I need to preface the following post with this information: the events of this incident took place at the Jefferson High School stadium, a mere half mile from my house. Mapquest it if you will--Jefferson Stadium to Ashebrooke Way. Half mile, 3/4 at the most.
Secondly, no football players were harmed in the writing of this post.
Most of you know that Tanner was born 15 weeks early, weighing in at a whopping 1 pound and 13 ounces. Sounds like a set up for weakness if you don't know preemies; but those of you have a little experience with kids who were tube-fed, hooked up to heart monitors, and downed antibiotics like they were candy know that setbacks and roadblocks make for some really tough kiddos. They're pretty stubborn, too, but that's a post for another day.
Tanner not only fit the preemie mold, he perfected it. Slip in the bath tub and slice open your chin? No problem. Just run laps around the ER waiting room on a rainy Friday night until they stitch you up. Ramped the scooter up the wrong curb? Rub some dirt on it and catch back up with the rest of the neighborhood. I mean, the kid went barefoot for the first 6 years of his life, practically, and had the scabbed up, scarred toes to prove it. Bullies didn't stand a chance with Tanner, either, as one of our McDonald's playground lunches proved. Apparently some kid had no intention of including Tanner in his hide-and-seek-with-the-plastic-toy game, which prompted this reply: " You're just mean. If it were my toy, I'd share with you and let you play, so who cares!" Umm, yes, yes, I was proud. So you see, Tanner is just kind of that way. Things roll off his back and he is pretty much easily contented, a kid of very few words.
Which brings me to Saturday, October 19th, a Saturday I know I, and especially Tanner, will never forget. Tanner's team finished their season with a home game and a 52-0 blowout of a local rival. Along the way, Tanner had some great blocks and caught a pass in the end zone for an extra point. I was pretty proud and watched from the bleachers as he and Coach K and Tate celebrated when time ran out. After what I'm sure was a rousing pep talk and rally for our play-off berth, I headed up the stairs to my car with Tucker and watched confidently as the other three walked out the other gate to Dad's car.
As always Coach beat me home, and I ran in the house to tell Tann what a great game he played. I looked first in his room, but saw no Tanner. I checked the bathroom and TV room downstairs and still no Tanner. I scaled the stairs as quickly as I could manage and headed to the back bathroom where I heard the shower running. But still no Tanner, just the Coach.
"Where's Tanner? I want to tell him what a great catch he made."
Seriously, at this point I still thought he was in the house, backyard, somewhere on Kirk premises.
"Tanner came home with you," was the last thing I heard as I flew down the stairs as only a pregnant mom could do and high-tailed my mini-van back to the stadium. I'm pretty sure my tires screeched and the neighbors may have thought that Kirk #4 was on his way.
What I found was as heartbreaking as a 1 lb 13 oz baby in the NICU. Tann had apparently given up on us and had begun the long walk home, still suited up in shoulder pads and cleats, his head hanging and tears and sobs heaving from his worn out little body. I hadn't expected this of my tough, thick-skinned ten year old. I expected anger, sure, and maybe a little well-deserved aggression, but tears? "I'm sorry" wasn't going to cut it, and I realized nothing I could say would make up for being forgotten, as if he weren't already aware of this thing called Middle Child Syndrome. I was horrified.
But just like every other obstacle, every other setback, every other letdown he faced almost 11 years ago, he bounced back. Within minutes he told me not to feel bad, not to worry about what happened.
"It was an accident, Mom," he offered, and though I had gone speeding from my house to make things better for him, he was the one who made things alright for me. "But maybe you could get me a milkshake anyway?"
All I know is when 3 Kirk kids becomes 4, we will be counting heads every time we leave the house, leave a restaurant, leave a ballfield, you get the picture.
