Trampled By Turtles

I love music.  I can't play a lick, but I love to listen to music.  All kinds of music.  I've always been that way and, thankfully, my boys appear to share my love of music.

The first real band - and by "real" band, I mean non-children's music artist or band - J.P. fell for was the Avett Brothers.  I can vividly recall circling around my neighborhood with J.P. riding in the back, as I played "Left on Laura, Left on Lisa" (by the Avett Brothers) over and over again.  Every time the song would end, J.P. said, "play that again, Da-da."  And I did.  I had just discovered the Avett Brothers and I was tickled to death that he loved them as much as I did.  J.P. was almost 2 years old, to the best of my recollection.

Over the next several months, we continued to listen to the Avett Brothers together.  Different songs of theirs caught our ear and became our favorites for a while ("Die, Die, Die," "I and Love and You," etc.).

As time passed, J.P. and I listened to (and continue to listen to) a lot of other music - Neil Young, the Band, the Drive By Truckers, Cowboy Junkies, Emmylou Harris, Fleet Foxes and My Morning Jacket, to name just a few.  Still, the Avett Brothers have always been "our" band - the band that reminded me the most of him.  I think it will always be that way, even though he doesn't know it.  The Avett Brothers, J.P. and me, driving around Waverly-Belmont and 12South, a snapshot in time in my life.

__________________________

Joe and I have a different band we love, which is really, really cool - Trampled by Turtles.

That's right, Trampled By Turtles (TBT).  They're a bluegrass influenced band from Duluth, MN (not unlike early Avett Brothers' music).  TBT features the violin, mandolin and, especially, the banjo.  5 piece band, with a guitar and bass, as well.  Occasionally, they throw in a cello for good measure.  I love TBT's versatility and the band members' musicianship.  Every band member can flat out get after it on fast songs, but their slow songs can pierce your heart.  Check this song out ("Wait So Long").

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xjdkc14-zwQ

I'm not really sure, at this point, how I stumbled upon Trampled By Turtles, because they're not a new band by any means.  As I recall, I was listening to Spotify at work a few months ago when TBT showed up as a band Spotify thought I might like.  Through the miracle of modern technology, I played their latest album in its entirety - "Stars and Satellites" - and fell stone it love with the band.  It's a cool feeling to hear a band for the first time and immediately realize you're hooked, that you've "discovered" music that just might change your life.

Again, through the miracle of modern technology, I began listening to Trampled By Turtles all the time.  At work I listened through Spotify, on my computer.  When I was walking home from Bongo Java at night after a run, I listened to TBT through Spotify, on my iPhone.  At home, especially when I was eating breakfast with the J.P. and Joe, I listened through Spotify, on my iPhone with my Jawbone (Bluetooth speaker).

Shortly thereafter, Joe (maybe 18 months old) began saying "tuuutles" every morning until I cued TBT up on my iPhone and played them for him.  Right now, I'm smiling, thinking about him sitting in the kitchen, in his high chair eating mini-pancakes and cheerios, listening contentedly to one or another of TBT's songs.  On several occasions at breakfast, J.P. and I played "jug band," a game we invented where we played pretend instruments and sang along with the band.  We used an old fraternity paddle for a guitar, a knife sharpener and mixing spoon for a violin and I actually blew into different sized jugs, all sort of in time to the music.  Generally, when Jude walked into the kitchen, she looked at the three of us like we were nuts, smiled and shook her head.

In mid-October, as we left Gentry Farm in Franklin after a Saturday morning visit to buy pumpkins, I videotaped Joe singing along to his favorite Trampled By Turtles song, "Alone."  The video is so cute it will absolutely break your heart.  Here's a link to the song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejfMrZQU3Eo

On Saturday and Sunday afternoons, this fall and winter, I've taken Joe out with me so he could nap in the stroller while I drank coffee at Bongo Java and worked or read or, occasionally, ate a late lunch at Edley's or P.M. and had a beer or a glass of wine.  When it's time to go, no matter what Joe is doing, I say, "Joe, want to go hear some Turtles?"  Without fail, he stops what he is doing, tells Jude and J.P. "bye bye," and we walk out the front door together.  He doesn't fuss, whine or cry.  Off we go.  It's fantastic.

After I buckle him in his car seat and start my truck, I play Trampled By Turtles' "Stars and Satellites."  He talks quietly to himself during the first song - "Late Night on the Interstate," sings along to "Alone," then settles down during "Walt Whitman," the third song on the album.  By the beginning of the fourth song, he's fast asleep.  Every single time.  Amazing!  I stop at our destination, transfer him from the car seat the stroller and we're all set.  It's really a beautiful thing.

I actually went to see Trampled by Turtles play a couple of months ago at Marathon Musicworks, a relatively new music venue in Nashville.  It was the first live show for me in quite a while.  Although I was probably one of the 10 oldest people at the sold out show and my back and hip ached from standing on a concrete floor for 2 1/2 hours, I was really glad I went.  When Joe is older and read this or talks to me about Trampled By Turtles, I want to be able to tell him I saw them play live and to describe what the show was like.

Music does have the power to change your life.  I felt that way about the Avett Brothers and I feel that way about Trampled By Turtles, mostly because I've shared those bands with my boys.  The songs they play will always remind me of J.P. and Joe, of the special, special times we shared together when they were young, even after they're grown, off to college and beyond.  And that's a good thing.  

A Moment

A couple of weeks ago, Jude, J.P. and I went to visit University School of Nashville (USN), a private school near our house that's on our list of possible schools for him to attend next year for kindergarten.  It would be a comfortable place for him, I think, as Jude and I know a few people who work at USN and J.P. has several friends in school there.  He'd need to be accepted, of course, which we won't know about until the first of the year.

Anyway, as we were touring the school and looking at the kindergarten classrooms and cubbies, J.P. suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.  "That's Victoria's cubbie," he said.  I looked inside it and, sure enough, there was a photograph of Victoria stuck on the wall inside the cubbie, above a girls' coat, books, etc.

(By way of explanation, Victoria was J.P.'s best friend at Children's House last year.  They played together on the playground every morning and afternoon.  For the most part, they were inseparable.  At times, they were like an old married couple.  In a argument one day, then back together the next day.  Victoria matriculated to USN this fall and J.P., who is a year younger, stayed at Children's House for K-Club.)

As J.P. stared into Victoria's cubbie, I saw a kindergarten class approaching in an orderly line.  I noticed Victoria walking in the line, so I called her name.  She looked up at me, then saw J.P. as he turned around.  Without saying a word, Victoria bolted from her place in line, ran to J.P., and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.  J.P. didn't know what to do, but he hugged back.

Still without saying a word, Victoria let J.P. go and ran back to her place in line.  J.P. just stood there, stunned, and watched her bet back in line and walk into her classroom.  Jude and I exchanged a look and watched J.P. as he slowly came out of his reverie. 

It was "a moment." 

As we watched Victoria and J.P. hugging, time stood still, just briefly.  Everything else melted away and it was just Victoria and J.P.  In life, "moments" like that don't come along very often.  I'm not sure I knew a 5 1/2 year old could have a "moment," but J.P. sure did.  And I was there to witness it.

_______________________________________

A couple of days later, Jude picked up J.P. at Children's House after school.  When he got in her Honda Pilot, she asked him how his day went.  By the way he was acting, Jude could tell he hadn't had a good day. 

