Concussions & Consequences (eBook)

Chapter 2

A Portrait of Preston
as a Young Man

Weighing in at 9lb/3oz, 22 inches long at birth, my oldest son Preston Plevretes came into the world big, and he just kept on growing, consistently registering in the 90 to 95 percent rate on the standard growth chart. This singular though by no means unusual characteristic would have a subtle but significant impact on his life, particularly as it pertained to the earliest days of his involvement in organized sports; and most specifically, football.

What Preston’s size meant in practical terms was that during his Pop Warner years beginning from the age of seven he was routinely deemed too big to play at the same level as other kids his age. Consequently, from his very first season, he entirely skipped the Mitey-Mite level of 7-9 year-olds and was placed in the Jr., Pee-Wee division, a multi-layer of 8, 9, and 10 year old boys. This level may also include 11-year-old boys who, while older, are lighter in weight or smaller in stature, and thus allowed to be on the team. Preston would continue to be bumped to the next higher level in a Pop Warner placement system governed as much by weight and size as it is by age. So, what does all this mean? While this adjustment might seem to make perfect sense on the surface, it is important to understand that in sports—and contact sports in particular—size alone does not determine one’s readiness or suitability to advance to a given higher, more sophisticated—and a more physically demanding—level of play.

I had concerns about this as a mother, not simply because these boys were a year or two older than Preston, but because they had been playing the game for as much as two full years already, whereas Preston was just beginning. In other words, they had much more experience in how to play the game. In football of course, that means knowing how to most effectively hit, and tackle, and block opposing players, but it also means knowing how to take a hard hit when you the one being tackled and learning ways to try to minimize the impact—or to move in such a way as to avoid the impact entirely. Preston was going out there essentially blind, with no knowledge whatsoever of these important survival skills.

My fear was that he was going to get pounded because he was younger, and more directly as a consequence of being inexperienced. And that fear was warranted, because he was indeed pounded; and his physical dimensions simply did not make up for his lack of maturity as a player. In fact, there was one point when one of his coaches actually took the time to come to my husband Ted and me to suggest, out of genuine concern for Preston’s safety and well-being, that maybe football might not the best sport for him.

A former semi-pro football player himself, Ted did not agree. Rather, he felt that Preston was just learning, and that it would take time for him to catch up with the others. But he also firmly believed that playing against the older, savvier boys would not only serve to make Preston better, and tougher, but would eventually make him one of the best players on the field by the time he reached high school. And in point of fact, even as he got pounded, which as a mother I found hard to watch, Preston excelled and developed a devoted passion in what quickly became his favorite sport. With each game he played, week after week, he honed and applied his rapidly developing skills, and he got better and better. Both his father and I had to admire how he became a true student of the game that he would eventually master. So too, and perhaps more than anyone else, did his younger brother Perry, who would grow up trying to emulate Preston in every way.

And by the time Preston was ready for high school, he was one of the best players on the field.

He became an immediate standout at Marlboro High School in New Jersey, where he played on the varsity squad right from his sophomore year and was awarded Offensive Player of the Year in football in his freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior years. But that, literally, only tells half of the story, because Preston was one of those rare, highly talented individuals capable of playing extraordinarily well on both sides of the ball. So, throughout his high school career, Preston regularly lined up on both offense and defense, which meant that he rarely came out of the game. Typically, his coaches would take him out to rest—for one play—and then he’d be right back on the field again. It wasn’t unusual for Preston to play virtually all 48 minutes (the high-school standard) of a hotly contested game. Of course, any time that Preston was not in the game, he would be so pumped up that he would actually get in the face of his coaches to put him back in. He loved the adrenalin rush and the sheer excitement of the game. And while it was no surprise when he was elected a captain of the high school football team in his senior year, his athletic prowess was not limited to the gridiron.

Preston was also made a captain of the spring track team; he was such a natural in the javelin throw that he had hopes with proper training of representing the U.S. in the Olympics one day. At one track meet, a coach from one of the opposing schools actually came over and started working with Preston, giving him some helpful pointers on technique because, as he told Preston, “You’ve got talent.” He also played basketball in his younger years, going so far as to participate in the International Basketball games in Puerto Rico, as well as playing on his high school team during his freshman and sophomore year. While not a bad player by any means, he understood that basketball was not his best sport, so he decided to concentrate and put everything he had into playing football. Even though the Marlboro Mustangs was not the best of teams, Preston himself was a standout and he earned a position to play not only in the local Divisional All-Star Game but also in the 2nd Annual University of South Florida’s All-Star Classic Game in Tampa, sponsored by the Nationwide Athletic Recruiting Service, as a top recruit from New Jersey. This game featured some of the best athletes from across the United States as well as from a couple of European countries.

In Preston’s room at home, displayed in a wobbly, old 3’-by-5’ TV cabinet, are many football accolades and trophies, yet right alongside them are also many awards from other sports, including basketball, baseball, soccer as well as many distinguished medals in Javelin (his second favorite sport) and the shot put. Of course, how can I forget the belts he earned in Taekwondo during the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles era during his younger years. This display of awards is a disheartening reminder of a boy’s life filled with vibrant hopes, dreams and aspirations. It became too hard to bear, it no longer exists.

Our younger son Perry followed his big brother’s lead in playing multiple sports as well, which led to my two boys developing a close relationship based on their equal love and devotion for sports.

By the time he was 17 years old, Preston stood 6’2” and weighed 225 pounds, with piercing blue-green eyes, sandy-blonde hair, and not an ounce of extraneous fat anywhere in his entire body. His chiseled physique resembled that of the Greek God Arês (his birth sign), the God of War and one of the great Olympian Gods of the Greeks. Preston shares a Greek heritage with his father, and absolutely no one who observed his ferocious combat on the football field would have ever disputed the comparison to the God of War, especially Preston himself!

Yet Preston’s impressive stature as a human being was not limited to his physical dimensions, or to his abundant and gifted athletic abilities. Simply put, Preston was one of those rare individuals who possess such an enormously gregarious personality and social charisma that it becomes infectious to everyone around them. One of those remarkably self-confident kids who, for example, whenever a rolling video camera would find his handsome, perfectly proportioned face—his smile instantly creating two irresistible dimples like opposing question marks—winks at the camera like a seasoned and unabashed veteran of the spotlight, as if betokening a sort of whimsical wisdom and a maturity far beyond his years.

Needless to say, it was the kind of thing that made all the girls melt. One evening after spending the day at the beach with his friends, mostly his football teammates, Preston was standing in the kitchen emptying his pockets. Along with the car keys and some loose change, a bunch of small, crumpled papers the size of post-it notes came spilling out onto the counter.

Curious, I asked him, “What are those?”

“Oh,” Preston shrugged matter-of-factly, “Those are from some girls that gave me their phone numbers.”

“But Preston” I said inquisitively, “You already have a girlfriend.”

“So?” he replied in a matter-of-fact way as he jammed a loaded sub-sandwich into his mouth.

Dumbfounded by this response and as a loyal member of the female sect I stood there for a moment thinking God bless the girl who should ever fall for this boy. But if Preston ever needed any empirical proof of his popularity as admired football star (to both students and faculty), as a babe-magnet, and all around “big man on campus,” he received daily validation of these facts simply by walking the halls of Marlboro High. I learned this firsthand one day when I had occasion to accompany my oldest son to his school late in his senior year.

Preston needed $200 cash only to purchase two tickets for him and his girlfriend to attend the senior prom. I was reluctant to simply hand the...