In this case, it’s a good senior moment

This is the last year for me.

The last year in which I’ve watched the seniors grow up.

From coach pitch to flag football to Hoopfest, as your kids grow, you’re lucky enough to be able to watch his or her friends and teammates grow as well.

Six kids in your family? You get to watch six grades go through Spokane’s sports system. Two kids – as in our case – you’re limited to two.

And that second group of seniors is about to graduate.

Both of my boys were lucky. They had the opportunity to play youth sports with their neighbors and friends as well as compete on teams that drew their roster from around Spokane. The expansion of their circle of teammates allowed their dad to see mature into young adults.

And some of those kids I will never forget.

Like Kevin.

One summer, when the boys’ baseball team was in Houston, Kevin needed a pair of tennis shoes. He came to the next game wearing a unique pair.

Remember those 1950s hot rods that had flames painted on the side, to make the car look faster? Kevin’s tennis shoes looked just like that.

I don’t think there was another kid on the team who would have been caught dead in those shoes. But they fit Kevin perfectly. And fit his personality even better.

Every time I saw Kevin play high school sports I thought of those shoes … and laughed.

Most kids make us laugh at one time or another. Other times they make us cry. And sometimes they induce both simultaneously.

Like when Jeff, possibly the smallest kid in Y football, was quietly psyching himself up for a football drill by imaginatively – and vividly – expressing his sorrow for what he was going to do to his opponents.

Or when Jon was knocked to the carpet – yes, we were playing an AAU game in Walla Walla on a gym with a carpet – so many times I lost track. He actually had rug burns but never stopped taking the ball to the rim.

Or Scott, who weighed all of 75 pounds and would never be a varsity basketball player, nailing 3-pointer after 3-pointer to score 20-plus points in a game – and finishing with an unforgettable smile.

Or Brendan, who couldn’t have escaped his father’s encouragement with the world’s most expensive earplugs, always calm, always focused, always poised on the diamond.

Or Taylor, a soccer/wrestling guy, combining the best of those sports on the basketball court.

The names run together. The games fade. The losses become wins, the wins become mythic. But the real memories remain.

Like this one.

Over the years – and I know this is an experience every parent goes through – I’ve spent thousands of dollars feeding my kids’ friends – and their parents have spent the same on mine.

A Costco run can last, what, 30 minutes when a herd of boys are in the basement?

Cameron was always special, on the field, on the court and in the pantry.

Everyone knew he was going to be the best whenever the desire gene kicked in. It did and he is. But my memory of him was built one summer day when all I wanted was some Ruffles to go with a ham sandwich.

Down to the basement I waddled, knowing that three (that’s three) large bags of Ruffles were squirreled away for just such a post-lawn-mowing lunch. But there was my son and Cameron playing Nintendo, surrounded by crumbs, two dead bags by their side, and a badly wounded third about to expire.

So when that first NFL contract comes, Cam, I want a bag of Baked Lays.

I’m going to miss those times … and those chips.