Deserving better in darkest hour

As soon as I heard that an 8-year-old boy had died in a motorcycle accident at Rocky Mountain Raceways, I knew the criticism would rain down on his parents.

It wouldn't matter if it was motocross or hunting, it seems there are an abundance of people standing on the sidelines of life pointing out how dangerous living is.

They're the ones willing to blame, criticize and demean others for choosing to do something that they're too scared, too intimidated or too uninterested to try.

My advice is this: If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all. It's not that hard. Just don't sit down at your computer and pound out an epistle criticizing people you've never met for a decision that has nothing to do with you.

The reality is that sports are dangerous.

Sure, some activities are laced with more risk than others, but that's why we all get to choose for ourselves.

I grew up in Alaska and my father acted like my mother's seventh child. He introduced us to dirt bikes, trampolines and, eventually, ATVs. I never raced anything motorized competitively. I think if we'd lived anywhere near a track like the one at RMR, my dad would have had me signed up in a heartbeat.

My father tackles fear by embracing it. When he nearly died in a plane crash in the middle of nowhere, he took more extensive training and got back in a plane. When a horse bucked him off, he climbed back in the saddle. When he injured himself playing sports, he bandaged up and then suited up for the next game.

He was short on pep talks but big on showing us how much living a person could do if you're determined.

I was riding my bicycle to a softball game when I was 10 years old, and I fell and cut my chin open. The gash was wide and deep and my green and white uniform was covered in blood. My parents took me to the hospital, where a doctor stitched up my face. Then they took me to my softball game, just in time for me to play one inning of the game. Some of the other parents mentioned they were surprised to see me, and a few pointed out that I hadn't even changed my bloody clothes. When my coach asked why I'd come, I told him I just didn't want to miss a game.

Injuries, accidents and even tragedies are a very unfortunate part of life. They are also, oftentimes, unforeseen and unavoidable. Pain, like fear, can rob you of life's rewards.

Nobody wants to suffer, but it seems to be an integral part of the human condition. Oftentimes the only real choice is how to deal with what befalls us. Instead of second-guessing the Emerson's family's decision to allow Logan to race, maybe we should admire the graceful, selfless way they handled the unbearable pain of losing a child. His parents donated his organs, an act that seems small but is unfortunately too rare.