"What's wrong?" Jude asked.

"Alice said she won't be my friend anymore," J.P. replied.  "Why," Jude inquired?

Apparently, Alice came up to J.P. on the playground earlier that day and announced to him that he was going to marry her.  If he refused, she wasn't going to be his friend anymore. 

"I can't," J.P. said.  "I'm going to marry Victoria."  Continuing, J.P. said "you can be a bridesmaid."  That didn't sit well with Alice, of course, and she stormed off.  Women start this kind of stuff early, don't they?

Later, the children were lined up, waiting to go back inside the building, when Alice walked angrily up to J.P.

"John Patrick," Alice said, "you've got two choices.  Marry me (first choice) or my great grandfather will kill you." (second choice)  Again, women start this kind of stuff early.

J.P. took Alice literally, as is his way.  He was scared.  When Jude asked him if he really believed Alice's great grandfather would kill him, he responded "yes."  "Why?" Jude asked.  "Because he was in the war," J.P. explained.

Priceless.

_________________________________________

I am going to tell that story at J.P.'s rehearsal dinner, the night before he gets married.  And I am going to laugh as hard then as I did the night Jude told it to me.



Leaf Party Photos

The White family (or part of it).  

Jimdad, Joe and Great.

Matthew, Kaitlyn and J.P.

David Walker and Baby Margaret.

Baby Margaret, in action.

Finn Baines, loving the leaves.

Roseann and Jordan Maikis.  Roseann delivered J.P. and Joe, and Jude and I will be forever grateful to her for that.  As good of a doctor as she is (and she's damn good), she's a better person.

J.P.

Finn.

Joe.

The World Famous Leaf Party

It came and it went, too quickly as always.  The World Famous Leaf Party.

Troy, Cyndi and the kids (Wolf, Scout and Finn) arrived mid-afternoon Friday from Neptune Beach, Florida (by way of Atlanta).  I was tied up at work, but Jude, J.P. and Joe took them to the Nashville Zoo, where the highlight of the afternoon was petting the kangaroos.

Friday night, Cyndi and Scout drove down to Franklin to see friends.  Troy and I picked up dinner at Edley's Barbecue for the gang, then Troy left to pick up Wolf at the airport.  Wolf flew in from Jacksonville, as he was part of the homecoming court at his middle school Friday evening (as if I didn't already feel old enough).  Troy and Wolf drove to Franklin, as well, and Jude and I put J.P. and Finn to bed together on the floor in J.P.'s room on a pile of blankets, sleeping bags and pillows.  They loved it.

Saturday morning, we all went to J.P.'s basketball game at First Presbyterian Church.  He scored the first basket of his nascent basketball career on the first play of the game.  It was pretty awesome, except for the fact he somehow managed to poke himself in the eye in the process of hitting the bucket.  So, as I was clapping and cheering, he was crying.  It was kind of like when it starts to rain while the sun is shining.  In the end, the "Green Lightning Machine" won it's third game of the season to push our record to 3-0, as I remained undefeated in my career as a basketball coach.

We ran errands, rushed home and completed last minute preparations for the World Famous Leaf Party.  Our home was a beehive of activity, as Jude and Cyndi directed the rest of us in setting out the food, chairs, tables, etc.  Soon our friends and family (and their kids) arrived and the Leaf Party began in earnest.  As the kids waded into the giant pile of leaves in our front yard, the adults watched and chatted amiably.  The weather was exquisite and the Leaf Party went off without a hitch.

Late Saturday afternoon, Troy and I took the kids (sans Joe) to Rose Park.  As late afternoon turned to early evening, we played soccer and threw the frisbee.  It was especially fun when we played soccer with a large blue exercise ball that's been bouncing around my yard and garage for close to a decade (I literally don't know where it came from).  After we got home, Cyndi and I picked up dinner from Chago's Cantina and after we ate, we called in an early night and went to bed.

This morning, Cyndi and I went for a 3-mile punishment run/walk, finishing at Bongo Java, as is our custom.  Jude and Troy brought the kids down and we had a family breakfast together at my home away from home.  We went back to Rose Park for more soccer, frisbee and playground playing (for Joe), then returned home so the Baines could pack and prepare to leave.

As always, we all were a bit melancholy as I took the traditional Baines family photograph on our front porch.  J.P. and Finn, in particular, were sad and shed tears as we said our goodbyes.  Cyndi texted us a few minutes after they left, just to let us know Finn was crying and said she wanted to move here and live with us.  We felt the same way.

Another Leaf Party Weekend in the books.  It passed too quickly, but it reminded us how lucky we are to have such old and dear friends as Troy, Cyndi, Wolf, Scout and Finn.

Indian Summer

Joe and I are in the "Indian Summer" of our weekend afternoon walks, literally and figuratively.  Fall is here, and it feels like it today, with the high temperature in the low 70's.  Soon it will be too chilly for our walks.  And, just as soon, he'll begin to nap in his crib on weekend afternoons (as he does not during the week).

And just like that, it will be over.  One of my very favorite things about being a father will have come to an end.  First, J.P. and now, Joe.  I feel melancholy just thinking about it, actually.

I'm at Bongo Java as I write this on a Sunday afternoon and Joe is sleeping in the stroller beside me.  My friend, E.J., has fired up a music mix featuring "Uncle Tupelo" (a top 5 all-time band for me), which kind of fits my mood.  Mellow and nostalgic.

Damn, I'm going to miss these quiet Saturday and Sunday afternoons at Bongo Java.  It won't be the same without Joe (or in another life, J.P.), sleeping in the stroller beside my table.

(I posted this out of order, as it was originally written in early October.).

Blue Mitts

This afternoon marked the conclusion of the fall season for the "Blue Mitts," J.P.'s baseball team I coached in the West Nashville Sports League.  To say I enjoyed it would be the understatement of the  year.  The truth is it may have been the most rewarding experience of my life.

The Blue Mitts were Wyatt, Brennan, Bennett, Benton, Cash, John, Cooper, Harrison, Luke and J.P. and I absolutely loved coaching each and every one of them.

The highlight of my weeks this fall has been leaving work early on Friday, meeting my boys at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ and playing baseball with them as the sun sank lower and lower into the early evening sky.  First, we stretched in left field, then I raced the boys to the fence in right field and back (At practice Friday, Wyatt "tied" me and was ecstatic).  Next, we took batting practice, as I sat on one knee close to home plate and pitched ball after ball to the boys.  Last, the boys ran the bases, twice.  In the background, throughout practice, parents watched and talked quietly and the boys' siblings laughed and played together.

When practice ended, J.P., his grandpa and I usually stayed behind so J.P. could hit another bucket of balls.  Often times, his teammate, Benton - a serious, quiet boy who is the most talented athlete on the team - stayed for extra hitting, too.  I especially cherished those times, pitching balls to J.P. and just spending quality time with him at the end of a busy work week.

Games were Saturday afternoons at Warner Park (field # 2), usually at 1 p.m.  Normally, each team batted through their order two times, then we called it a day.  Today, in the final game of the fall season, each team batted three times, which was nice.  J.P. batted last, which he loved, because he got to the run the bases when he hit the ball.

For me, there was something special abut coaching these boys.  I can't put my finger on it, but I think it has to do with their age, 5-6 years old.  They're all so innocent, not a care in the world at practice or games.  Truthfully, they seemed to enjoy practicing and playing baseball, but their favorite part was chasing each other and playing "diaper tag" afterwards.

