Morning Workout

Being a baby is not all fun and games, as you can see from the determined expression on John Patrick's face while he completed his workout this morning.

Tummy time, of course, is important for strengthening his neck muscles.

Nanny Carley

Jude and I and, especially, John Patrick, are fortunate to have not one, but two, wonderful nannies. Here's a photo of Nanny Carley with John Patrick on our front porch swing one recent morning, before I went into work.

My Tomato Patch

Jude has conceded defeat in our tomato growing contest. Here, John Patrick and I are posing in between my massive tomato plants. We're in the middle, in case you can't see us.

Shake, Rattle and Roll

One of the things Jude and I have been working on with John Patrick is teaching him to grab objects held in front of him, as opposed to merely placing them in his hand. He's doing great and, as you can see, loves playing with his favorite rattle. At times, however, he does get frustrated he can't fit the entire rattle into his mouth. It's funny to watch him try, though.

Uncle Rip

Here's a shot of John Patrick with his "Uncle" Rip Pewett, who met us for "popsicle" a week ago Saturday afternoon at the 12 South Taproom and Grill. Rip and I spent our formative years in college at the University of Tennesse, Knoxville, at the Tap Room on Cumberland Avenue at the end of the "the Strip." Sadly, the Tap Room closed earlier this year, another sign of how old we're getting.

The Soundtrack of My Summer

One of the constants in my life is music. Always has been, always will be.

I think I bought an 8-track tape player with money I made mowing grass, when I was 11 or 12 years old. Later, I bought a stereo and lots - I mean lots - of record albums. I was one of the first guys in my fraternity house to get a compact disc player. Over the years, I bought lots - and I mean lots - of compact discs. Of course, now I'm an Itunes junkie.

I'll listen to almost anything, from good, old fashioned rock and roll to latin jazz. I love what I call "roots rock" or "Americana" music. I'm always on the lookout for new artists or bands.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine with whom I play softball - Chris Vlahos - introduced me to a band I had heard of, but hadn't listened to - "My Morning Jacket," from Louisville, KY. He gave me a CD of theirs he had burned, "Z." I listened to it and was instantly hooked.

Next, I downloaded from Itunes "My Morning Jacket's" most recent CD, "Evil Urges," released in June 2008. Top to bottom, it's one of the best CDs I've heard in a long time. I've been wearing it out, listening to it whenever I'm on the road.

For me, when I listen to an old CD or hear an old song, it often reminds me of a particular time in my life. "My Morning Jacket" is the soundtrack of my summer in 2008, my first summer with my son.

Here's a link to a short video with clips of songs from the new album, "Evil Urges." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqP-LxXmyBU&feature=related

It's Quiet . . . Too Quiet

Man, it's quiet around the house tonight. Too quiet.

Yesterday, Jude and John Patrick flew down to Jacksonville, Florida, to visit our friends, Cyndi and Troy Baines and their children, Wolf, Scout and Finn. Jude had not been feeling well earlier in the week, so I was a little worried about the airplane trip, John Patrick's first.

Fortunately, the flight down on Southwest Airlines went smoothly. The airplane wasn't full, so Jude and John Patrick had a row of seats all to themselves. Just after takeoff, she laid him down in the seats to her left and he fell fast asleep. He slept almost the entire flight down. Shortly before they landed in Jacksonville, he woke up, but just lay there calmly, looking around.

For me, it was really weird, last night, for Jude and John Patrick to be gone. I had a quiet dinner at home and watched television. Later, after my friend, Hal Humphreys, called, I met him at Mirror on 12th Avenue for a glass of wine. Ed Hadley, his childhood friend, was at the bar with him. Ed is a lawyer whom I have known for several years, but rarely see. It was nice to get caught up with Ed and to hang out with Hal, as well. When I arrived home and got ready for bed, it was strange to be the only one in the house.

Today, I fought the heat at East Park, as my team played in the annual Nashville Bar Association softball tournament. We won both of our games, then hung out for a while after the games, chatting. It was miserably hot and humid. Tomorrow, we're back at it at noon, which will be lovely, since the weather is supposed to be hotter and more humid than today. Nice.

