Putting Christmas 2022 in the Rear View Mirror

It's New Year's Eve and pretty quickly, Christmas memories are fading into the recent past.  The Christmas tree is still up - and decorated - and there are a few presents remaining to be opened by Jude's grandparents but we're at then end of the holiday season, for sure.  

I've been able to gear down a bit over the holidays, which has been nice.  I'm going to pay for it, though, beginning next week because my calendar is jammed in January and February 2023, with three and two days trials at the end of each month.  That's a lot and combined with my mediation practice, there won't be a lot of free time in the near future for me.

Joe is playing in a 3-on-3 basketball tournament in Franklin today, which might not be the smartest move because he's still coughing a lot and at night he's having trouble breathing normally.  Yesterday, the pediatrician told us we had nothing to worry about - that, in essence, he had a cold.  Still, when your son struggles to breath, it's concerning.  Jude is going to see about renewing the prescription for his inhaler that we got a couple of years ago when he dealt with something similar.  

I took JP, Joe, and Joe's buddy, Preston, to a Predators' game in 5 degree weather a day or two before Christmas.  The walk back to my truck was brutal but the game was fun. 

The boys and I also went to Fenwick 300, a diner in Melrose, for what turned out to be an unusual, but fantastic, early morning breakfast.  Due to rolling blackouts caused by the cold temperatures, we had to wait a bit longer for our meal and I had to do without coffee but in the end, it was all worth it as we shared a tasty breakfast together.  

Jude's brother and sister-in-law, James and Megan, and their kids, James and Caroline, left yesterday after visiting from Charlotte for a few days in between Christmas and New Year's Day.  We were happy to have them stay with us on the back end of their trip, as Jude finally ended her Covid-19 run and Joe recovered from a Christmas gift of strep throat, his lingering cough notwithstanding.  It's fun to have little ones in the house again because it just brings a different energy to everything we do.  I like that and I miss it.

Jude organized a Predators' game outing for her extended family to celebrate her parents' wedding anniversary on December 27.  There were 25 or 26 attendees and we all sat together, so it was a fun night.  

The next night, I hosted James, Megan, and the kids at a Belmont U. basketball game.  The kids loved sitting so close to the basketball court in our seats.  It worked out great, actually, as a few of Joe's basketball teammates were there, too, and we moved them over to our section so everyone could sit together.  James and Megan left at halftime to put the kids to bed and the rest of us saw a rollicking good game as Belmont defeated Bradley 63 - 60 in a game they probably shouldn't have won.  

The weather warmed up after Christmas, so JP, Joe and I got a baseball workout in at Belmont U.'s baseball field at Rose Park.  That's kind of a Christmas holiday tradition for us or so it seems.  Somewhere, I've got photos from last year of Joe - shirt off - taking batting practice on the baseball field at Rose Park just about this time of year.  Funny.  

I've been running a lot over the holidays, which has been nice.  It's been such an up and down - mostly down - year for me in terms of running consistently.  It's nice to be over Covid-19 for the second time, not coughing, and able to bang our four miles without too much effort.  My goal of running longer more often this year fell by the wayside earlier in the year but, still, I managed to run fairly regularly in 2022 in between being sick or injured.  

JP and I ran together again yesterday, which was awesome.  Four brisk miles down 21st Avenue and back on Music Row.  Every run with him is a gift and yesterday was no different.  A true blessing.  

Joe's favorite Christmas gift might well have been the 5th row tickets to a WWE event (Monday Night Raw) that I got for him.  It will be his third WWE event and he's very excited.  His enthusiasm for professional wrestling hasn't waned a bit, which is amusing to be but not so much to Jude.  JP's gong to sit this one out so Joe and I will have a night out together.  

I've made an effort to watch a few movies rather than limiting myself to reading only, as I often do.  The Tender Bar.  The Color of Money (a rewatch).  Top Gun Maverick (also a rewatch).  A 30 for 30 ESPN documentary about Jimmy Connors' historic run in the 1991 U.S. Open to the semifinals.  

I'm pretty sure this is Joe's last Christmas season to believe in Santa Claus and, of course, the Elf on the Shelf.  It's been a bit sad, to be honest, because the Elf hasn't moved every night.  Even sadder, of course, is the fact that Joe hasn't looked for the Elf every morning.  There's that passage of time thing, again.  Inexorable, always marching forward.  

Last night, we watched Tennessee smoke Clemson in the Orange Bowl, 31 - 14.  It was an unexpected end to an unexpected season from my standpoint.  The Vols finished 11 - 2 and an eyelash away from the four team playoff for the national championship.  It's been so much fun for Tennessee football to be relevant again.

On a down note and to cement the fact the "Blue Christmas" theme, after I dropped JP off at the Green Hills YMCA mid-week early one morning, a Land Rover Defender plowed into me as I sat at the intersection of Green Hills Circle and Hobbs Road, waiting to turn left.  The whole thing was bizarre, as there was no traffic at all but the other driver never saw me as he turned left and cut the turn way, way too short.  Thankfully, no one was hurt and may truck is drivable.  Getting it repaired will be a pain in the ass, though, and not something I really have time to deal with.  Such is life, though, and it could have been worse.  

All right, with my coffee at Dose finished, it's time to drive down to Cool Springs and watch Joe play basketball.  Jude called and he lost his fist game, 26 - 24.  Here we go.

Blue Christmas

It's been a bit of a Blue Christmas for our family this year.  

I tested Jude earlier this afternoon and, unfortunately, she is still Covid-19 positive.  She was disappointed, I know, because she's been isolating for the most part, non-stop, for almost a week.  She loves the holidays in the same way that my mom did, so it's been especially hard for her to not be able to spend time with the boys and me the way she want to while she is off work.