Also, because it was "coach pitch," it's so easy to make a real connection with the boys when I'm pitching to them.  As each boy steps into the batter's box, I'm so focused on that boy and he on me.  I want so badly to give each one a good pitch (or pitches) to hit and for him to get a good hit.  As I would kneel on one knee 10 or 15 feet away from home plate, each boy stared out at me wide eyed and expectantly, a look of complete trust on his face.

I can't help but laugh, thinking of my first practice at Sevier Park, on a makeshift baseball field in the grass.  I was more than a little apprehensive, as Jim White (J.P's grandpa) and unloaded the gear from my truck before practice.  Thankfully, I found my groove pretty quickly, and by the second or third practice we were off to the races.  I started out wondering if I could coach and I ended up realizing not only was I a pretty good baseball coach, I enjoyed it tremendously, as well.

I'm smiling as I sit at Bongo Java, Sleeping Joe beside me, thinking about the fall season, from beginning to end.    

VU Jane

My mom (aka VU Jane) is having surgery tomorrow.  I'm not going to go into the details of what type or why, out of respect for her privacy, but it's not a small thing.  If all goes well, she will get to come home tomorrow evening.  I suspect she'll spend the night in the hospital, though. 

I'm not sure where to begin in describing how much my mom means to me.  I don't know a stronger, tougher woman.  She lost her husband (my father) at age 31 and was widowed with 2 young children.  She moved us back to Tennessee from California in 1972, first leased an apartment in Bellevue, then bought a house in Brentwood (the same house she's living in today, 41 years later).  A few years later, her father died. Then, her older sister, Ann, died.  Then, when I was a fresman in college in 1984, her oldest sister and best friend, Sue, died. 

She took care of her aunt, Margaret, until her death.  Then, she took care of her mother, Mary Alice, and her mother's sister, Sarah, until she died.  So much death and hardship, yet she never complained to me, not once.  She just got up every morning, loved them and loved us, and did whatever it was that needed to be done that day.  And then she did it again the next day.

She paid for Tracy, Alice and I to go to college, ultimately returning to work as a nurse.  For 17 years, she worked nights as the charge nurse at Baptist Hospital.  She touched so many lives during her time working on the 3500 (rehab) floor.  Simply put, my mom was born to be a caregiver.  It is her blessing and her curse, as she always has cared for others first, herself last.

I have marveled at the fact that since she retired a few years ago, she's been busier than when she was working, mostly helping other people.  Just tonight - the night before her surgery - she visited an older woman she checks on regularly, providing her with conversation, company and the occasional batch of cookies or a similar treat.  That's just who she is.

My mom raised Tracy, Alice and me, all on her own.  For the most part, Tracy was pretty easy to raise.  Alice and I, not so much.  As the oldest child and her only son, I constantly tested her limits and tried to exert my independence.  Losing my father at such a young age, I think I grew up more quickly than some of my peers.  I know I lost a lot of the innocence that children have and that affected my world view somewhat.  We fought, at times, when I was a teenager, but I always respected the fact that she listened to me, respected me enought to let me have my say, then made the decision she thought was best for me in a particular circumstance.

In truth, my mom has been my best friend.  I have always been able to talk with her - to tell her anything.  She has been there for me on every single occasion I have needed her.  And that's something.  She's been my rock, my example, my pillar of strength.  I aspire, every day, to be as strong as she is.  I fail, but I keep on trying.

My mom has lived a life of service to others.  She epitomizes the word "selfless."  My mom has lived a life of service to others.  She epitomizes the word "selfless."   

I've said this many, many times.  I believe there's an express lane at the pearly gates near the entrance to Heaven.  I also believe my mom will be in that line, the one that says "12 items or less," when the time comes. 

Jackie Robinson said, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives."  My mom's entire life has been about impacting other lives. 

I love you, mom, and I'll be praying for you tonight and tomorrow.

 

Gone

It's Friday night and I'm sitting at Bongo Java, a half hour before they close.  It's actually fairly deserted inside, with just a couple of tables of people talking quietly and drinking their coffee.  My guess is that a lot of the Belmont U. students took advantage of the long weekend (Labor Day) to travel home.

I said goodbye to Jude, J.P. and Joe at the airport, then drove home to an empty house.  It's strange, but while I look forward each year to the peace and quiet I'll have when they travel to Neptune Beach to visit with the Baines' clan, I also miss them as soon as they're gone.  When I got home from the airport, the silence in our house was deafening, in large part because I knew it would be that way for a couple of days.

It was nice, tonight, to sit at the bar and have dinner at Cabana, reading on my iPad, nowhere in particular to be.  At the same time, it's weird to know that I'll be going home in few minutes to an empty, quiet house (excepting N.C. and Mini T., our silly cats, of course).  I'll probably get caught up on "Breaking Bad," maybe watch a few episodes of the office, then read for a while.

My play is to get up early tomorrow and hit the trails at Shelby Bottoms for a long run.  Sadly, it's been ages since I've been there on a Saturday morning for a long trail run.  My Saturday morning trail run there was a focal point of my life for so long.  It's tough, now, because between family obligations, laziness and injuries, I just haven't been able to get over there on Saturday mornings.  Tomorrow, though.  Tomorrow.

First Day of School

Today was J.P.'s first day of school, year 3, at Children's House.  He's in "K-Club" this year, a certified kindergarten program at the school he's attended the past 2 years.

Jude called me this morning after she dropped him off at school and we marveled, together, at how it seems like only yesterday we were dropping him off for his first day of school at Children's House as a 3 1/2 year old.  Today, he was up, dressed and ready to go early, all so he could help Ms. Anne get younger children out of their vehicles in the drop-off line.  In fact, Jude and J.P. arrived so early they were first in line, which has never happened before.

J.P.'s one of the older kids at Children's House now and it's hard to believe.  He's growing up before our very eyes.

Postscript (or Deja vous)

As a postcript to the post I finished minutes ago, I'm sitting at Bongo Java, drinking a "Mood Elevator," Sleeping Joe beside me.  I'm actually sitting at the same table I was sitting at on April 28, 2013, when I wrote the post about the Belmont U. kids leaving for the summer.  My friend who works at Bongo, George, is sitting outside on the front deck, just like he was 3 months ago.

Life has a sense of humor, doesn't it?

The Cycle of (College) Life - Part II

I just read a post from the blog I wrote on Sunday afternoon, April 28, 2013, sitting w/Sleeping Joe at Bongo Java.  In the post, I was lamenting the end of the school year at Belmont U. and the imminent departure of the college kids for the summer.  I also was anticipating, just a bit, the relative tranquility that comes with summer on a college campus.

Well, the tranquility is over, as today is orientation day at Belmont U., which marks the official end of summer.  It's appropos for me, since we arrived home less than two hours ago from our week of vacation at Santa Rosa Beach, Fl.  My summer is over, too.

I'm sitting at a table in the bar at "blvd." (on Belmont Boulevard), enjoying a locally brewed beer - red rye from "Jackaloupe," Sleeping Joe next to me in the Baby Jogger City Elite stroller.  When I finish up here, I'm going to walk over to Bongo Java for a "Mood Elevator," my first one in a week.  In other words, it's business as usual on a Saturday afternooon for me (and Joe).

Did I mention I love my neighborhood?