Although it's nice to have some quiet time, I'll be glad when Jude and John Patrick get back home tomorrow afternoon. I miss my family.

Sarah O. Dickson (1920 - 2008)

This afternoon, in the family cemetery in Dickson, Tennessee, we laid to rest my Aunt Sarah, who died last Thursday at the age of 87, after a brief illness. Prior to the burial, we held what turned out to be a lovely memorial service at Erin United Methodist Church in Erin, Tennessee. I was honored to eulogize her for our family and friends in attendance.

I could easily write five thousand words about her life, but I am really, really tired. It's been a tough, difficult week for my entire family. I just haven't been able to find the energy to post anything until now.

Aunt Sarah, my great aunt, actually, has been the matriarch of our family since my grandmother's death a little more than three years ago. In truth, she's been the backbone of our family, along with my mother, for many years. It's a devastating loss for our family.

Aunt Sarah was a country girl at heart, never straying far from our family farm on Yellow Creek in Vanleer, Tennessee. Her father and my great grandfather, Joe Dickson, bought the land for the farm more than 80 years ago. He died at the age of 99 in 1985 and Aunt Sarah has lived there, alone, ever since. She was a retired school teacher, having taught home economics at Houston County High School for many years. She stayed involved in the community and her church, serving on the library board and as a member of the Houston County historical society.

Aunt Sarah loved to cook, loved animals, loved sports (especially the Lady Vols), loved her church and, above all else, loved people. She was one of the most selfless, caring individuals I have ever known. When I visited her at Centennial Hospital last week, in intensive care, she was having difficulty breathing and was receiving oxygen. Still, the first thing she said to me, when I walked into her room, was "how are Jude and John Patrick." That's the kind of person she was, to me and to everyone who knew her.

She knew everyone and everything about everyone in Houston County, Tennessee. Over the past couple of days, I met so many of her longtime friends in Erin, Tennessee, most of whom were kind enough to share a story or anecdote about Aunt Sarah. Truly, she was one of a kind. We'll miss her terribly.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World

As you can see, there's cool, then there's "JP cool." Need I say more?

It's "happy hour" at 12 South Taproom and Grill. Two bottles of milk for the price of one.

Nothing Like a Popsicle to Beat the Summer Heat

Saturday afternoon, my good friend, Peter Klett, drove up from Brentwood with his son, Cort, who was born about three weeks after John Patrick. Earlier in the week, Pete had mentioned he and Cort would like to join me on my regular Saturday afternoon neighborhood stroll with John Patrick.

By way of background information, Pete and I have been close friends for a long time. We played City League softball together for several years and played against each other in the Nashville Bar Association softball league for just as long. I was in Pete's wedding when he married his wife, Charity. Actually, Pete set Jude and I up for our first date more than ten years ago, back when she was working at his law firm, but that's another story.

We have a lot in common, Pete and I, because we're both first time fathers and we're both old as the dinosaurs. Pete is 46 years old and I, of course, just turned 42. In a strange twist, when Pete's wife, Charity, went into labor and delivered Cort at Baptist Hospital in Nashville, they ended up in the same hospital room Jude, John Patrick and I had been in, three weeks earlier. Seriously.

It's been fun for us to compare notes, as we both struggle to learn what in the hell we're supposed to do, day in and day out, as first time fathers. It's been helpful, as well, since we're such good friends and we're going through so many of the same things at the same time in our lives (notwithstanding the fact that Pete is A LOT older than me).

Pete and Cort arrived at the house at 2 p.m. Saturday afternoon. At what was probably the hottest time of the hottest and most humid day of the year in Nashville, we hit the sidewalk rolling, each with our son in his respective stroller. As we strolled up 10th Avenue, Pete joked that people in passing cars probably thought it was nice that two grandfathers were out for a walk with their grandsons.

After a walk of about a mile in stifling heat, we arrived at our destination -12 South Taproom and Grill - a veritable oasis in the urban desert. There, we bellied up to the bar, which was nearly empty on a lazy Saturday afternoon, and had a couple of "popsicles," while our sons slept peacefully in their strollers. Pete prefers domestic "popsicles," while I'm a little more partial to the imported variety.

