I meet my friend Jill to see
a screening of FLIGHT, Denzel Washington’s new movie. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t nominated for a
best actor award. It’s an intriguing
character study, but only see if you don’t plan on flying anytime soon.
Jill is also a single mother
with a teen-aged son. After the movie we
go to Starbucks, and over lattes and cappuccinos (they still seem
interchangeable to me), we talk about the near breakdowns our kids can inspire.
Close to midnight my phone
rings. It’s Alexander. He's just left an on-campus concert with some friends. He tells me, “It’s the first time I’ve had anything to drink all semester.” I’m thrilled. But that's not why he's calling. He is calling to tell me that he’s on his way to the emergency room, and
his friends have called an ambulance. He
was running, and while running, his right shoulder popped out. He hadn’t even fallen. This is the second time for that shoulder
(and once for his left shoulder).
I speak to him many times in
between. He is in the emergency room for
a couple of hours. Miraculously, the
doctors pop back the shoulder without giving him any drugs.
Tomorrow he turns 20. Poor baby.
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