The bar itself (the restaurant doesn't open until 5 p.m.) is filled with parents who have come to town to drop their children - all freshmen - off for their first year at Belmont U.  I've written about this in past years, but it's fascinating to watch and listen to the parents.  I can overhear them talking and sharing bits of infomation wiht other couples.  They're a bit nervous, apprehensive even.  I can sense it in their tone of voice, in the way they talk to each other.  I can hear them trying to figure out where they're supposed to meet their son or daughter for dinner tonight, asking the bartender for directions to a restaurant.

I'm also getting a look, right now, from a lady (with her husband) at the bar, who has noticed I'm trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.  Sleeping Joe is my cover, though.  Surely she thinks I'm harmless, as I type away on my iPad with my sleeping toddler beside me in the stroller.

Belmont U. is in such a state of transition, with contruction projects ongoing all over campus.  At one point this summer, on the way to dinner with our boys, Jude and I counted 5 crains on campus.  It's a subject for another day, but I kind of feel like Belmont U., under Dr. Fisher's guidance, has lost its way.  Bigger is not always better.  Gone are the tennis courts that were open to the public and gone is most of the soccer field, where the men's and women's teams used to play and the students used to congregate at night, throwing frisbee and playing guitars.

The incoming freshman will probably see the contruction projects completed while they're here.  That's a good thing, I guess.  They will also make friends, lose friends, fall in and out of love, get part-time jobs, study, move in and out of dorm rooms, apartments and rental houses and become regulars at Bongo Java, blvd., P.M., Chago's Cantina, Mafiozza's, 12South Tap Room, Tacqueria del Sol, Burger Up, Frothy Monkey.  They will  explore their neighborhood.  They will explore
Nashville.  They wil grow up.

That's what I did, in Knoxville, TN, from September 1984 to December 1988.  And that's what my boys will do, somday.  But not too soon, I hope.  I'm not ready for Jude and me to be sitting at some bar in a town with which we're totally unfamiliar, talking nervously as we prepare to leave for home the next day, leaving J.P. or Joe behind to begin his freshman year at college.

J.P.

Family Album

Beach Boys

Amavida

I'm sitting in Amavida, an independent coffee shop on the beach in Seaside, FL.  Amavida is part of the same coffee purchasing cooperative as Bongo Java (I did my homework before we left for vacation).  Joe is napping in the stroller beside me.  There's a nice vibe in Amavida, which is a must for a good coffee shop, in my view.

Yep, this is one of those interludes I wrote about yesterday.  Peaceful, quiet and relaxing.  Always puts me in a contemplative mood.  I guess if I ever decided to become a writer, I would have to borrow toddlers to use as my muses.  I could stroll them around town for their afternoon naps and sit down and write for a couple of hours as soon as they fell asleep.

Time to hit some highlights of our vacation (in no particular order) - Santa Rosa Beach '13.

J.P. and Joe playing church with the "crosses" (brooms), walking up and down the from the kitchen to the den and back, as Jude sings "Here I Am Lord" or "I Am the Bread of Life."  The boys hold the brooms high, like the cross entering and exiting St. Patrick at the beginning and end of our Sunday church service.  The best part is when Jude sings "Hallelujah," Joe yells, "Aaaaaahhh!"  It's really funny.

Joe sitting on the first step of the swimming pool near our house in Old Florida Village, playing in the water with Jude watching attentively beside him.  J.P. did the exact same thing, on the same step and in the same pool, 4 years ago.  Talk about dejavu.

Spotting a sting ray swimming in the ocean, near the shore, as J.P. and I were about to wade out to the sand bar.  It was prehistoric looking and rather large.  I think my stepping on it would  have put a real damper on our trip.

As is our custom, swimming in the pool with J.P. after my morning run.  That's probably the part of the trip I look forward to the most, just spending an hour or so of quality time with J.P. and having the pool all to ourselves.

My morning runs on the trail I discovered a couple of years ago, which runs around Draper Lake, then across 30A onto a set of sandy roads (almost like logging roads) in the back of a housing development.

Dinner with Jude and the boys at La Playa (formerly Smiling Fish) on 30A, with a view of the ocean.

Jude and Joe heading out for a walk only to return in a matter of minutes, Jude urging J.P. and I to  come outside to see something really cool.  Jude had found a hermit crab walking down the street, shell and all.  J.P. was fascinated by it and he and Jude repatriated it to a safe place.

Having pizza at The Pickle Factory in Grayton Beach.  Amazing, New York style (thin crust) pizza in a Green Bay Packers themed hole in the wall.  A real find for us and somewhere we're definitely going to return to in the future.  The only down side to our dinner there was trying to block J.P.'s view of the flat screen television on which the season finale (last year) of "Breaking Bad" was playing.  My favorite show, but no his, at least not yet.

Playing "Sorry" with J.P. and him trash talking me.  I beat him twice, much to his dismay.

A quiet afternoon at Wine World in Seaside with Joe napping beside me, as I sat at the bar, had a glass of wine, and read a long form piece by Bill Simmons on the "The Eagles."

Getting caught in a rainstorm during a 4 mile run to Blue Mountain Beach.  No thunder or lightning, just a lot of rain.  A "scrap book run," one I'll remember for a long time.

Playing hide and seek with J.P. in "the Cracker Club," the top floor of our house ("Cracker Jack") where J.P. slept in 1 of 2 bunk beds.  His cackle as he found me hiding underneath 2 bean bag chairs made me smile, then laugh.

Ducking out of the rain and into the Great Southern Cafe in Seaside and settling in at the outside bar, while Joe slept beside me in the stroller.  I had a glass of wine and struck up a conversation with the the  bartenders.  After Joe woke up, I got him some mile and we browsed in Sundog Books.  A perfect afternoon.

Interludes

Yesterday afternoon, as I sat sipping a glass of wine at the bar of a restaurant in Seaside, FL, Joe napping contendedly in the stroller beside me, I couldn't help but contemplate how precious the interludes of time I have with him are.  Priceless beyond measure for a variety of reasons.

I realize it's a recurring theme, but the times I have alone with him are so very fleeting.  Our weekend afternoon walks will come to and end soon, as he gets too old to sleep comfortably in the stroller.  At that point, he'll begin napping in his crib in the afternoons on weekends (as he does during the week now) and one of my favorite things about being a father of an infant/toddler will become nothing more than a fond memory.

From day one with Joe, I've been cognizant of how quickly time will pass, since I've already traveled that road with J.P.  Joe is at such a great age right now, probably my favorite age.  At 17 + months old, he's chatty and a perfect mimic.  He's almost always happy.  If he gets upset, it's because he's hungry or tired or, occasionally, pissed off because we won't let him play with an object he wantes (toothpaste, suntan lotion, etc.).  It passes quickly, like a thunderstorm in the summer.  He laughs a lot, just like his old man.

When he wakes up from his weekend afternoon nap, he yawns, and looks around to see where we are.  Often times it's Bongo Java, but occasionally it's P.M., Boulevard or Urban Grub, just a few of our regular haunts.  If the weather isn't nice, he'll wake up at Green Hills Mall.  This week, on vacation at Santa Rosa Beach, FL (just like last year), he's woken up at Starbucks in Greyton Beach.   Wherever we are, I get him a sippy cup of milk, a snack, and he's good to go.  Better than good to go, actually, he always wakes up happy to see me, smiling and laughing.