As we sat at the bar and chatted, our friend and fellow lawyer, Dwayne Barrett, stopped in for a sandwich. Dwayne has two sons of his own and, being the experienced father that he is, seemed to get a good laugh out of our struggles. At one point, as Pete was giving Cort a bottle and telling a story, Dwayne reached over and gently nudged the bottle a little higher, so Cort would get more milk and less air.

It's always nice to have a veteran to help the rookies learn how the game is played, once you actually make it to the big leagues.

Deep Thoughts (Not Really)

This morning, I had some extra time before our nanny, Carley Farley Meade, arrived at the house. John Patrick and I took a quick stroll around the neighborhood. He had been in an exceptionally good mood from the time we got him up.

Anyway, as we started off down the sidewalk, I had the roof of the City Elite pushed back, so John Patrick could look up at the trees, the sky, etc. He was still in his pajamas and as I rolled him along in the stroller, he was kicking his feet and wriggling around, which is one of the things he does when he's happy or having a good time.

From my vantage point behind the stroller, I couldn't see his face. Every few minutes, I stopped the stroller and walked around front and leaned down to talk to him. Each time I did that, his eyes opened really wide and he smiled up at me, like he was surprised and happy to see me. We played this game several times and every time I looked in at him, his eyes opened wide and he grinned. Pretty cool, huh?

That started me thinking, I wonder what John Patrick thinks is happening when he's laying in the stroller, awake, rolling through the neighborhood. He can't see me behind him, pushing the stroller. I wonder if he thinks the stroller is magic and just rolling along by itself, until I pop out in front of it every now and then to say hello. Maybe he thinks he's actually driving it.

Or, maybe, I have too much time on my hands.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

"Sir Elton" John Patrick Newman, immediately before performing a montage of his hits from the seventies and eighties. Compare him to the real thing here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43Ho_6C_fM4. It's kind of scary.

You Say It's Your Birthday . . .

I turned 42 years old today.

I'm not big on birthdays - my own, I mean. For the most part, it's just another day to me. Years ago, I used to really dread my birthday, mostly because I had a palpable fear of growing older. I think because my father died at such a young age - 31 - I felt like I would be in uncharted territory, so to speak, after I hit age 30 and beyond. For the same reason, I've always had a pretty strong sense of my own mortality. I don't worry about that so much, anymore, on my birthday, though. It just seems like any other day.

Today, Jude called me at work mid-morning and asked if I'd like to take a stroll with John Patrick to Mafiozza's for an early dinner, then down 12th Avenue to Las Paletas for popsicles, to celebrate my birthday. I told her I'd really rather have her watch John Patrick, while I cooked for dinner a new recipe (curry shrimp) I'd found earlier in the week. And, that's what I did, too.

We ate late, as we normally do. After I cooked dinner and Jude brought John Patrick downstairs, he was a little fussy. I suggested she get her dinner while it was hot and I took John Patrick out on the front porch swing. I sang to him (Pearl Jam, tonight) and he quickly fell fast asleep in my arms. I felt like a child rearing genius. Jude walked out front with her dinner, took one look at him sleeping in my arms on the front porch swing, and just shook her head.

"Sometimes a boy just needs his daddy," I said. She just shook her head again, while I laughed.

After dinner, I opened up the birthday presents Jude and John Patrick had gotten for me - a couple of books (When You are Engulfed in Flames, by David Sedaris and Rome 1960, by David Maraniss), a new pair of Birkenstocks (the pair I normally wear is probably 13 years old) and season tickets to the plays at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center (including Jersey Boys). After dinner, she surprised me with a Thin Mint Blizzard from Dairy Queen, which we have been craving since the advertisements started running on television. Very funny and very tasty.

Here's the thing, though. The birthday gifts are nice and I appreciate them. But I've already got everything I need, more than I deserve and more than I ever thought I'd get.

Family

I'm really blessed, as Jude's extended family (grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins) are such wonderful people. Her mother, Jane, has two sisters, one older and one younger. Jude has seven cousins on her mother's side of the family. Her father, Jim, is the oldest of five children. Jude has ten cousins on her father's side of the family. Interestingly, she's the oldest of all seventeen cousins.

