Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day.  For some reason, in many years in the past, I always seemed to have something going on at work that meant I couldn't take Memorial Day off.  Not this year, though.

This morning, we joined up with the Allens at Tipp-a-Canoe and, after renting two kayaks and three canoes, paddled the Harpeth River in Pegram, Tennessee, for a couple of hours.  We got there early - just past 8 a.m. - which was huge, because the place was teeming with people by 9 a.m., all in line waiting for canoes and kayaks.  

We had a great time with Russ, Susanna, Ella and Cooper, as we always do.  We took turns in the kayaks and switched up the pair in each canoe during the roughly two hour trip.  Joe was excited to see a chipmunk, a turtle and even a water moccasin (Jude was NOT excited to see that).  It was a nice way to spend the holiday morning.  Afterwards, we went to M.L. Rose on 8th Avenue for lunch and a little more hangout time.  

Mid-afternoon, I drove down to NHC Place to see my mom.  As I walked in, I heard someone playing the guitar in the community room.  I walked on down the hall hoping I wouldn't find her in her room because she was listening and singing along with some of the other residents in the community room.  I was a little sad to find her asleep in her chair, in her room, with Dr. Phil keeping her company on the television.  

When we first moved her into Maristone roughly 18 months ago, she never missed a musical performance there.  Then, when we moved her to NHC Place seven or eight months ago, she enjoyed it whenever someone came to play music.  Now, though, things are different and she's just not very active.  Most afternoons, she sleeps in her chair.

It's funny, I vividly remember buying a checkers game, along with Trouble, not too long after we moved my mom into Maristone in November 2016.  I thought it would do her good to play games.  I was a bit nostalgic, too, because she used to play Trouble with me every morning in California before she walked me across the street to kindergarten at (Howardine J.) Kling Elementary School.  My hopes were a little ambitious as we played a couple of times but she couldn't remember the rules or follow along well enough to play.  That seems like light years ago as now, of course, I can't fathom her playing any game.  

It's crazy because in the early days at Maristone, my mom colored all of the time.  She had coloring books everywhere and a container of colored pencils.  She really took it seriously and, actually, was quite good at it.  Her friend, Jan, colored with her whenever she stopped by to see her.  It was her thing.  She was forever stuffing colored pencils (and other things) into empty or partially empty Kleenex boxes.  That habit was maddening, to me, but funny, too. 

Now, a year and a half later, I would give anything - literally, anything - to walk into her room and see her coloring intently and to see empty kleenex boxes filled with her personal items.  The remote control, makeup, colored pencils, etc.  

I think that's sort of the acceptance phase of all this entire ordeal, at least from my standpoint.  I suppose it's kind of like drowning.  I fought like hell at the beginning and didn't want to believe this was happening to her.  I was mad at the world.  Mad and confused that God would let this happen to her.  My expectations for her were high and I struggled to keep them there.  

Slowly, as time passed on this terrible, dark journey, acceptance set in.  I've quit fighting the reality.  I'm tired of being angry.  I'm just sad.  Not necessarily at peace.  I haven't gotten there yet and it's a place I may never reach.  The inevitability of it all and, of course, the end is the new normal.  I'm hollowed out emotionally, I think, and just kind of numb.

So, this afternoon, while my mom slept in her chair, I lay down on her bed and napped.  And there was comfort in that, if only for a little while.  She was present and I was there with her.  Two people, mother and son, not talking, just napping.  Just existing together, for a least a little while longer.

The Dodgers

JP's spring baseball season ended with a thud Thursday night, as the Dodgers unceremoniously exited the end of season tournament at the hands of our rivals (and friends), the Dirtbags.  JP pitched pretty well for two innings, but the boys fell apart behind him and made several errors that led to an early deficit.  The final score was 12-2, a disappointing end to a bit of a disappointing season.

There was so much rain this spring and it always seemed to fall on weekends.  We could never get a second weekly practice in, which I think hurt the boys' development.  With a couple of exceptions, they really improved much from the beginning of the season.  In the end, that's on me, as the head coach.  I've been down about it the last couple of days.

Part of what has made me blue, I think, is the nagging feeling that this might have been the last run for the Dodgers.  We've been together - coaches, teammates and families - playing baseball in the WNSL, fall and spring, for more than five years.  I love every one of these boys like they were my own.  The families have grown particularly close.  Like so many things, though, I look up and our time together has flown by.