There might not be a better feeling in the world than to watch your toddler wake up from a nap, look up at you and smile.

The interludes of time we spend together on weekend afternoons are so peaceful.  Typically, I'll pass the time by reading, surfing the internet, working a bit or eating a late lunch and having a beer or a glass of wine.  Every few minutes, I'll look under the canopy of the stroller and watch him sleep, a reminder of just how blessed I am to have not one, but two, healthy boys.  It's a time of the week I look forward to probably more than any other, because it is a time for me to relax and recharge my batteries, so to speak.

I'm reminded of how simple and uncomplicated things are with Joe, at present.  There's no school or playdates to worry about.  There are no sports, no games or practices, no winning or losing.  He's happy or about to be happy.  That's pretty much it.  And that will change soon enough, which will be pretty awesome, too.

Life in the 'Hood

More than a decade ago, when Jude and I bought our house in the Waverly-Belmont neighborhood in Nashville, many of my friends (and family) thought I was nuts.  The general concensus was that I had moved into the 'hood.  It wasn't safe.  Drug deals.  Shootings.  Violent crime.  Burglaries.  Armed robberies.  All under the umbrella of "crime."

Truthfully, I was a little nervous myself after Jude and I got married in February 2003 and I moved into our house on Elliott Avenue.  Jude had lived in a house in an emerging East Nashville neighbborhood for several years before we got married, so it was no big deal for her.  Me, different story.  I was coming from Roderick Square, a small development within a larger subdivision in Franklin, where everyone looked alike, talked alike and in all probability, voted alike.  I quickly realized that was not the case in our Waverly-Belmont neighborhood.

First of all, people surely did not look alike.  On our street, Elliott Avenue, there was a tenured Vanderbilt professor (and his wife and son), college students, musicians, a retired African-American preacher and his wife, an African-American who was a long time employee of CSX Railroad, just to mention a few.  To be sure, there were people like Jude and me, but there also were peopple unlike Jude and me.

And it was a beautiful thing.  It still is, actually, a decade later.

The people on my street are my frirends and acquaintances.  When I'm out for a walk with Joe, I stop and we chat amiably.  We catch up on neighborhood gossip.  They all know (and love) my sons.  We talk sports, politics and family.  It's a true neighborhood, or at least what I think a neighborhood should be.  It's a melting pot of different ethnicities, different jobs and different politics.   But it's our neighborhood and I love it.

I spent the first several years of my marriage to Jude here.  Both of my boys were born and have spent their formative years in our neighborhood.  They're experiencing diversity - living it - every day and that's important to Jude and me.  Everyone is not like us - does not look like us - and that's a wonderful thing.  Living where I live has enriched my life and changed who I am and what I believe. It's been a life changing experience for me and it's the greatest gift Jude could have given me.

NBA Softball 2013

I'm sitting at Bongo Java, after putting the boys (and Jude) to bed, having a cup of coffee and unwinding after a disappointing finish for my team in the 2013 NBA softball tournament.  Our team  won the tournament in 2007, 2009 and 2011, but this year, it wasn't to be.  Actually, we had our worst tournament showing in several years, losing our second game today and finishing 4th overall.

My old law firm - Manier, Herod - rallied from a 13-1 deficit to beat us.  Although that will leave a mark, I'm glad it was Manier that beat us.  Many, many years ago, Benton, Richard and I won a 2 or 3 tournament championships while we were working there.  It means a lot to me to see their firm team - "Not Manier" - do well.  All good guys (and girls) that love playing in the softball league.  

I love to win, for sure.  At this stage of my life, though, it's as much about playing softball with my friends, hanging out together after the games (regular season and tournament) and, most of all, spending time with J.P. and Joe at East Park.  It means so much to me to have them at the games, watching their old man do something he's good at, even if it is just pitching a softball and hitting a little bit, too.

J.P. is at the perfect age to enjoy my softball games.  He sits in the dugout, talks to everyone and follows the games pretty intently.  Today, he gave me five (or two, actually) before I hit each time for good luck.  And it worked (except when I ended out tournament run by popping out weekly to the first baseman).  After the games, I pitch to J.P. and as he gets a hit, he runs the bases.  That's pretty awesome.  Today, while we were batting, I threw ball to him outside the dugout, so he could practice catching.  It really doesn't get any better than that for me.

After our last game, we sat on camping chairs just past the outfield and watched a couple more games.  As we drank a few beers, we swapped old softball stories, ragged on each other and laughed a lot.  The highlight of the day, for me anyway, was when our coach, Chris Vlahos, gave one of our two all-tournament trophies to J.P.  Understandably, J.P. was beyond excited.

 

It's hard to put into words how much the NBA softball league has meant to me over the years.  I'm pretty sure this is my 23rd or 24th year in the league, which is astonishing.  One thing it means is that I'm old, which is another post for another time.  Richard Smith, Benton Patton and I have played together for everyone of those seasons, Richard in left field and Benton at shortstop.  For almost as long, I've also played with Will Chapman, Chris Vlahos, John Rolfe and Tim Harvey.  Aside from softball, we've shared good times together and terrible, tragic times.  Through it all, softball has been there and our team has been there.

I don't know how much longer we have to play together.  Two of our guys are over 50, a couple more are close to 50 and we're not getting any younger.  I want to keep playing, though, for a few more years, so my boys can come to East Park to watch the games and hit, throw and run the bases afterwards.  It's not a lot to ask, but it's everything to me.

  

Love Hurts

Love hurts.  Especially when it comes to raising a child.

Saturday morning, Jude, J.P., Joe and I went to the Frist (art museum) and met one of J.P.'s classmates and his parents.  There was a pretty cool classic car exhibit and, more importantly, on the 3rd floor there's an awesome area for children to play - areas to draw, things to look at and a table with plastic, magnetized blocks to build with.  J.P. and his friend had a great time building "jails" (I'm not sure how that happened, but it did).

Anyway, at one point, the boys wondered off to look at something and another boy knocked down the buildings they had built.  J.P. and his friend immediately started crying, while I tried to explain that they needed to share the blocks, it was time to let other children play with them, etc.  As I walked J.P. away from the table and tried to reason with him, he decided to focus his anger on me.  He looked at me and said, "I wish I only had a mommy and no daddy, like Will" (a classmate of his).  To my shock and dismay, he repeated himself.

I was speechless.  Actually, I was devastated.

If anyone had told me when I held my oldest son in my arms for the first time, 5 1/2 years ago, that at some point early in his life (or at any point in his life) he would look at me and tell me he wished  he only had a mommy (or a mother), I would have laughed it off.  And yet, it happened.  Jude was mortified when he said it and immediately told him to apologize, which he did, half-heartedly at first.  As he realized how upset I was, he apologized again.

We left the Frist and I drove home with Joe, while Jude and J.P. waited on "the green bus" (that's another story, but suffice to say J.P. likes public transportation).  J.P. called me on my cell phone and apologized again.  To me, it felt contrived, but I'm not sure it was going to feel otherwise, given that he's 5 1/2 years old and his mother, I know, encouraged him to call me.

I was down, really down, for the rest of the afternoon and evening.  The common sense part of my brain told me a lot of things:  He didn't meant it.  He doesn't know any better.  He's only 5 1/2.  He's trying to become independent.  He's testing my limits.  And on and on.