The family is spread out (St. Louis, Cincinnati, New York City, New Orleans, Houma, LA, Atlanta, San Francisco, Charlotte, NC, Birmingham, AL, Wichita, KS and Nashville). It's a close knit family, on both sides, although we don't get to see everyone as much as we would like.

This morning, Ann and David Walker and their son, David, stopped by the house to see John Patrick. Ann Walker is Jude's aunt, her father's youngest sister. Young David graduated from Duke University a little more than a year ago and his sister, Margaret, is a rising senior at Tulane University. Ann and David Walker relocated to Wichita, KS, a couple of years ago, when David took a new job. Young David is joining them there, when he starts work in a couple of weeks.

It was great to see Ann, David and David and to spend a little time with them. Ann and David are truly two of the nicest people I've ever met (aside from David being a Vanderbilt fan). Long before Jude was pregnant with John Patrick, she and I had remarked on more than one occasion that if we ever were fortunate enough to have a child, we hoped he or she would grow up to be like David or Margaret, Ann and David's children. We still feel that way.

Sleepless in South Nashville

For the past two to three weeks, Jude and I have been blessed, as John Patrick consistently has been sleeping, in the nursery (a.k.a. "Men's Lounge"), from 9:30 p.m. to 6:45 a.m. All I have to do is talk to friends of mine with young children to reaffirm how lucky we are that he's such a good sleeper.

Recently, though, John Patrick has begun to roll over onto his left side, more and more often, while he sleeps. This makes me a little nervous, because when he manages to roll all the way over onto his side, he tends to mash his face into the mattress of his crib. Although I freely admit I am a worrier, sometime irrationally so, it concerns me that John Patrick might have difficultly breathing, if he plants his face firmly in the mattress and is unable to roll his head back away from it.

In fact, a girl I knew in college lost a baby to "SIDS" (sudden infant death syndrome), so it's not like it's one of those things I can look at it as something that happens to people I don't know. "SIDS" is real and I worry about it every night when we put John Patrick to bed, particularly since I've read that most cases occur in infants between the age of three months and one year.

Anyway, last night, about 12:45 a.m., I woke up and glanced at the video monitor we keep in bed with us. John Patrick was thrashing about and rolling onto his left side, using both of his arms to swing his body over. As a result, his face was pointed toward the mattress, not facing completely downward, but definitely angled in that directions.

Well, I got out of bed, tiptoed into the nursery, and spent the next 30 minutes rolling John Patrick onto his back. Each time I did so, he would thrash about with his eyes closed, never waking up, then roll back onto his left side. I became more and more frustrated, as I rolled him onto his back, only to have him roll back onto his left side, pressing his face into the mattress. It became a test of wills. Predictably, I lost.

Finally, against my better judgment, I tiptoed back into the bedroom and woke up Jude. I'm pretty sure she thought I was crazy and I know she thought I was overreacting. Still, she got out of bed, rubbed her eyes and followed me into the nursery (which, by the way, is the definition true love). There, she patiently moved John Patrick around in his crib until, at last, he was sleeping on his back, for the most part. By the time we got back into bed, it was approaching 2 a.m. and, of course, at that point, we couldn't fall asleep. When we got up this morning, we both were very, very tired.

I think, though, I've solved the problem. As I type this post, I'm sitting in the den, looking at John Patrick on the video monitor (Jude already is in bed). He's sleeping in his crib, carefully wedged in between two blockers that are designed to keep him from rolling over at night. I purchased them at Babies-R-Us this afternoon. Actually, I purchased two types, but we're going with the simpler of the two tonight, which seems to be working. He's sleeping better, which means I'll sleep better, which means, most importantly, Jude will sleep better.

Man, this parenting thing is scary sometimes.

"Boy, that was a long day."

After James and Megan's flight back to the Big Apple was canceled, we strolled with John Patrick up to Mafiozza's for an afternoon beer. John Patrick slept, while we hung out on the patio.

A Man in Repose

John Patrick, chillin' on the front porch, after a busy Sunday.

