Four.  Nonetheless, I shall put the game on - for at least a little while - just to see it...

...and I shall save a spot on the couch.  

-AK 

A Celebratory Pause

I have the great good fortune of being a parent of two extraordinary humans.  Each of them has the great good fortune of carrying not even one strand of my DNA.  Not a smidge.  There are certain of us whose genetic line should end upon our tripping of the mortal coil.  I am one such human.  

Today, my son Rob celebrates his birthday.  I am more proud of the man he is than I can ever adequately express.   May today bring him the happiness, the love, and the peace that he deserves.  He has earned every bit of it.

While I have no desire to speed-dial through the summer I am excited by the prospect of spending a night or two (or three) with him towards summer’s end in the Swamps of Jersey seeing Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Almost a quarter century ago, way back when on August 9, 1999 I took him to his first Springsteen show.  It was on the Reunion tour.  We had seats directly behind the stage in the very last row of the upper tier in Byrne Arena.  We loved every minute of it. 

In the years since we have seen Springsteen in Jersey, New York City, Philly, North Carolina, and Denver.  We saw Springsteen on Broadway together towards the end of its run.  I love that we have bonded through Bruce’s music.  It has provided me - a man not particularly adept at expressing my feelings towards my son and raised by a man who was even less adept at it than am I - with a conduit through which I could connect with my son.  

Happy Birthday, Rob.  Much love.  Today.  Tomorrow.  Always.  

-AK