Spring breaking in Panama City Beach! Sam's reward has been a gem so far

For a moment, as I sat on the white sand of Panama City Beach, the purpose of our trip here crystallized.

Bikinis bounced all all around me. A pair of super-tanned, super-buff guys prepared a beer bong a few feet away. An airplane flew overhead dragging behind it a sign for LaVela, the world's largest nightclub with the slogan, "Come party with thousands." The ocean waves' constant pounding of the shore mixed with the calls of seagulls in the air.

And then, for a moment, all of that disappeared. I saw a boy in the water, my boy, doing nothing but jumping into waves. Every so often he'd dive down and hunt for sea shells, but mostly, at that moment, he was jumping into waves, having the time of his life just trying to stay on his feet, looking ahead to the next wave, and the next one, excitedly looking out to the water, where forces beyond our control create an infinite number of waves, enough waves for him to stand there for a thousand lifetimes and never run out of waves taller than him, waves big enough to send him tumbling happily to the shore.

My son, Sam. The kid with the biggest heart I know. We're sitting on this beach because of him. We ate the best seafood of our lives here because of him. We're cruising the main drag of one of the world's top spring break destinations because of him. Getting tan. Or sunburned. Eating well. All because of Sam.

And because of a American soldier who was killed in Iraq in on Aug. 6, 2007.

Readers of my blog might remember a post I wrote in September about Charlie Thompson, the guy who makes "Freedom Pens" -- the pens that are made out of spent rifle shells that he gives to soldiers fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. Why does he make the pens? His son, Jacob, was killed in Iraq on Aug. 6, 2007. And now he makes the pens to honor his son's memory, and to honor the men and women who continue to serve their country the way his son did.

My son got to know Charlie very well last summer and spent many hours in Charlie's lower North Mankato garage helping make pens. And because Sam spent so much of his time there, Charlie invited Sam to his home in Panama City Beach this year. (Why am I here? Someone had to bring the boy. Plus, Charlie was appreciative of the writing I'd done about the project.)

My wife (Amy) and I decided to let Sam come because not once did we ever tell Sam he should go over and help Charlie. Every time he went, it was because it was what he wanted to do. And when Sam decided to donate $50 of his own money to Charlie's cause, that was all his idea. He really wanted to help, and really enjoyed spending time with Charlie.

So that's why we're here. Sam had earned his trip to Panama City Beach this spring break. While here, he's gotten to learn more about what makes Charlie tick, watch a waitress (whose husband serves at a U.S. Navy base here) be moved to tears as she learned about Charlie's work (Charlie has that affect on people -- his infectious grin and optimism are the kind that attract people to his work), and see a lot more skin than he's seen in his entire life combined.

When I saw him frolicking in the waves yesterday, I had no doubt that we'd done the right thing by bringing him down here. That child-like joy I saw in the water comes from the same place as his desire to help Charlie.

Like I mentioned in that earlier blog, It's always been tricky for me to sort out my feelings about this. None of this happens for Sam, for us, without a soldier dying first.

But Sam had no control over that. What he could control were his choices, and when the time came, he made choices that would make any parent proud as hell. I know I am. And so, while there may have been a lot to look at on the beach, my favorite sight was the 11-year-old boy attacking the waves, diving for shells, and making the most out of his seven days in paradise.