My sister, Tracy, and Jude, at home after John Patrick's baptism. I think this is really a great photograph.

The Two Janes

Old Jane, Young Jane, Jude and John Patrick, at home for lunch after John Patrick's baptism.

Jude, John Patrick, and her grandparents, Rita and James White, at St. Patrick's after John Patrick's baptism.

Kaitlyn and Matthew Hearn, my sister, Tracy's, children, outside St. Patrick's before John Patrick's baptism.

An Ending . . . and a Beginning

Sunday, June 29, 2008, John Patrick was baptized by Fr. Eric Fowlkes at St. Patrick's, the Catholic Church on 2nd Avenue that Jude and I attend. It was Father Eric's last service at St. Patrick's, as he has been reassigned by the Bishop, David Choby, to Our Lady of the Lake, a Catholic Church in Hendersonville, Tennessee. Hence, an ending and a beginning.

I've waited a couple of days to post about the day's events, mostly in an effort to gain a sense of perspective. Simply put, it was one of the five most significant days of my life.

Saturday evening, after Jude and John Patrick went to bed, I stayed up late straightening up the dining room and, generally, hiding all of the stuff I continually set on our dining room table every evening when I get home from work (mail, magazines, newspapers, etc.). Jude and I had arranged to have our families over for lunch after church, so I wanted to at least make an effort to put things in some semblance of order.

Sunday morning, we got up about 7 a.m. and Jude fed John Patrick, while I showered and got dressed for church. Later, we tagged out and I took over for her, so she could take a shower and get dressed. A little after 10 a.m., she fed him again and I left for St. Patrick's, where I was to check in with Father Eric to make sure we were squared away for the christening. As I left, I asked Jude what time she thought she would arrive at church with John Patrick. I cringed and bit my tongue when she said she'd probably be there about the time church started, 11 a.m.

I tend to arrive early for scheduled events, believe it or not, especially if I'm not real sure of what is to transpire. Jude, on the other hand, tends to arrive at the very last minute (or even a few minutes late). Her parents can vouch for this, actually, as I believe her father grounded her at one point, in her teenage years, for refusing to be ready for church on time. Likewise, whenever we take a trip out of town, I like to be at the airport, at our gate, at least two hours before we're scheduled to depart. Jude, on the other hand, prefers to arrive at the gate a minute or two before they shut the door of the airplane and prepare to taxi down the runway.

I digress, I know. Anyway, I left the house and arrived at St. Patrick's at 10:10 a.m. Literally, I was the first one in the building. Of course, I couldn't find Father Eric, so I really wasn't sure what I should be doing, other than scoping out the church to determine where our families would be best suited to sit. Having seen one other baptism during one of our church services, I surmised they would have the best view if they sat in the back of the church, on the left hand side.

I conferred with Ann Kulkinski, a wonderful woman who often helps coordinate events for Father Eric, during and after church services. When she told me Father Eric would want the godparents, Jude, John Patrick and me to enter the church with him and walk down the aisle at the beginning of the service, I panicked. In my mind, I could picture Father Eric waiting out in front of the church, tapping his foot impatiently, while James White, Tracy Hearn and I stood with him, waiting on Jude and John Patrick to arrive, so the service could begin. I stepped outside and called Jude's cellular telephone and our home telephone, leaving frantic messages on each, advising her she would need to be at church before the service started.

I calmed down, slightly, as our families began to arrive. Actually, my mother and Tracy, her husband, Gary, and their children, Kaitlyn and Matthew, got to St. Patrick's just before I did. This, of course, is not surprising, since my mother is the only person I know who arrives at scheduled events earlier than I do. I took some photographs of Kaitlyn and Matthew on the steps in front of the church, then greeted Jude's family, as they arrived. I was so pleased to see her grandmother and grandfather, Rita and James White. It meant so much to us that we were able to share the day's events with them.

I breathed a sigh of relief, as I waited outside, when Jude pulled up in her Honda Pilot. As I lifted John Patrick's car seat out of her truck, she told me she had gotten the voice mail messages I left for her. James, Tracy, Jude, John Patrick and I waited for Father Eric in a room off the front of the church and he walked in a couple of minutes before 11 a.m. He immediately put us all at ease, as he smiled and explained to us the order of the day's events, where we were supposed to stand, etc.

