In addition to traipsing around on trails while I was visiting SoCal, I also had the opportunity to see him in action at both a practice and an actual game. Lacrosse seems to be a little boy's dream come true. The years of "Keep your hands to yourself," and "We don't hit with sticks," and "That's his ball, you'll have to ask for a turn," are squashed to oblivion, and there's nothing left to do but dig your way out of a scrum, smack your stick on your opponent's helmet or stick, and steal that ball!
Smacking the heck out of some kid's stick. 
Not only could I keep up with his whereabouts thanks to his lucky number one, I could always spot the rasta socks. One love, indeed.According to the scoreboard, his team didn't actually win the game. But he couldn't have cared less. He was mostly impressed with how sweaty he was when it was all said and done. And I was just happy to be the doting Auntie taking an overabundance of pictures of her nephew playing his heart out. He IS number one, after all.
Awesome post! It was great seeing you!
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