book- high school.

(Place on page 32, before last paragrapgh).
I knew some members of both the football and basketball teams from my daily interactions on the box. Since I loved sports we had a common link before class as the students filed in the classroom. I did attend a few high school football games on Saturday afternoons in the fall. I vividly remember sitting outside of one of the end zones, in the shadow of a goal post, intensely watching my fellow Phantom players. I felt a part of the school when I sang "The Purple and the White,' our school song, with the crowd before the football game. I knowit was a Homeocming game, but missed the bonfire the night before.

My parents never "fought.' They had "discussions' from time to time, but they never screamed at each other. I do recall one argument over the high school football games. My father generally worked on Saturdays because he had to. It was time-and-half on Saturdays, good money when my folks were struggling to make ends meet. Especially during my senior year in high school, Mom suggested to my father that he should take me to the home Phoenixville games. She knew how much I liked football, but more than that, how fleeting this precious time was before my high school days were over, and she wanted me to be as involved with school life as possible.

It's not that Dad didn't feel the same way. He did. He felt as bad as Mom that I couldn't actually attend school, and that I missed out on much of the "normal" school activities. He tried to reason that he needed to work every Saturday. He was right. But so was she. I wished I could've climbed into my wheelchair and pushed all the way to Washington Field myself. I didn't want to be in the middle but I was.

When Dad refused to take off a particular Saturday during my senior year, Mom said fine, she would take me to the game. Back then, Mom didn't understand a lick of football. But she sacrificed her Saturday afternoon to make me happy- and to prove a point to my father.

Since Dad needed the car to go back and forth to his tire plant in Oaks, Pa., Mom pushed my chair to Washington Field. It was a sunny, bright and cool day in the middle of October. I know it had to be October because the leaves were brilliant and vibrant reds, oranges and golds as we strolled the tree-lined streets, bravely dealing with the frequent cracks in the sidewalks and obticles like high curbs at every corner.

I also know it had to be October because we were in the midst of the hay fever season. Along with being left-handed and having dimples, I also inherited my father's hay fever every fall. Around August 20th, right around Little League World Series time, until the first frost, I sneezed my head off. It was no different on this cool and breezy afternoon. I loaded up on tissue before we left the house, yet by the time we reached the high school grounds my used tissue was in crumpled and tattered strands. Sometimes I would sneeze  a good ten times in a row ( I counted) without even breaking a sweat.

And so there we were, Mom and I, sitting outside the end zone, Mom in a lawn  chair I had  carried  during the trip. Mom was so good to me. She pretended that she was interested in the action, even asking me certain questions about the play, but I knew she would rather be home baking, cleaning the house while the windows were open on such a pretty day, or maybe even attend a Bingo matinee somewhere local. Instead she was beside me, smiling. She did love the marching band and cheerleaders.

I remember the long shadows at the end of the afternoon, as we made our way back home, a good mile from the field. Dad just got home when we arrived. I'm sure he felt guilty because he proudly proclaimed that he came up with a comprimise: if he couldn't take the entire day off on home game Saturdays, he anounced that he would only work half of a day, or go in even earlier than 7:00 a.m., and still make it home to take me to future games. Peace reigned from then on.

Perhaps the best basketball player ever to play for Phoenixville was a kid named Danny who was in my graduating class. Danny was not only all-league, he was honorable mention all-state in Pennsylvania. He helped to lead the Phantom cagers to a championship season that winter. His name and photos were in our local newspaper every few days. Danny  came from  a very well-known family in town. He was a local celebrity. And Danny had it all: looks ( shaggy, Pete Maravich style long hair, deep blue eyes and a winning smile) and talent. In fact, Villanova, one of the area Big 5 schools outside of Philadelphia, recruited him, a high honor for a suburban kid.

I knew Danny from my Algebra class. He would always stop by the box to say hi. He seemed like a nice kid. He was everything I wished I could be. I finally met him at graduation. To me, even though I said hi to Danny all the time, I was still thrilled to meet him face-to-face. Maybe I would see him on TV some day, playing for Villanova, his basketball greatness reaching even greater heights.

The summer between high school and college should be a time to reflect, enjoy and look forward to the future. I'm sure that was the case with Danny. Around midnight in late July, as a fun Saturday night eased into a quiet Sunday morning, Danny was walking home from a local  fair. He was with his girlfriend but didn't have his car. It didn't matter- it was  beautiful, warm summer weather and his girlfriend's house  wasn't far from the fairgrounds on the outskirts of town.

The speeding car came out of the darkness from behind, too close to the side of the road where the young couple were walking. There were few street lights in this part of town. The car side-swiped Danny, just missing his girlfriend. Danny was pronounced dead at the scene. He was only eighteen-years-old.

The next morning church bells rang and news of Danny's death overnight spread around town, especially in the churches. Monday afternoon the newspaper headlines confirmed the talk around town: " Local Star Athlete Killed."

His tragic death hit me hard. I remember  how sad I was, how Danny had so much promise and life, so much to look forward to. It didn't seem fair. The thought even crossed my mind that here I was, sick most of my life, and yet a healthy guy like Danny had to die. Why?

Mom offered to take me to the viewing but I declined. I wanted to remember him as he was- the forever young star athlete and all-around good kid. Mom went to the viewing and funeral, saying the line to view Danny went all the way down the street and around the block, and remained that way for several hours.

Perhaps that was one of the first times I actually asked God, "why me?" Not "why me" as to "why do I have brittle bones and can't walk" but "why am I still here when others more worthy to live are taken away?" I didn't know the answer back in 1975, and I still don't really know. Like Mom said, it's God's will, and we shouldn't question it, only accept it.