For the first time this spring, I noticed a couple of boys, Braden and Cyrus, who didn't really seem to want to be out there, playing baseball at a relatively competitive level.  A couple more, Aidan and Jonathan, struggled all season long at the plate.  In our game Thursday night, Aidan stuck out with the bases loaded and walked to the dugout in tears.  He looked up at me and, through his tears, said "it's not fun."  What he meant, of course, was striking out is not fun.  But still.

In the fall, we often lose a few of our regulars to flag football or soccer.  I'm not sure if the ones we lose will come back in the spring or not.

In addition, the boys on our team who go to Percy Priest Elementary School - which is almost all of them - are scattering to the wind this fall and attending different middle schools.  J.T. Moore, Oak Hill, USN and Harding Academy.  I suspect some of our regulars will play middle school baseball at their middle schools.  So, this might be it for the Dodgers.

Lastly but perhaps most significantly, JP is playing travel soccer with some classmates from USN this fall.  The school soccer coach assured me that there were other boys who played two sports and that there wouldn't be many conflicts with the schedules.  Still, JP missed an important baseball tournament game for travel soccer tryout last Tuesday night and I couldn't help but wonder if that was a harbinger of things to come.

My position, of course, always has been BASEBALL > SOCCER, but I'm not sure that's how JP will continue to see things once he starts playing soccer at a more competitive level.  What would I do if he came to me and said, "Dad, I don't want to play baseball anymore.  I want to concentrate on soccer?"  I really don't know.

I love our group of families so much.  Our baseball family, as Braden's mom, Michelle, once aptly described it.  I've loved this time together, with small children and small problems.  Most of all, I've loved watching these boys, MY boys, struggled persevere and in the end, succeed in ways big and small on the baseball field.

We've had birthday parties together, often at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ.  We've had end of season parties together in the fall and spring, many times.  My coaches and I have practiced with the boys so many times and watched them sweat together, laugh together and learn together.  In the early days, the boys played "diaper tag" with Cooper's sister, Ella, after practice.  I remember that like it was yesterday.  My coaches and I often laughed because it seemed as if the boys enjoyed the after practice games of tag more than practice itself.

I've hosted many "coaches meetings" at Edley's in 12South over the years.  The wives smiled and shook their heads knowingly when, after games, I suggested I needed to talk to my coaches after the boys were in bed that night.  Over beers, my coaches and I talked about everything but the boys' baseball team.

I'm not sure it will ever be like this again.  I suspect it won't.  I've tried - and am presently trying - to create a similar group of families with Joe's baseball team.  Although some of the families are the same - I have four or five little brothers on the Junior Dodgers, it doesn't feel the same, at least not yet.  Maybe that will change.  Maybe it won't.

What I know is this - I wouldn't trade the relationships that have been forged out of fall, spring and summer baseball practices and games for anything in the world.  I've always said that one of the things that surprised me the most about having children was how many friends we have made through the boys' sports endeavors, and it's true.

I hope - I mean I really hope - that we keep these friendships between families strong and vibrant as the boys grow older and their interests change.

I love our Dodgers' family.

Saying Goodbye to Children's House

(This is going to be a long, reflective, meandering post.  I'm starting it mid-morning at Honest Coffee Roasters.  I finished up in court this morning and landed here for a latte.  And, well, some reflection.)

Change is in the air, as Joe's last full week at Children's House draws to a close today.  He'll have school Monday - Wednesday, next week, then Water Day on Thursday and just like that, our family's seven years there will be over.

It seems so sudden and so final.  The end of a definitive era in our lives, for sure.  In many ways, it will be the end of the innocence for Joe.  He'll for from the nurturing, loving cocoon of Classroom B at Children's house - where he's been with Ms. Michelle and Ms. Tess for the past three years - to kindergarten at University School.  A bigger school with hundreds of students in the lower school, not to mention the middle and upper schools.

So, this post is really about two things.  Joe, of course, as he moves on to University School.  And the end of our run at Children's House.  I guess they're linked, but subject matter and time.