My heart hurt and told me something else entirely:  I'm a terrible father, or else J.P. wouldn't say something so horrific.  He doesn't love me like he should.  I don't spend enough time with him.  He doesn't respect me.  In 10 years, I won't be able to control him.  And on an on.

To say I was conflicted is an understatement.  To say J.P. laid waste to my heart is not.  Tough, tough day.

Today, we picked where things left off and followed our normal Sunday routine.  J.P. and I went to Bongo Java, then to Rose Park, where we practiced baseball in the stifling morning heat.  Then, we went to Krispy Kreme to pick up donuts for church.  After church, we came home, played for a bit, then I took Joe for a walk after lunch so he could nap in the stroller.

Tonight, as we were finishing up dinner, I started fooling around with J.P.  For no good reason whatsoever, I decided it would be funny to tell him I had a gift for him - a Panera card and a Paneral keychain card - and throw them on the dining room table.  He laughed uproariously the first time a threw the Panera cards on the table and off we went.  Immediately, we began playing a game where he would tell me he had Panera cards for me, then throw them on the table, laughing hysterically.

It was one of those spontaneous, organic moments that happens all on its own.

J.P. and I laughed.  Jude shook her head at us and laughed.  Joe, in his high chair, laughed (with no idea why he was laughing).

I called Jude on her cell phone.  J.P. answered.  I said I was calling from Panera and and two cards for him, then I ran in the room and threw them on the dining room table.  J.P. laughed so hard he was almost crying.  Then  he called me on my cell phone and did the same thing.  And we laughed and laughed and laughed.

Life with children is a roller coaster, no doubt about it.  Up, up, up, then down, then up, up, up again.

Belmont School

As I write this, I'm sitting on the front porch, drinking a glass of wine after a late night 3 mile run in the neighborhood, listening to the sprinkler water the grass in our front yard.  And, I'm listening to R.E.M. - Murmur on Spotify.  It's a kind of a nice summer evening.

Tonight, after dinner, J.P. and I went to Belmont U to hang out for a bit.  As has been the case lately, I had to talk him into going.  He initially said he wanted to play basketball in his room upstairs instead.  Ultimately, he relented and we drove down to Belmont Blvd., got a cup of coffee at Bongo Java, stopped in Athlete's House to look around and walked over to Belmont U and into the Student Center.  It was deserted for the most part, as it usually is in late June/early July.  No basketball camps and not many kids around for summer school. 

In the end, we had a great time hanging out together for a little while.  I need that time with him and he needs that time with me, I think.  I rarely get home from work before 6 p.m., so we don't get a lot of one on one time together before dinner and bedtime.  Because Jude (or Carley) usually picks him up from school or camp (in summer) at Chldren's House at 3:15 p.m., she has some time along with him on a regular basis.  Consequently, I treasure every minute alone with J.P. I can get.

It was nice, just walking around the student center, quietly talking to each other.  I've mentioned this before, but it's almost as if I see ghosts when I walk around Belmont's campus.  The memories - mostly of time I've spent there with J.P. - are everywhere.  Bushels of memories, like snapshots in a mental photo album. 

Tonight, we sat down in some chairs on the second floor and looked out onto Belmont Boulevard.  I asked him to come sit with me.  After a little coaxing on my part, he climbed up in my lap.  I told him I loved him and that for the rest of my life, I would always treasure the memories of the time we've spent together at Belmont over the last 5 years.  I think he appreciated the moment on some level, because he began to recount some of his favorite memories.  I did the same as we sat there together.

In a "Puff the Magic Dragon" kind of way, it's harder and harder to convince him to go to "Belmont School" (as he used to call Belmont U) with me to hang out and walk around.  I get that he's getting older and it's natural that he wants to do different things with me - play basketball, practice baseball, etc., which is cool.  I would be lying, though, if I said I didn't miss the days when he and I went to Belmont U. almost every night after dinner.  Simple times.  Innocent times, playing make believe games in the student center or playing soccer at dusk on the soccer filed (which is no longer there, by the way).

My boy, my oldest son is growing up before my very eyes.  It's more challenging to entertain him, to stimulate him, to hold his attention which, again, I know is normal.  Belmont School doesn't do it for him so much anymore, which makes me nostalgic and a little sad.  He's getting older, I am getting older and life is moving on, maybe a little too quickly for me.

Being a parent.  Wow.  It's wonderful.  It's hard, sometimes.  And it tugs at your hearstrings, or at least at mine, which is a blessing and a curse that comes form having such a nostalgic nature, I suppose.  J.P. is about the age I was when my father died and I want him to remember the times we've shared together, at Belmont School and elsewhere. 

That gets to the heart of it, I think.  I want him to know how much fun I had with him, how much I loved him and how proud I was of him, every single day of his life (and of my life when he was in it).  He told me tonight, as we walked back to my truck, that he loved me even when I was a little boy, his age.

And I almost cried.

         

The Big Easy

I'm sitting in the lobby of the Hampton Inn & Suites on Carondelet Street in New Orleans.  Jude, J.P. and Joe are upstairs, asleep, after a busy couple of days in the Big Easy.  We fly back to Nashville tomorrow morning.  I absolutely love New Orleans and, because of Jude's family history here and the many times we have visited, it's kind of our home away from home.  It's been great to have Joe here for the first time.

Our trip didn't get off to the best start, as our 6:30 p.m. flight Thursday evening was delayed to 7:30 p.m., then 9:45 p.m., then taken off the board entirely due to air traffic control (weather) issues in Chicago.  Although we went to the airport just to make certain Southwest wouldn't send a replacement plane, we decided to change our flight to Friday morning.  It wasn't a difficult decision, as there was absolutely no way we could spend 3-4 hours at the aiport with J.P. (5) and Joe (16 months).  J.P. was disconsolate - crying - because he was so disappointed our trip was going to be delayed for a day.  A sweet Southwest employee gave him a bag of M & M's and all was forgiven.

Our Friday morning flight was a typical one for our family.  Typically difficult, that is.  Joe cried the entire flight and J.P. vomited during the descent to the New Orleans airport.  Then, as we were walking to baggage claim, I realized I had left my iPad (the one I'm typing on right now) on the airplane.  Frantic, I rushed back to the gate and was relieved to learn that a flight attendant had found it and taken it off the airplane for me.  Losing my iPad would have been a disaster.   At Enterprise Rent-a-Car, the minivan I'd reserved wasn't there.  Typical.

Yesterday, after we checked into our hotel, we had lunch with Jude's folks at Redfish Grill.  In the afternoon, Jude took J.P. Cafe du Monde for beignets and then to the Aquarium.  I took Joe for a long walk down Bourbon Street and through the French Quarter, while he napped in the stroller (yes, the City Elite made it to New Orleans, thanks to Jimdad and Jane White).  After he fell asleep, I slipped into the bar at a nice restaurant and had a couple of beers and read on my iPad.  A nice, quite afternoon.

Last night, Jude and I went to dinner at the Palace Cafe, while her folks stayed with the boys.  We had a nice night out, except for the fact we gorged ourselves to the point of no return.  I really thought I had eaten so much I was going to be sick.

This morning, we drove through a violent thunderstorm on our way to Houma, LA, on our way to visit Jude's Aunt Peggy and Uncle Bob (Quinilty) and, more importantly (from J.P.'s viewpoint), to swim in their pool.  As soon as the rain stopped, J.P. and Jude hit the pool with a vengeance.  J.P.'s swiming lesssons are staring to pay off, although he ability to swim has yet to catch up with how  well he thinks he can swim.  You know, the irrational exhuberance of youth and all that comes with it.

