At the edge of a high school track, I watched my 11-year-old son Thomas’ face drop as the announcer read out the long jump results. His event was already over. I’d asked his twin brother, Charlie, to check the meet schedule, and he’d given me the wrong time. I’d trusted an 11-year-old with something that was my responsibility as the adult. Thomas had trained for months. Now he stood there, trying not to cry, while other kids celebrated. What hit hardest wasn’t just that Thomas missed his event.