A "great'' story? For whom?

Every once in awhile, I do a story that's at once horrible and life-affirming. The only problem with these stories is, they usually chronicle tragedy and, in so doing, resurrect it for those directly affected.

Like today. I'm writing for Sunday something about Rod Huber, the football coach at Mount St. Joe. It should be the best time of his life, and in many ways, it is. In one, heartbreaking way, it isn't. The Mount is undefeated, has lost just 1 regular season game in 3 years. There is no better local football story.

It's also been 3 years since Huber's 12-year-old son committed suicide. I can't ignore that, even as I know the last thing Rod Huber's family wants to read about, again, is Jake's death. If it's true we can't know pleasure without first knowing pain, this family knows all about pleasure.

I feel damned guilty today, peering into the unmade bedrooms of the Hubers' lives. And very, very grateful and humbled they're willing to let me in. The only way to justify a piece like this is to write it hoping it will change one life, move one heart, nudge one soul that drifts. Otherwise, there is no point in retelling a "great'' story.

Live big. Gratefully.