Divorced Dad: Lost and Found
What happened when my son’s plane got stuck in a blizzard
The metal net snapped as the basketball hit it squarely with plenty of backspin. Shirt off, I had launched the ball during a friendly early morning game of HORSE with my 11-year-old son. His hair was surfer-blond like mine, only with a smattering of red hues. The court had to be one of very few in the country that had such a commanding view of the Pacific; right on the beach. The hills of Laguna Beach rose directly out of the ocean at an almost impossibly steep pitch, with homes held up by stilts hanging out over the cliff. “That’s game, brother,” I said, putting my sweaty arm around my boy. “We gotta get you packed up.”
“Just a little longer, Dad?”
“Nah, Seamus. We really have to get going.”