When Jude got the call from Children's House eight years ago advising that they had a spot open for J.P. but that it would be a five day a week program, we were paralyzed by indecision.  We didn't know if we should keep J.P. at West End United Methodist Church or start him at Children's House, a Montessori school.

J.P started there, as a 3 year old, in the fall of 2011.  I remember the day Jude and dropped him off there for the first time.  As she brought her 2005 Honda Pilot to a stop in the pickup line and a "returning friend" helped J.P. step down onto the ground, his Children's House bag on his shoulder, I cried.  Jude smiled and I cried.  We sighed and drove home.

Jude and learned on the fly about playdates, positive discipline and "the Montessori way."  J.P. made friends, of course, but tended to focus on one or two kids as his constant playmates, different ones each year.  Brady and Jack (McDaniel) his first year, Victoria (White) his second year Aidan (Ozgener) his third year.  Brady moved away after his first year, a brief friendship lost forever.

Jude and I made friends with a few of the parents at Children's House but I'm not sure we really connected with anyone in particular, not the way other parents seemed to connect with each other.  We were busy - I guess everyone was - and a lot of the moms didn't work outside the home.  Jude, of course, did so that make meeting up for coffee after drop-off a difficult proposition.

I don't recall how it happened, but I joined the Board of Directors, I think during J.P.'s second year.  Almost immediately, I began to get to know several other parents.  The next year I was elected board president and in an ironic twist, the year I served as board president was the one year in the last seven that we haven't had a child at Children's House.  Looking back, it was a very impressive board of directors in terms of professional accomplishments and community involvement.  Many became my good friends and remain so to this day.

One of the best parts, for me, of my involvement with the Board of Directors is that I got to know Anne Colley, the director of the school who retired at the end of the 2016-17 academic year after an amazing 26 year run at Children's House.  She was the heart and soul of the school for almost three decades and knew everybody who was anybody in the early education/preschool/Montessori galaxy.  Anne was equal parts administrator, educator, leader, role model and keeper of the "Montessori Way."  Without questions, she is one of the most accomplished, impressive people I have ever known in a professional capacity.

We struggled mightily with whether to start J.P. at kindergarten at University School of Nashville in the fall of 2013 or to enroll him in "K Club" at Children's House.  After much deliberation, we decided to postpone school for a year and give her a third year at Children's House.  It was a great decision for him, in retrospect.  He grew, became more independent and is a leader in his classes at University School to this day in large part because of the third year he spent there.

(Switching days and locations, it's Sunday morning and I'm having a latte at Portland Brew in 12South before I head to NHC Place to visit my mom.)

When we started Joe at Children's House as a three year old, there was much less trepidation.  Intuitively, we knew Joe would be fine because, well, J.P. had been fine when he enrolled as a "new friend."  We knew Joe would enjoy being in Classroom B with Ms. Michele because J.P. had done so well with her.  Like J.P., in his first year at Children's House, Joe went from 8:20 a.m. - noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he could still have a couple of half days each week with Uncle Carley, our longtime friend and nanny.  That was important to us.

Joe grew and flourished at Children's House, just as J.P. had done.  At the end of his second year, as a "returning friend," we again had a hard time deciding whether to start him in kindergarten at USN on time or enroll him in "K Club" at Children's House.  Joe had, and has, some fine motor difficulties and we had been taking him to occupational therapy once a week, so we decided to continue that and give him another year at Children's House.  Of course, after we had made the decision, I was talking to Anne Colley one day and she expressed a measure of surprise we were waiting to start him in kindergarten at USN because in her mind, she was ready.  More confused than ever, we stuck with the plan and hopefully it will be the right one.  Time will tell, I guess.

And, here we are, with three and a half more days at Children's House.  The memories are many and varied, nearly all filled with love and learning.

First day drop-offs for J.P. and Joe.

Many, many mornings for me with J.P. and especially, Joe, as I normally took him to Children's House in the morning because the dropoff was later and Jude needed to get in to work earlier.  Lots of mornings of "Joe Time," something I invented a couple of years ago to mark our morning time as special.

Fundraising, especially in the early years and when I was involved on the Board.

Six of seven "Grandparents' Days" and Monte Soire's.  My mom, of course, has missed the last two or three "Grandparents' Days," and that makes me unspeakably sad.

