CHICAGO _ One day in the dead of winter, our new washing machine had stopped working.
A hole in the garage drywall just behind my son Blair's makeshift hockey goal had exposed the water pipes to subzero temperatures and they froze, requiring a plumber to come to the house.
As the guy fixed the problem and patched the hole, he reached through an opening to the floor and picked up a hockey puck. Then he grabbed another one. And another. By the time the plumber had pulled out every puck Blair had put through the wall practicing his slap shot, the stack was at least 10 high.
Part of me was furious that my son, 14 at the time, lacked the presence of mind to think about where all the pucks he was shooting had landed. The other part relished the thought of a kid so consumed with making himself better that he never considered anything but improving his technique.
Nobody ever mentioned anything about the price of success in youth sports including plumbers' and carpenters' fees, but it was worth every penny.
This is a story about the cost of coming of age, which has nothing to do with money.
This is a story for every sports dad who wants more than anything to help a son who never really needs it, a story for every young athlete determined to turn adversity into opportunity.
This is a story that resonates on my 18th Father's Day _ and my proudest one yet.