It's always great to see Peggy and Bob, and it was a real treat to see Jude's cousins and their children, too.  It was controlled chaos in a good way, with shoes, clothes and toys everywere.  7 children under the age of 6!  J.P. was the oldest child, which is hard to believe.  We had a great time, although it was a quick visit.

This evening, Jude, the boys and I took the boys for a walk through the Frencn Quarter and for dinner at Stanley's.  It was a nice way to end a weekend in the Big Easy.  Tomorrow, it's back home (I'm already dreading the flight back) and back to work on Monday.

Oh, and here's Aquaman himself.

Running Men

As an older parent, one of the things I worry about is whether I'll be able to be as active as I want (and need) to be as J.P. and Joe get older.  I think it's important to be able to play sports with them, as opposed to watching them play sports.  That's part of the reason why I've been pretty down about the low back and right hip pain I've been dealing with for several months.  I don't want an injury to limit what I can do with my boys.

This morning, while we were at Bongo Java having breakfast, J.P. asked me if we could go for a run togehter later in the day.  He asks to run with me from time to time and it always brings a smile to my face.  If you had asked me a decade ago, one of the top items on my bucket list would have been to go for a run with my son (or daughter).

Now, "going for a run" with J.P. only involves a run around the block.  Still, it's time spent together, doing something I love to do and asomething I'm good at.  And, more imporantantly, it's building a foundation for something we can do together five years from now, 10 years from now, etc.

Today, we ran down Elliott Avenue to the alley behind "Neighbor Regan's" house (formerly Ann Marie and Rob Elliott's house), walked up the alley, then ran the rest of the way home.  After our run, we took turns drinking out of an ice cold bottle of water we had set outside before our run.  I poured a some water on his head, then on mine, and we laughed together as we went for a walk to cool down.  When we got back to the house, Jude and Joe were sitting on the front porch, finishing lunch.  I gave J.P. a "rain shower" by shaking the branches on the trees in our front yard with the two of us standing under them.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

With my boys, it's "monkey see, monkey do."  And I mean that literally.

Virtually anything J.P. does, Joe tries to do.  If J.P. squeals or makes an unusual noise (grunts, roars, etc.), Joe, ever the perfect mimic, squeals or makes the same noise.  It's beyond funny to watch.  Jude and I just look at each other, shake our heads and laugh.

Last night, the boys were taking a bath together.  Joe was sitting in his bath chair, facing J.P.  J.P. started kicking his legs and splashing water, laughing the whole time.  Joe immediately starts kicking his little legs and splashing water, also smiling and laughing.  The more Joe kicked, the more J.P. laughed.  And the more J.P. laughs, the more Joe will do whatever he is doing that is making J.P. laugh (splashing, spitting, squealing, throwing things, etc.).

This afternoon, after I went for a quick 3-mile run in the 'hood, we were hanging out in the front yard.  For some reason, J.P. decided it would be funny to open an umbrella, sit down in the tall monkey grass in front of our front porch and pretend to be a groundhog in a burrow.  It was kind of funny, given that all you could see was the top of the umbrella, with J.P.'s disembodied voice coming from underneath it.  Joe walked over to the monkey grass and sat down in it, just like J.P.  He looked up at me and smiled proudly, as got up, then plopped down again.  He repeated this several times as we looked on and laughed.

The good news, of course, is that J.P. is an amazing big brother.  He loves Joe so much and never appears to be jealous of any attention Joe gets.  My hope is that as they grow older, J.P. and Joe will continue to be close.  I have a dream of them traveling to Europe or elsewhere together when they're older, during or right after college.  I want them to be the best of friends.  

Vocabulary Words




 Damn, I love this guy.

It's funny, but on the development timeline (whatever the hell that is), Joe seems to do everything a little bit sonner than J.P. did.  J.P. never really crawled much.  Instead, at about 14 months old, one day on the back deck, he just started walking (I can see it now - J.P. in his "yellow and orange 'basketball' t-shirt, doing the 'drunken sailor' walk, reeling diagonally across the back deck from Jude to me and me to Jude, as we beamed with pride on a spring evening).  Joey, on the other hand, did the "army crawl" at 10 months or so, crawling across the floor on his forearms.  By the time he was a year old, Joey was crawling everywhere, literally scooting across the hardwood floors upstairs and downstairs, moving so quickly we had to keep a constant eye on him.  Shortly, thereafer, he was walking (the "drunken sailor" walk, of course) across the rug in front of the fireplace in our den, hands outstretched over his head for balance.  Awesome!

We're convinced Joe crawled and walked earlier than J.P. because he wanted to keep up with his brother.  Everything J.P. does, Joe wants to do, too.  J.P. laughs, Joe laughs.  J.P. screams, Joe screams.  Joe desparately wants to keep up with his big brother.  And that's pretty cool.

Talking (or trying to talk) is the same way.  As I recall, Jude and I (okay, not so much Jude) were a little concerned, early on, that J.P. wasn't talking as soon as we thought he should.  Suddenly, at about age 2, the words burst forth like a fountain.  It was pretty amazing.  Joe has been "talking," already, for quite a while, actually.  Granted, it's not talking in the traditional sense, but he definitely makes sounds (now words, at times) repeatedly that have a specific meaning.

Here's a vocabulary list, courtesy of Joe, a silver-tongued devil if there ever was one:

1.   Ada.  Okay, that means light, especially the decorative, unique (strange) hanging ball of a light upstairs above the stairwell.  It's almost a "disco ball" light, gold in color, metal with lots of holes in it (ball shaped).  When you turn it on at night (and the other lights are off), the effect is kind of dazzling and beautiful - dots of light, shimmering, all over the walls upstairs.  "Ada" was really his first word.  At night, before bedtime, I would hold him in my arms, turn the other lights off and spin the "gold ball" slowly.  He'd look at the patterns of light on the walls, smile, and say breathlessly, "Ada."  Every single time.  J.P. had a very similar reaction to that light when he was a baby.

2.  Pa-PA.  There's a photograph on a ledge on the landing of the stairs (we have a several photographs  there of friends and family) of Jude's family at Mardi Gras from long ago.  When we take the boys upstairs to get ready for bed at night, Joe always stops and points at this particular photograph, actually points directly at Jude's dad, and says, "Pa-PA!"  It's pretty funny.

3.  MA-MA/Da-Da.  Okay, that's self-explanatory.  I'm not sure which one he said first (J.P. said "Da-Da" first and still occasionally calls me "Da-Da").  I can tell you, though, when Joe says "Ma-Ma!" he has a big smile on his face.  That boy adores him mother.

4.   Pa-Tee.  I'm not sure how or why, but "Pa-Tee" means "J.P."  Really, really funny (not so much to J.P., who says it sounds too much like "potty").  Joe points at J.P. and says "Pa-Tee," and we all laugh.

5.  Och.  One of my favorites.  It means "I want that."  Joe points and says "Och," and we pick up things until we figure out what it is that he wants.  It's become a family inside joke, actually, to the point that if I say "Och," J.P. will say, "Daddy, what do you want?"  Also very funny.

6.   Down.  This one's impressive, really, and favorite of Joe's for a couple of months now.  If I am playting with him on our bed while Jude showers downstairs, he's perfectly content until he hears her walking upstaris.  Immediately, she says quite clearly, "down!"  When she walks in, he says it again, and she sets him down on the floor and off he goes behind her, like a duckling waddlng after his mother duck.

