Undiagnosed

We went to the St. Jude telethon Saturday night to present the money that we had raised all year at school. The three boys and I stood under the lights waiting for our cue. Just before it was our time one of the boys looked back at me and whispered "Mr. Ritchason, I think I'm gonna pee my pants" with a serious, deeply concerned look on his face. Well that would be a first for the telethon. Someone urinating on live television while the mayor answers phones in the background. Just then a heavily makeuped Lee Ranson (who is one day away from death) walked up and called me "Mitch." I guess he combined my first name and last name maybe like one of those Hollywood couple nicknames (Brangelina, Tomkat, Locoke). But all was forgiven when he recognized me as a Golden Apple winner. Try getting that shout-out, Forest Whitaker. He asked the same questions we get every year and the boys fumbled over the total which has also become something of an annual tradition. While we were on the air, one of the St. Jude runners stopped to admire Liam lying in his stroller. She smiled, shook her head, and said to Rachel "Well that's what we do this for." To all those who are concerned, Liam is not undergoing chemotherapy. He's just a little bald.