After this debacle of a basketball game, my son, a college freshman, says to me, “I should have gone to USC. I could probably walk on to basketball and make the team.”
“Are you kidding? You could probably walk on and start,” I said.
NEWPORT BEACH A man accused of becoming angered at his 7-year-old son and tossing him off a boat during a harbor cruise pleaded not guilty Monday to felony child endangerment.
Sloane Steven Briles, 35, of Irvine, is accused of being under the influence of alcohol and poking his son in the chest and repeatedly slapping him in the face before tossing him about 10 feet off the boat and into the path of oncoming boat traffic.
Prosecutors say he made no attempt to save his son and jumped off the boat only to avoid angry passengers on the Queen.
A boat had to maneuver to avoid striking the boy, who treaded water before a captain on another boat tossed him a life ring, according to prosecutors.
In interviews with television reporters following his arrest, Briles said he and his son were just playing around and that they both decided to jump into the harbor for fun.
If you put all your eggs in one basket, it’s easier to keep an eye on that basket, but it hurts when you have to let go of it . . .
Anti-establishment types
One of the highlights of our Berkeley visit was a trip to The Cheese Board for pizza.
We parked on a side street and when we walked around the corner I saw a line of people down the sidewalk.
“What’s that line?” I asked.
“That’s The Cheese Board,” my kid said. “Don’t worry, it goes fast.”
He explained that they only make one kind of pizza per day — always vegetarian — so all you can do is order a slice, a half pizza or a whole pizza and be on your way.
Yesterday’s selection was fresh corn, feta cheese, mozzarella, and cilantro pesto.
Because they serve so fast and the shop is small, there’s not not enough room for all the patrons, many of whom repair to the median on Shattuck Ave. and enjoy their pizza in the shade of the Keep Off Median signs.
It’s Sunday night. We moved the boy in yesterday, had dinner with him tonight, and tomorrow morning, we’re going home without him.
I’ve had some emotional ups and downs this weekend as I cross the gulf between youth and old age. I almost cried five or six times.
I feel great about Berkeley. It’s a college town all the way. Men, women and children are decked out in Cal gear for miles around.
We live in Irvine, which also has a UC campus, but it’s not the same atmosphere at all. “That’s because no one wants to go to UC Irvine,” the boy said.
I feel good that he already knows some people. His best friend from high school is his dorm roommate. We met a couple of other high school classmates, one at a pizza place and one in the parking lot of the guest house. We met friends of friends, brothers and sisters of friends . . .
I feel good that the boy is not the same kind of mopey misfit that I was at his age. That’s really what I feel the best about. He’s polite and confident and his confidence rubs off on me that he’ll be able to handle things.
We dropped him off at the dorm tonight after dinner. I’ve been saying things to him for 18 years, and I couldn’t think of anything to say to him that I hadn’t already said.
I hugged him one last time and he went inside . . .
My boy leaves for college tomorrow, so this is my last day as a live-in dad.
I’m happy for him but I’m sad that something I’ve enjoyed so much is ending.
It’s one thing to say, “I’ll be able to deal with that day when it comes,” and it’s another thing to find yourself at that day, dealing with it . . .
Borders, unable to find a buyer willing to get it out of bankruptcy, plans to close its remaining 399 stores and go out of business by the end of September.
“When Borders started up 40 years ago,” I explain to my son, “there was a certain percentage of the American public that bought books and read them.
“It wasn’t nearly as large as the percentage who preferred to sit on their fat asses and watch television but it was there. There was a profit to be made from it.
“Today, if I tell someone about a book I’m reading, they look at me like I’m confessing a perversion. Reading a book?!
“Not only does no one read books but if anyone does get a notion in their head to read one, they’re likely to buy it online and/or download it onto a device.
“The market for people who walk into a store and buy a book has dried up like a raisin.”
“Books, schmooks,” the boy replies.
I’ve never gotten anything out of trying to read Plato, and yet you keep hearing that he’s essential to an understanding of man’s existence, so I thought I’d check out a secondary source for guidance: Plato in 90 Minutes by Paul Strathern.
I’m on page 10 when my son says, “That’s taken you longer than 90 minutes.” He looks over to see how far I’ve gotten. “Page 10,” he scoffs.
“It’s not 90 minutes from when you buy the book,” I say. “You understand that, right? You have to give me some time to actually read it.”
The boy comes home from somewhere this afternoon . . .
“Where have you been?” I ask him.
“Playing basketball,” he says, as he heads into the kitchen for a beverage.
“I’ve been trying to call you. Why didn’t you pick up your phone?”
“Does Kobe pick up his phone during a game? Neither do I.”
Both teams played a strong game. The Devil Dogs gave up the first goal, evened it up at 1-1, then allowed the go-ahead goal with about four minutes left.
They had some chances to tie it back up but couldn’t make it happen.
Stealth added an empty-net goal with two seconds left.
Final Score: Stealth 3, Devil Dogs 1
I didn’t see this game because I was watching the Devil Dog semi so I can’t tell you anything about it other than the final score.
Final Score: Selects 4, Top Gun 2
Three of the four teams in the semifinals win a medal — gold, silver or bronze. One team — the loser of the bronze medal game — doesn’t.
Coming into this game, I was trying to figure out how to convince my kid, if his team lost, that even though they ended the tournament with two losses and came away with nothing, they still played a great tournament — better than all but three of the teams in the country.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to do that.
The Devil Dogs were quite a bit better than Top Gun and dominated the game. They were faster and stronger and got to every puck first.