7.   Dankoo.  This, of course, is "thank you."  It's been a popular word (or words) for him for a while.  He knows what it means, too, because when we hand Joe something, he'll hit us with a resounding "Dankoo!"

8.   Nini.  That's "Mini," one of our cats.  Joe points at her and says, rather emphatically, "Nini!"

9.    Bye Bye.  Self-explantory, but he knows what it means.  Of course, he'll repeat "bye bye" all the way home from somewhere we've been.  Over and over again.

10.  Up.  A little tricky, because "up" has two meanings.  One - pick me up.  Two - throw this up in the air.  I like the second meaning, particuarly when we lay on our bed and he plucks the red plastic apple from his Nashville Predators' "old schooll" metal lunch box, hands it to me, and says "up!"  He wants me to toss the apple in the air, which I do, again and agian.  And it never gets old, because he loves it.

11.  MOUO!  My current favorite.  I really can't spell it accurately enough to do it justice.  Any time Joe is eating, though (and he's a good eater), he finishes what he's eating and immediately says "MOUO!"  When he says it, his voice rises several octaves so he finished with squeal.  Also, "MOUO!" is accompanied, every time, by Joe banging his fists together, making the sign langueage symbol for "more," which he learned from our nanny and friend, Carley Meade.  Very cool and very funny.  I really, really don't know how to spell it.

Joe is such a bright kid.  He looks like J.P. and he looks like me and he makes me smile every time I look at him.          

Baseball

Yesterday, JP played his last 2 baseball games of the season, and it makes me a little bit sad.  Sad that  his baseball season is over and sad that I haven't found the time to write about it.

In the winter, out of the blue, JP mentioned to us that he'd rather play baseball this spring than soccer.  Music to my ears, of course, given that baseball is my favorite sport and I really don't know much, if anything, about soccer.  Within hours, I signed him up for the "Wookie" League (5-6 year olds) in the West Nashville Sports League.  I also agreed to help coach.

In short, it was awesome (for me as well as JP, I hope).  One of my bucket list items - before I even had children - was to coach them in baseball.  This was t-ball/coach pitch, which means each child gets 5 pitches from the coach and if he doesn't get a hit, the tee comes out.  Our team was the Indians.
Sadly, we only got to practice a time or two due to rainout games being rescheduled, but the games on Saturdays were a blast.

The boys were all so young and innocent.  Most of them hadn't started school yet, so it was probably the last time they'd play a sport without, at least in the back of their minds, having to deal with the social pressures of school.  They all ran around the field, chasing the ball every time a player on the other time hit it, ending up piled up on top of each other in the dirt.  Some boys sat down and played in the dirt, some boys put their gloves on their head and some boys stayed in the "baseball ready position" (bent at the waist, glove and free hand on knees, eyes staring intently at the batter).  They all begged Coach Sean to let them play first base or pitcher.  One or two boys cried about something every game.  Just 5 and 6 year old boys doing what 5 and 6 year old boys do.

My sense is that by next year, a lot of the boys will understand more about winning and losing, succeeding and failing, keeping score, etc.  And that makes me a little sad, too.  Sad for the loss of innocence and the joy of playing a game - baseball - just for the fun of playing it.

JP did great.  He hit pretty well, rarely having to use the tee.  He didn't hit the ball particularly hard, but he almost always made good contact.  He throws the ball surprisingly well.  Catching, at this point, is a challenge, but that's true of almost all of the boys on his team.  It's strange, but I have no independent recollection of learning how to catch a baseball.  It seems like it's something I always knew how to do (which obviously isn't the case).  That makes it harder for me, I think, to teach JP how to catch.

If I had to guess, right now, I'd predict JP will be an average athlete with good hand-eye coordination (just like his old man).  He'll be intense, competitive and really, really want to win (just like his old man).  He'll probably be able to play a lot of sports reasonably well but won't stand out at any one sport (just like his old man).  And that's just fine with me.  What I want him to get out of playing sports is to learn what it's like to be part of a team.  I want him to learn the value of hard work and practice.  And, yes, I want him to learn how to handle winning and losing without falling to pieces.  There's real value in that, as a life experience.

My enduring memory of JP's first baseball season will be standing on the field with him at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ during games, smiling as he stood in the "baseball ready" position with a look of concentration on his face as he watched the batter and waited for him to hit the ball.  As soon as the ball was hit - anywhere on the field - off JP went to try and get it.

Baseball.

The Cycle of (College) Life

It's Sunday afternoon and I'm sitting at the table by the front window of Bongo Java, one of my favorite spots here.  Joe is sleeping beside me in the City Elite, oblivious to the hum of activity all around him.  I'm listening to a 70's mix on Spotify, so I can't hear the music playing over the sound system.  Likewise, I can't hear bits and pieces of conversations people are having over coffee at nearby tables.

It's kind of cool, though, to look around and see people talking - some animatedly - but not to be able to hear what they're talking about.  When I look out fo the front window on to the deck, I see tables of people - mostly Belmont U. students - talking and laughing.  A few (including my friend and resident  barrista artist, George) are engaged in conversations that appear to be a little more serious.  They're drinking coffee (all kinds of coffee drinks), smoking and talking.  A few people are sitting along, studying or working on laptops.

My favorite is the guy sitting on the deck, by himself, smoking a pipe while he works on his laptop.  He's clearly a college student, probably not even 22 years old.  Oh, did I mention he's smoking a pipe?  I see that here occasionally and it absolutely kills me every time.  I want to walk up to him and ask him if he realizes how utterly ridiculous he looks.  I also want to tell him that in 10 years, when he recalls that he smoked a pipe in college, he'll be embarrassed beyond belief.

There are a few "townies" at Bongo Java this afternoon, like Joe and me.  A couple of them have their dogs with them or are stopping by after finishing a run on Belmont Boulevard.  Mostly, it's students, though.

The students finish exams the day after tomorrow.  Graduation is a week from  yesterday.  Belmont's campus will be abuzz with actifity this week, as parents arrive to help their sons and daughters pack up their dormitory rooms and apartments to move home for the summer.  Other parents and family members will descend on campus to celebrate their son's or daughter's graduation.  When exams end, the students will stay out a little later and be a little (or a lot) more rambunctious as they celebrate the end of another school year.  They'll pack up another year's worth of college memories and say goodbye to their friends until they return to campus the end of the summer to do it all again.

By next Sunday, the students and their families will be gone and summer will be here.  In college towns  or communities with colleges or universities at their epicenter, the seasons pass on a little different timetable than in the rest of the world.  Here, in my adopted neighborhood, summer starts way early - in early May - after graduation, when the students return home.  Summer ends in early August, when fall semester begins and the students return to campus.

Bongo Java will close an hour ealier at night (10 p.m., rather than 11 p.m.).  Parking will be a lot better.  It will be easier to get a table at the restaurants/bars (P.M, Chago's, Blvd. Nashville and International Market).  Traffic will be a lot lighter, too.  It's nice for the first couple of weeks, but then I'll start to miss the Belmont U. students, probably because I feel a bit younger just being around them.  I like to think their innocence, their energy, their enthusiam rubs off on me.  At the very least, it makes me smile.

Happy summer, Belmont U. students.  Happy life, graduates.