AEDs at ballfields would give athletes like Lazar LaPenna a chance at life

Maybe we Americans need to think more like a team.

Even the youngest among us wants to contribute to the team effort — to make a difference.

Last year at a Point Lookout ballfield, 10-year-old Lazar LaPenna of Long Beach held his bat high, waited for the pitch, then belted the ball. He didn't know it was his final at-bat, his last game, and the last day of his life. That was one year ago this week.

As he stood at the plate, I'm sure he felt safe. After all, he was on Long Island and his dad was just feet away, about to record the hit if he got one. Sure, Lazar would be safe at home. But he wasn't.

Lazar got the hit, made it to first, then turned to smile at his dad. Gregg LaPenna caught that, then looked down to enter the hit. That's when he heard Lazar's brother Gerry say, "Lazar's having a seizure!" Gregg looked up and saw Lazar down at first base, and knew it was not a normal seizure.

It was his heart. The young man's life of unrealized promise was in the balance for precious minutes. A balance that could have tipped in his favor had there been an automated external defibrillator, or AED, at that ballfield. But there wasn't.

An AED can cost up to $3,000. But what is the dollar amount of a child? What is your son worth, your granddaughter?

At 10, Lazar didn't realize the importance of having lifesaving machines nearby. He and his teammates counted on us adults to deal with the heavy stuff of life. But we didn't.

Young people die every day in America, but rarely this young. Teammates, classmates, friends, and neighbors will never forget Lazar. But we must consider a larger context: What messages are we sending our young?

AEDs are required at these ballparks by state law but aren't always present. The need to use an AED is rare, but one last spring could have saved Lazar's life. Shouldn't one have been present?

AEDs are easy to operate. Their use by private citizens is protected by our Good Samaritan law. Even if we never use the AEDs, they stand as a message to our young that we care about them. Like the ramps at curbs so few of us need, they speak of our compassion for people with disabilities.

The night before he died, Lazar celebrated his 10th birthday. He said to his dad, "I know I'm 10 but can I stay number 9 forever?" Adults who read this will celebrate many birthdays for their kids and grandkids. We'll see them grow, marry, and perhaps have their own kids. But Lazar won't be among those adults, for want of a missing piece of equipment.

I hope there will be an AED this spring at the Point Lookout ballfield where Lazar's brother Blaze, 8, will play and Gregg will coach on Saturday, the anniversary of Lazar's death. But for any ballfield without one of these lifesaving devices, consider a local chip-in, maybe a GoFundMe campaign. That would be better than a GoFundMe for funeral expenses or a memorial. Maybe Lazar's death at first base can make a difference in Team America. Maybe Lazar will cause us to consider the errors we've made in not providing AEDs. A new focus on them could bring other young batters safely home.