Sunday, July 08, 2007


So I'm headed to a movie -- a Bruce Willis flick -- and, as usual, the cell phone goes off. Who could it be but, of course, my baseball son Wes (see Wes in photo; he won some golf balls at a parent/player picnic in Omaha for hitting a golf ball over the Missouri River).

First, there's an expletive, then the news: he's driving on I10 toward Phoenix and he's 45 miles out of town and he's been on "E" for about a half hour. At some point in time you ask yourself where your kids missed the boat on things like filling up with all fluids, including gasoline, before doing things like crossing a desert. Anyway, to make a long story short, he kept going despite my advice to call AAA beFORE he ran out of gas on the interstate at midnight, and he made it... but the texts kept coming through the first half of the movie, "the Bruce Willis never dies flick no. 4". The next day, the next call came. Wes was sick. He's in Tucson where he ate something bad - probably vegetables from a concerned friend. And now he's late for a date in Texas where his gal pal Jay was waiting with relatives for him. Of course there are long pieces of advice given on how to pacify angry girlfriends. The next day, the third call. He needs Grandma's scalloped potatoes recipe. He's cooking for all her relatives. And the next day the fourth call: the check engine light came on in his Subaru Imprezza, which he's driving here to give to his brother, Jon. This is Jon doing what he does best other than leaving a mess in the basement ....

Tomorrow, Wes leaves Texas, on his way here, to Illinois. This is his last excellent vacation before he goes to sign with the D-Backs in a week or so and heads off to the minors. Baseball players. Ya gotta love 'em.

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