Lots of great art courtesy of Ms. Antoinette, a special lady and art instructor who has been a mainstay at Children's House forever.  I'm so glad she didn't retire when Anne Colley did.

A whole bunch of Board meetings.  It was tough for me to get used to not having any board meetings to go to last year and this year.

The Positive Discipline class that Jude and I attended the first fall J.P. was at Children's House.  Ms. Juanita (another longtime teacher) and Ms. Michele taught the class, which seems a lifetime ago.

Water Days.  The last one is this Thursday, and I'll have to miss it.

Watching the children in Classroom B gravitate to Joe on Wednesday mornings when I brought him to school late, after we had been to see Ms. Lisa for occupational therapy.  That's when I knew he was a little bit different from J.P.  He liked being the center of attention and was a leader, which is exactly what Anne Colley told me she had observed on the playground.

Playing basketball with Joe on the small basketball court at the back entrance to the school, where I almost always entered to drop off J.P., then later, Joe.  Both boys spent their third year almost entirely on that basketball court, playing basketball, or so it seems.

Three "Special Days" for J.P. and three for Joe.  And they were special.

Many late night runs, after the boys were in bed, where I as part of my route, I ran up the driveway and said a silent prayer thanking God that our boys had a safe, nurturing place to begin their education.

Pausing, so many times, and occasionally snapping a photograph with my iPhone, of the playground as I walked to my truck after dropping J.P. or Joe off at school.  A quiet minute of reflection before I began what often was a stressful work day.

The "Children's House song," sung by Ms. Kelly (long since gone from Children's House) on a compact disc that J.P. insisted we play over and over and over in Jude's car his first year there.  I can still here it now, in my head.

"Sheldon's House," which was what Jonny Meade called Children's House, confused, when J.P. first started attending school there.  It became a running joke.

Nap helpers, lunch time friends, the boys' "work" each day and Jude asking whose "Special Day" it was, then guessing at dinner.

So many friends for the boys and so many stories about what happened on the playground each day.

Good team, bad team.  A game passed down from class to class over the years, like tag, that died a quick death when Ms. Michele forbade the kids from playing it anymore earlier this year.

Love, lots of love.

Children's House, in the end, represented a more innocent time for me, for our boys and for our family.  When J.P. started there, my mom wasn't ravaged by Alzheimer's disease.  There were no all-star teams in baseball and travel teams in soccer.  We lived in our small house on Elliott Avenue.  Things were simpler, not necessarily better but probably easier.

And, now, here we are, staring Joe's last week at Children's House.  The words of my friend and fellow lawyer, Greg Smith (two of his boys when there many year ago), echo in my mind.  Words I've repeated to others in many settings over the years, informal and formal.

"The only bad thing about Children's House is that your child has to leave."

Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day, 2018, and I'm finishing up my coffee at the Frothy Monkey in my neighborhood and about to head down to see my mom.  I've got a cinnamon roll, chocolate dipped strawberries and Mother's Day cards in hand to give to her upon my arrival.

I debated about taking the boys with me this morning but, at this point, I'm not sure it's good for them to see her - and some of the other residents - struggling to . . . well, just struggling.  They were quickly up this morning and contentedly watching Dude Perfect videos on J.P.'s iPad, in bed with Jude, so I decided to leave them at home.

I'm really torn because part of me wants the boys to remember my mom - their Meemaw - the way she was and not the way she is now.  I'm not sure that's possible with J.P. because he has accompanied me on visits to see her on weekends many times, though not as much lately.  With Joe, I just don't know if even has any memories of my mom before she began her decline.  And that makes me sad.

The other part of me feels like this is simply part of life and my mom is who she is now.  They should see her and allow her love them in whatever way she is able to do so.  I think it makes her happy to see them even I'm not completely sure she realizes they are her grandchildren.  I just worry about how hard it is for them - especially J.P. - to see her like she is now.  J.P. tends to feels things pretty deeply and I don't want him to be emotionally scarred or to lose anymore innocence than he already has in contemplating and trying to understand, in his 10-year old mind, what she is going through.

Like so much of what we're going through with my mom, there is very little black and white, just lots and lots of grey.

