One last swing at memories from the last 4 years
Shouldn't it have come with some sort of warning?
A loud bell perhaps. Maybe a flashing neon sign. Even an annoying air horn.
Something ... anything.
Where IS that big red "STOP" button that was supposed to be included when the motherhood package was handed out?
It's hard to believe that four years have passed since the subject was last addressed in this space. Yet suddenly -- and with no air horn, I might add -- the Class of 2004 has turned into the Class of 2008.
Looking at the names mentioned at the bottom of that "Keeping Score" column back in May of 2004 elicits a smile. Some of that group have had quite the college adventure, the most high-profile one belonging to Derrick Low.
What a treat to follow his career, to see the impact he had on the Washington State basketball program. And to ponder the "what-ifs" when Low and the Cougars met Roy Williams and North Carolina in the NCAA East Regional semifinal.
In a parallel universe, Low would have been playing for Williams at Kansas. It begs the question: Would the Jayhawks have won it all this year?
And Tiff? Named for his uncle M. Christopher Wells, a member of the 1980 Olympic crew team, who died before having a chance at the 1984 Games. The '80 team was captained by Christropher "Tiff" Woods. (Need more? Read "The Amateurs" by David Halberstam).
Readers were first introduced to my son in a 1991 column, a 4-year-old belonging to a slightly overprotective mom. (What other description could there be for a mother buying her 4-year-old a way-too-big jockstrap?)
Seeing him walk across the stage to receive his Pepperdine diploma yesterday was right up there with another end-of-an-era event. His first home run in Little League came in his final at-bat (off Cody Kempt, now a quarterback at Oregon) for the Major Rangers at Keolu Field, a blink-of-an-eye 10 years ago.
He is light-years away from that little boy whose bedtime buddies were his baseball glove and blanket, that little boy who had Dominique Wilkins and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles happily co-existing on bedroom wall posters. And yet, at age 22, he has retained that special sweet naivete that only Hawaii kids have, even when living an ocean away.
In my parallel universe, he was in the Major Leagues. His best sport was baseball. He was a damn good catcher.
But his passion was volleyball; no suprise since he was born about 32 hours after I covered Hawaii losing to Stanford in men's volleyball in Klum Gym.
I called then-UH coach Alan Rosehill that Friday morning from the hospital, saying I knew his team would win the rematch that night but I wouldn't be there. He asked about the baby. I told him, "Boy. Big hands. He'll be a setter."
Moms always know. UH beat Stanford that night. My son is a setter.
He had an early passion for sports. At 2 1/2 he wasn't really talking but, give him the 1988 Sports Illustrated Olympic recap issue, and he pointed to pictures.
"Lugo," he said of diver Greg Louganis.
"Louise Ritter, high jump."
We'd drive up the Pali and he'd look at the mile markers, practicing his numbers. How many 3-year-olds would associate No. 6 with Martina Cincerova?
I smile. I cry. I wonder where the years have gone.
Forget the button that reads "STOP." I want one that reads "REWIND."