My boy scored the last goal of the game. I’ve watched him play a lot of games and score a lot of goals over the last 12 years or so but he’s starting college in a few weeks and his future hockey plans are uncertain at this time. It may be the last goal he ever scores.
Final Score: Devil Dogs 6, Top Gun 0
Both teams are strong defensively. The game was scoreless until midway through the second period. Stealth took a 1-0 lead and the Selects tied it 1-1 with 1:13 left in the game.
It looked like the game was headed for overtime when the top shooter from Stealth fired a perfect wrist shot into the top left corner of the net, past the best goalie in the division, to win the tournament with 1.1 seconds remaining.
Final Score: Stealth 2, Selects 1
My expectations for this Devil Dog team started out pretty low. They haven’t been a powerhouse team this season. The goaltending and discipline have been subpar at times.
They hadn’t won a tournament in a while even in local and regional events, so my hopes were not high for their ability to compete at the national level.
At the beginning of the tournament, my hope was that they would at least win a game.
When they won a game, I hoped that they would win another game. Then I hoped they would make the playoffs. Then I hoped they would make the semifinals and then I hoped that they would win a medal.
I just saw all the kids eating pizza in the lobby of the hotel here so I took the opportunity to tell them that they’re great players, they’ve got a lot of heart, and I’ve really enjoyed watching them play.
That’s it from Florida, where the weather’s been great except for the heat, humidity and thunderstorms.
Heading back home in the morning . . .
We’re waiting at LAX for a flight to Houston when a large black man in his 20s sits down near us in the waiting area.
“I could take that guy one-on-one,” my kid announces.
I’m about to mention to him that not every big black dude is necessarily a basketball player when he says, “Wait a minute, isn’t that Mario Williams?”
I have to admit to him that I wouldn’t recognize Mario Williams if I saw him.
He pulls up a photo of Mario Williams on his iPhone. “Yeah,” I say, “that does look like him.”
“And he’s waiting for a flight to Houston? That’s got to be Mario Williams.”
The final clue is that the guy is decked out in Adidas gear from head to toe. A Google search for “mario williams adidas” on the iPhone reveals that Mario Williams has a sponsorship deal with Adidas.
So we’re pretty sure we saw Mario Williams at the airport.
Continental changed up the seat assignments . . . the boy ends up in Row 8 while I’m back in Row 26.
“I’m way ahead of you,” he says. “I can pick up the rental car and drive to the hotel before you even get off the plane.”
I was a son to my father . . .
And he taught me and said to me,
“Let your heart hold fast my words. . . .”
Today is my last Fathers Day with a live-in kid. My boy and I have been walking a path together for 18 years and the time has come for him to set out on his own path.
We are both headed into a great unknown . . .
“There’s a slice of pizza missing,” my son announces.
When I got home from work, there were two slices left over from last night. I ate one and left one for him.
“I calibrated my appetite for two slices,” he says.
“The pessimist,” I say, “sees that there’s one slice missing. The optimist sees that there’s one slice left.”
I was thinking about my overall dad performance over the last 18 years. Did I do enough activities with the boy?
My memory is playing tricks on me. I did do a lot of activities with him when he was younger, but as he got older, he did more things on his own and with his friends.
MY GOD, WHAT IF I DIDN’T DO ENOUGH ACTIVITIES WITH HIM?
“Hey, you wanna shoot some hoops?” I ask.
“Okay,” he says.
My son, a high school senior, says, “Guess what I’m doing in school tomorrow?”
I venture a guess: “Learning things.”
“No. It’s actually a trick question. I’ve got a free period, then another free period, then a movie.”
“I hope I’m getting a tax refund for this nonsense.”
My kid plays his last high school hockey game(s) tonight — semis at 7, finals (maybe) around 9.
My son comes back from watching African Cats for “field hours” . . .
“How was the movie?” I ask.
“Pretty good. Samuel L. Jackson was narrating it.”
“He was? Did he say ‘Get these motherf-ing cats off this motherf-ing plain’?”
“No.”
“‘Plain’ — get it? A flat expanse of land?”
Once again, my kid and I are at the gas station where you can’t lock the pump handles in place and you have stand there and hold them.
Except that thanks to our previous visit, he now knows how to keep the pump on by wedging the gas cap in the handle, so while everyone else is standing around holding pump handles, he’s sitting in the front seat next to me.
“Look at everyone holding the pump handles,” I point out. “Don’t say I never improved your life by passing along my hard-earned wisdom.”
“Holding the handle builds character,” he says.
“So get out and hold it then. I don’t care. At least now you have options.”
“Nah, I’ve already got enough character.”
I always kind of assumed that the boy would follow in his pappy’s footsteps at USC, but he just sent in his intent to register at Cal, thus ending (effectively) a journey that started on his first day of kindergarten last week.
It wasn’t last week? It was 13 years ago? It seems like last week. I picked him up after school and he sat in the back seat of the car sipping a juice box while we talked about his day. I have a video of it.
There are three schools in California that you could plausibly go to ahead of USC: Stanford, Cal Tech — two small, private schools with ultra-low admit rates — and Cal.
Cal has a better academic reputation than USC. USC has cranked up the academics over the last 20 years, and especially over the last 10 years, to the point where if you compare the academic numbers for incoming freshmen, Cal no longer has the advantage — but reputations die hard.
I’m happy that the boy is going to Cal.
I’m happy about how happy he is to be going to Cal.
I’m happy that some of his classmates are also going to Cal.
I’m sad that he’s going to be leaving.