I met a couple of guys I coach baseball with at Edley's last night - Chad and Tony - and after a couple of margaritas, I mentioned to them how much my mom would have loved watching J.P. and Joe play baseball earlier that day.  Chad has boys on the Dodgers (9-10 year olds) and the Junior Dodgers (4-6 year olds) that I coach.  Tony's son plays for the Dodgers.

Chad reminded me that before he began helping us on the field, coaching, that my mom used to be at many of J.P.'s games and that he often sat next to her and talked sports with her.  It's funny, maybe because I'm so wrapped up in how my mom is doing now and worried about how she will be doing in the immediate future, that it's hard for me to remember a time when she came to J.P.'s baseball games.

I remember toward the end, when she was still living at home and drive herself to the boys' baseball games, but it was becoming a struggle for her to walk to the fields from the parking lot.  One occasion that stands out in my mind is when she was coming to see Joe play at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ, probably in his first season of baseball, and one of the teenagers who was working for the WNSL (West Nashville Sports League) drove her to the field in one of the all terrain, John Deere vehicles they use to quickly get from field to field.

Yesterday, J.P. played baseball games at 9 and 11 a.m., followed by a soccer game at 2 p.m.  Joe had a soccer game at 8:30 a.m., then baseball games at 2 and 3 p.m.  It was full day for sure.  My mom would have been right in the middle of it, as she was with Tracy's kids, Kaitlyn and Matthew, when they were growing up playing soccer (in the early years), then later basketball at Oak View Elementary School and baseball.  I'm a little - well, a lot - jealous of the times she was shared with Kaitlyn and Matthew watching them play sports.

J.P. struck out 8 batters in 3 innings yesterday, although he walked 2 batters and hit 1 (J.P. adamant that the ball hit the batter's bat and should have been a foul ball).  J.P. has developed into quite a pitcher this season.  My mom would have taken great pride in his pitching, although she would have nervous and lived and died with every batter.

So, it's a bit of a melancholy Mother's Day for me.  Will there be a Mother's Day to celebrate with my mom next year?  I don't know.  If there is, it will probably be different than this one, which is different form the last one.

That's just the way it goes.

Games People Play

Lately I've been thinking that it might do my mom some good for us to try to play a game of some sort when I visit her, as opposed to just sitting an talking.  On the way to see her yesterday, I stopped and bought a pack of playing cards and a mini-Jenga game.  When I got to he place, she had just finished lunch and was sitting at a table in the common area with a couple of other residents.  We talked for a minute, then I wheeled her back to her room.

I placed a small, rolling table between us, adjusted the footrests on her wheelchair so I could get her close to the table and began shuffling the cards.  I smiled because, as a kids, I was always amazed at how well my mom could shuffle a deck of cards.  Life a Vegas blackjack dealer.  She has long fingers and it always seemed like the cards were flying in her hands.

I suggested to her that we'd play "war," hoping that the rules would come back to her after I gave her a short refresher.  They didn't.  She had a hard time understanding which card was higher than the other.  She didn't understand where to put her cards if she won a hand.  She wanted to keep turning over one card after the other.  It hurts to say this, but it was like playing "war" with Joe when he was two or three years old.  This from a woman who has a bachelors and a masters degree.

About halfway through the deck, my mom began to breath more rapidly, like she was getting out of breath.  This is what she does when she's becoming agitated or uncomfortable.  I stopped the game and put the cards away and she settled down.

I pulled out my the latest edition of The Sewanee Review and read poetry to her as she dozed on and off in her wheelchair.  And I wondered to myself, how did we get here?

The Closer

Last night I saw something I'll remember for a long, long time.  I want to write about it tonight, while it's still fresh in my mind, and before the memory blends into all the other memories that, in the end, make a lifetime.

J.P.'s baseball team - the Dodgers - had a 7 p.m. game against the Knights, a team that beat us 13-7 a couple of weeks ago.  The boys got out to an early lead in the first inning after Cooper walked, stole second and scored on a base hit.  They stretched the lead to 2-0 with another run in the second inning.  Benton started and pitched great for two innings.  I brought in Cyrus to pitch next and he was really dealing.  Two more innings pitched and no runs.  In the meantime, the boys kept hitting and heading into what looked to be the last inning because time was running out, they had a 7-0 lead.