We followed him outside, first, to the front of the church. My heart was filled with pride as he opened the front doors of St. Patrick's and we followed him down the aisle. The congregation turned to look at us, as they sang the opening hymn. I felt like I was floating down the aisle, carrying John Patrick in his car seat as he slept peacefully. It was reminiscent of the February evening Jude and I got married, more than five years ago, when I followed Father Ed Alberts down the aisle at Cathedral of the Incarnation, my heart pounding with anticipation. Then and Sunday morning, I felt like God had bestowed upon me blessings I didn't deserve, but for which I was eternally thankful nonetheless.

At the beginning of the service, we stood up front, to the right, with Father Eric. After we pledged to follow the teachings of the church in raising our son, and the godparents, James and Tracy, did the same, we sat down in the first row, which had been reserved for us. There, we had a bird's eye view, as Father Eric performed Mass for the last time at St. Patrick's.

I wish I had the ability to communicate the palpable sense of sadness that hovered over the entire congregation, as Father Eric began his final homily. As is his way, he walked up the aisle, then back, as he spoke. I turned to watch him, because he was slightly behind our row. I had an opportunity to observe familiar faces, faces I see in church every Sunday, uplifted, watching him intently, many with tears in their eyes. It was very emotional, for him and for us, his parishioners.

He spoke eloquently, as he always does, and described the triumphs and travails of two of the apostles, Peter and Paul. He talked about how they had no idea the paths they would travel, when they chose to follow Jesus. Tying it all together, Father Eric described his personal journey, how he had grown up in Waverly, Tennessee, and been ordained as a Catholic priest nineteen years ago. He talked about how, at a difficult time in his life, he had been assigned to St. Patrick's, four and half years ago. He assured those of us fortunate enough to be listening to him that the parishioners at St. Patrick's had meant more to him than he could ever adequately express. And, now, though his path had taken him to Our Lady of the Lakes in Hendersonville, Tennessee, St. Patrick's would always be in his heart.

As he finished his homily, the entire congregation stood and applauded. There were tears in my eyes, in Jude's eyes and in the eyes of many, many others. It was such a poignant moment.

A minute or two later, Father Eric led us to the back of the church, for the baptism. John Patrick had begun to stir a bit, so Jude had removed him from his car seat. She carried him to up the aisle, smiling, as we followed Father Eric. John Patrick was wearing a christening robe that Jude's grandmother had made, more than sixty years ago. Her mother and both of her mother's sisters wore it for their christenings, as did all of her cousins. Their names were embroidered into the fabric of the gown and, shortly, John Patrick's name will be, as well.

Throughout the ceremony, John Patrick was quiet and peaceful. He never cried or whimpered, not a bit. Even when Father Eric poured the holy water over his head, John Patrick didn't make a sound. Jude and I were so proud. Father Eric anointed his head with oil, made the sign of the cross and the entire congregation joined us in welcoming him into the Catholic faith. As the ceremony concluded and we walked back to the front of the church, many in the congregation beamed and smiled at us as we walked by them. Later, Father Eric again told us how pleased he was to have been able to perform our son's baptism during his last service at St. Patrick's, because it gave everyone present something to be happy about.

Next, we took communion. The hymn we sang was "Only This I Want." It's one of my favorites and, on a normal Sunday, it can bring me to tears. Sunday, though, with all that had happened, I couldn't even get through the first verse. Then, Jude and I saw something that almost broke our hearts. As communion concluded and Father Eric prepared to take his seat, we saw tears in his eyes. It seemed as if he realized, at that precise point, that he would never give communion at St. Patrick's again. It was a powerful, emotional moment.

After church was over, we took some photographs of the entire family. Father Eric also posed for a couple of photographs, which was nice. We returned home for a wonderful lunch, catered by Fred Askew and Barker's Mill Catering. It was great to have so many from our families together for a meal at our house.

As Jude and I decompressed Sunday evening, we agreed the day couldn't have gone any better.