My model son

We frequently attend events sponsored by the PADRE Foundation, a non-profit group supporting children with diabetes and their families. PADRE pays for the events by raising money in a yearly fashion show. This year, I decided Mark is old enough to give back to the group that has already given us so much.

"You wanna be in a fashion show?" I asked, showing him the postcard announcement.

"No," he immediately scoffed.

"You get to keep the clothes," I said casually.

"OK, then yes," he answered, just as quickly. "What kind of clothes?"

"I dunno," I said. "Kids clothes?"

The lure of free clothes did it--he was in. (Mark sells out easily.) And like most of Mark's extracurricular activities, it meant I was in, too.

Our first obligation was a photo shoot. The team wanted a head shot and an action shot, something that promoted this year's theme of Defying the Limits. Mark couldn't wait.

"I'm gonna bring my scooter!" he yelled. "And my yo-yo. And my baseball uniform. And my trophies. And my..."

"Hey, hey!" I said. "Let's defy the limits against diabetes, not against the space in my car."

The photo shoot was running late when we got there, and my son engaged in less-than-model behavior. I could tell he's an amateur, because most professional models ignore food, but the first thing Mark did on arrival was scarf down four protein bars.

"What?" he asked, as I watched him down the first three. "I'm hungry!"

I didn't say anything, and he didn't either until he'd finished.

"Ooooh, my belly!" he complained, rubbing his full stomach. I just shook my head.

I had a packet of papers to fill out, mostly waivers to sign. A few asked for Mark's clothing size, which I thought was silly, since the show is four months away, and he'll invariably grow a whole size by then. It also wanted to know his hobbies, which Mark told me were "Football, basketball, sports and scootering."

"Oh, and awesomeness," he added. So I wrote that my humble son excelled in sports and awesomeness.

It was fun to see how all the other kids with diabetes defied their limits. There was one kid in a karate uniform, one in a soccer uniform, and one in an apron. Her sister wore a pair of boxing gloves, and we giggled as she smiled sweetly for the camera.

"She should look mean," Mark observed. "Boxers don't smile!"

There was a girl who looked like a rock star, and another girl who asked what her talent was, besides looking cool.

"I'm a singer," she answered.

"Oh, cool! How are you gonna show that in the pictures?"

The future rock star held up a microphone. It conveyed the message perfectly.

My favorite kid was wearing a wetsuit instead of a sports uniform. She was also lugging an eight-foot long giant whale float, which cracked me up--it was twice as big as she was! Later on, she left it propped with its nose against the wall. I nudged Mark and whispered, "Looks like the whale's on a time out!"

During the parents meeting, I learned that my commitments included monthly meetings, taking Mark to a final fitting, and forking out a lot of money for the chance to see my son work the catwalk for 30 whole seconds.

While I was nervously adding up the costs in my head, the mom in charge told us the benefits of participating. The biggest one was giving the kids a support group, and the chance to be around other kids with diabetes.

"That time is really important for them," she said. "It makes them realize they are normal."

I nudged Mark again. "Hear that? She thinks you're normal!" He didn't think it was as funny as I did.

Mark was pulled from the meeting early, to be interviewed on video. I have no idea what he said, and truth be told, I'm a little afraid. Uncensored Mark has a fifty-fifty chance of being either hilarious or wildly inappropriate.

But whatever. I just keep reminding myself it's for a great cause, because honestly, I am grateful for the PADRE Foundation and all their support. They excel at awesomeness even more than Mark does.