James Burns: Kam's smile continues to inspire

There are two things that I've come to realize about the people of Merced, Merced County and the outlying cities and towns.

When push comes to shove, you care.

In the last few months alone, I've watched as people of all faiths, colors and political creeds have rallied around their fallen neighbors.

Second, even in their darkest hour, the sick and down-and-out somehow find a way to return the favor, to make us smile so big and so bright that we could melt an iceberg the size of Texas.

Kameron Huddleston knows all about smiles.

The kid's got one of the most charming in these parts.

"When you think of Kam, you think of that smile," Merced coach Rob Scheidt said. "You can tell he cares about people."

The sack-happy Merced College defensive end is in a bad spot right now. No one has seen his pearly whites for a week.

And that alone is reason enough to be alarmed.

Only it's much worse than that.

Kameron is lying motionless in a hospital bed at Fresno's St. Agnes Medical Center, connected to machines by a tangle of wires and tubes.

The devices keep him alive, though his brain has shown no activity since Tuesday, doctors say.

And this should make you cry, whether you know the big Teddy Bear personally or not.

One, because it's the worst kind of tragedy there is. Kameron checked himself into the hospital for knee surgery last Friday with the expectation that his world would remain intact. A week later, he's clinging to life, surrounded by hundreds of broken hearts.

And two, because he's not yet 19. Still just a kid.

Chances are his charm and innocence and trendy cool-kid look have reminded you of someone you know or once knew.

Chances are his story has reminded you of your own blessings, those intimate moments and relationships that shaped your young adult life.

And like me, you'll probably agree...

Even if this episode is only a scare, children don't deserve short stays on this Earth. They should be allowed to grow and experience life in all its beauty and wonder.

Play soccer or Little League or Pop Warner football. Sell beef sticks and chocolates on the weekend. Break Grandma's window and blame the dog. Ride a bike or skateboard. Lock their brothers or sisters in the closet. Get grounded. Graduate high school. Go to college. Find love. Fall out of love. Make friendships that keep them close to home, and some that take them halfway around the world.

They need to experience adulthood and the pressures of being self-sufficient. Find a job. Pay bills. Cook a first meal, burn it and try again. Search for a roommate. Get upset and realize roommates are overrated. Make that first big purchase -- whether it's a car, a dishwasher or a 52-inch plasma TV -- and then hope the rent check clears.

They should be given the chance to say "I do" from under an arch of flowers, hear the doc say "It's a girl" or "a boy," and then repeat the cycle all over again.

Kameron has experienced maybe half of that. In football terms, his game has been delayed in the second quarter -- with his team up by four touchdowns.

And yet, while we mourn his condition, this young man is working his own miracle. You probably can't see it or feel it, because the pain is just too overwhelming.

But it's there.

Trust me, it's there.

It's in the waiting rooms and hallways of St. Agnes, where hundreds of well-wishers from all parts of Kameron's life have congregated.

Teammates and lifelong friends have begged hospital staff to let them sleep on the floors.

Coaches, past and present, have stayed into the night, or kept close to their phones for updates.

It's there in the public eye. Employers have put compassion ahead of production and allowed family to be with family.

Prayers have been whispered in the dark, phoned in and beamed in over the Internet from all corners of the world.

Rival players have shown their support.

And then there are the girls. All those lovely girls. Randy Huddleston, Kam's father, never knew his son was a ladies' man.

He knows now.

Everyone says Kameron Huddleston's most endearing quality is his smile. That perfect, made-for-TV smile.

Well, it must be powerful, because in his immobilized state and these uncertain times, it continues to bring out the best in people.

James Burns is sports editor of the Sun-Star. He can be reached at 385-2417 or via e-mail at jburns@mercedsun-star.com.