I brought in Wes to pitch after telling him all he had to do was throw strikes and we could go home.  Normally one of our most reliable pitchers, Wes just didn't have it last night and immediately go into trouble.  He walked a couple of batter, hit one batter, then gave up a hit.  Suddenly, it was 7-3, the based were loaded and there still were no outs.  I knew I had to have a short hook, so when Wes walked a run in to make it 7-4, I pulled him.  As I walked out of the dugout, I looked at J.P. standing at shortstop, pointed at him then pointed at the pitcher's mound. 

J.P. began warming up, throwing to Benton, who was catching.  I looked around, shook my head, and grimaced a bit as I thought about what a tough spot J.P. was in.  Bases loaded, no outs, our boys up 7-4.  He's done it before this season, I thought.  Let's see if he can do it again tonight.

On the second pitch, the first batter J.P. faced grounded into a fielder's choice at third base.  Wes stepped on the bag, a run scored and it was 7-5 with runners on first and second bases.  J.P. struck out the next batter for the second out.  A ball got away from him and the passed ball allowed the runners to advance to second and third bases.  Still 7-5, two outs, with the tying run at second base.

J.P. threw a couple of ball, then a strike.  2-1 count.  Just don't walk him and load the bases, I thought.  It was stressful and I was nervous.  Really nervous.  J.P. threw another ball.  Oh, shit, I thought.  Here comes the walk.  J.P. took a deep breath, leaned forward and dangled his right arm in front of him, like Kenley Jansen for the Dodgers.  He lifted his left leg high, stepped toward home plate and let the ball fly.  Strike two.  Full count.  

Another deep breath (by J.P. and me), the same motion, the pitch . . . strike three swinging.  Ball game!  J.P. smiled, his teammates cheered and came running in toward him.  The cool thing was that J.P. didn't celebrate too much.  He was happy, of course, but he acted like he expected to put out the fire and preserve the win.

What I was the most proud of - and I told him this - is that I knew I could put him in at pitcher in that type of a situation and the moment wouldn't be bigger than him.  He might succeed and he might fail.  If he failed, though, it wouldn't crush him.  He's confident, resilient and he would be disappointed but not devastated.  I knew he could bounce back.  

It took courage and heart to come in and pitch in such a tight spot.  And he succeeded.  It was a good night.  A damn good night.

Keeping On Keeping On

It seems I've taken an unintended hiatus from posting to the blog.  The weekend the blood clot in my mom's left leg was discovered, and the aftermath, were exhausting.  I've been down, as well, because my low back problems have flared up again, as a result of which I've been unable to run.  That's always tough for me to handle because running is such an outlet for me, particularly in times of stress.


I started physical therapy last week and I've been doing my assigned exercised in earnest every morning.  It's apparent to me that I'm going to have to become more disciplined and regularly do low back and core strengthening exercises for the rest of my life.  Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll be dealing with significant low back pain forever and my quality of life will take a serious hit as a result. 


The good news is that physical therapy has helped.  Yesterday afternoon, I ran 3 miles on the treadmill at Go Performance, the gym I've belonged to for several years.  8:34, 8:20 and 8 minute miles without any difficulty.  Breathing was good, I still felt relatively fit and most importantly, there was no back pain.  I'll continue with physical therapy for a couple more weeks and, hopefully (fingers crossed) put the worst of the low back pain behind me (no pun intended). 


As is always this case this time of year, we're covered up with baseball practices and games and soccer practices and games.  I'm coaching three baseball teams - two Junior Dodgers' teams (4, 5 and 6 year olds) and one Dodgers' team (9-10).  Our friend and the boys' former nanny, Carley Meade, remarked last weekend after watching me coach Joe's Junior Dodgers in a game that she could see how much I enjoyed it.  And, I do.  The highlight of my week is coaching my boys and their teammates, at practices or games.  I love every bit of it. 


There's been quite a bit of rain in Nashville this spring, especially on weekends.  As a result, the game schedule is crazy.  JP plays tonight, Friday night and Saturday night.  Joe plays on Saturday and Sunday.  And they both play soccer on Saturday, too.  See?  It's crazy.  It's also a good diversion for me form every day life, I think.


Speaking of which, I've finished my morning coffee at Honest Coffee Roasters in the Factory in Franklin.  Time to get in to the office and get some work done.