My Life

His ankle ligaments are torn, I believe, so my son again missed a game tonight. The advice I've received from various quarters is contradictory:

(1) tape the ankle and let him play,

(2) get him to a hospital and have a MRI,

(3) have him rest it, ice it, elevate it, and take Ibuprofen.

We chose option three today after he strapped on his cleats and tried to run in our backyard.

He couldn't run, he couldn't put enough pressure on the ankle. It's torn up, and all we can do now is wait it out and let him recover.

This sucks, for a competitive athlete, especially because he knows his team needs him. But perhaps next Saturday, he will be ready to play again.

***

My daughter wore as her nightshirt last night an old uniform of mine. The Michigan Mafia. For 29 years here in San Francisco, this was my main social network, not the Facebook kind but the real kind.

We were a mediocre softball team but a very nice social team. Our slogan was "only the medicore are always at their best."

Tomorrow she is leaving on an adventure -- an all-girls wilderness trip, where the goals include learning survival skills, risk-taking and self-confidence.

I will be missing her. She will be fine.

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