Fortunately, she is feeling better, I think, which is a good.  Also, we're keeping in mind the fact that people are dying of Covid-19 still, every day, so Jude and I have been blessed to have relatively mild cases.  She is past the 5 - 6 day period of isolation the CDC recommends after the onset of symptoms.  Still, the CDC guidelines for dealing with Covid-19 have changed so many times that it's hard to know what to believe.  

For example, I left isolation on or about the sixth day after the onset of symptoms, then tested negative on December 11, 2022.  I don't think I could have given the virus to Jude - or Andrea at work, for that matter - but who the hell really knows?  I did not take a second Covid-19 test 48 hours after my first negative test, which is what the CDC guidelines suggest.  Now, I'm wondering if I could have been a false negative, then spread the virus to Jude and Andrea.  Damn, I hope not.  

Adding insult to injury, Joe started feeling poorly after the boys came downstairs this morning to see what Santa Claus brought them and to open our stockings.  He had been coughing badly the last couple of days and this morning his throat was sore.  He went back to bed mid-morning, got up for a bit to watch football with JP and me, then faded.  He's been sleeping again for a few hours, although we're going to have to wake him soon so he can sleep tonight (it's almost 5:30 p.m. now).

A highlight of Christmas for me was the cold weather four mile neighborhood run JP and I went on yesterday about 4:00 p.m., must before it got dark.  It's been bone chilling cold - the coldest Christmas Eve and Christmas in many, many years, which has kept us inside for the most part.  It was 20 degrees when JP and I ran, with a wind chill significant in the low teens.  

For more than 30 years, my favorite time to run has been winter - my favorite season - and I was excited to get JP out for a run in the cold.  When I suggested we go for a run, he was dubious but he warmed up to the idea - pun intended - when I outfitted him with cold weather running gear.  Brooks tights and mittens from me and a long sleeve shirt, jacket, and gaitor from his closet.  He found an old Saucony running cap I gave him years ago, too.

I ran in tights, too, which is very rare for me.  My rule of thumb, for years, has been to wear shorts unless it's less than 26 degrees outside.  Why 26 degrees as the cutoff temperature?  I have no idea.  There might - and I mean might - be one or two occasions throughout the year when I wear tights for a run.  Typically, like today, I wear shorts and long compression socks and I am good to go.

Predictably, JP and I had a fantastic run.  He's been focused on soccer and, more recently, basketball, so we haven't had the opportunity to run together recently (other than our run at Sewanee over the Thanksgiving holiday).  With "The Haunting" playlist from Spotify as our background music, we ran through our current neighborhood and our old one, too, finishing on Belmont Boulevard to get to four miles. 

Mostly, we ran in silence, as we normally do, although we talked a bit now and then.  I dropped a few hints about how to run safely when there is ice and snow on the ground, as was the case yesterday.  Patches, mostly, but still, one false step and you can be looking at an injury that sidelines you for a while. 

As we ran down 10th Avenue - my old stomping grounds and a road I've run more than any other in my life, I think - I thanked him for the run.  As I've written in this space before, I don't take any run with JP for granted.  Every run with him, for me, is a gift.  My run with JP yesterday was a Christmas gift - the best one I could possibly receive, actually.

What I loved the most about yesterday's run, though, is what it taught him (or so I hope).  It's never too cold to run outside.  It can be too hot but it can never be too cold, as long as you have the right gear.  I've always felt that way.  It makes me feel good to run when I know others are not running.  In the cold, in the heat, early or late.  

I felt a kinship with JP when, unprompted, he said to me, "it's pretty cool that we're running when nobody else is running."  He gets it, I thought, in the same way that I do.  One of the things that separates runners is who is willing to run run in less than optimal conditions.  It matters, to me, at least.

It's been a mixed bag, this Christmas.  We're not done yet, so I will write about the highlights later, but this is where we are, for now.

Merry Christmas, although it does have a blue tint to it.

Covid-19 Fights Back

I may be through with Covid-19 but, apparently, it's not through with me yet.  

Two nights ago, Jude tested positive or Covid-19 and, yesterday, my newest associate at work - Andrea - tested positive for Covid-19, too.  

I'm not sure it matters at this point but I don't think I gave Jude and Andrea Covid-19 because I tested negative on December 11 and more than a week passed before either one of them experienced any symptoms.  Still, it's hard to know for sure.  I guess my negative test could have been a false negative because I didn't test a second time.  Also, I'm suspicious because their symptoms are remarkably similar and they sound alike when I talk to them.

I feel terrible for Jude, in particular, because her positive test comes right before Christmas.  Her brother and his wife and children, whom we love spending time with, were planning on coming to Nashville from Charlotte and staying with us after Christmas.  That plan is out the window, obviously, as are our plans to go to Tracy and Gary's house for brunch on Christmas Eve.  

Plus, I hate it that Jude feels so awful over the holidays.  She works so hard and I hate for her time off to be spent feeling so poorly.  That's Covid-19, though.  Always poor timing, I guess.

Deconstructing the Factory

I was about to rush in for coffee this morning at Honest Coffee Roasters when I got a text confirming my 9 a.m. appointment has canceled.  So much for wearing a coat and tie to work today, the last week before Christmas.  Still, I won't complaint about having a little more time to enjoy my coffee as I sit on one of the couches in what passes for the lobby of the Factory, underneath a 35' tall Christmas tree.

'Tis the season indeed.

The Factory, of course, is a mess.  Since closing on the $65,000,000 less than a year ago, the new owners immediately began the massive renovation project that has left everything her in a state of disarray, at least temporarily.  Several longtime shop owners were told their month-to-month leases would not be renewed, so they quickly closed up and moved out.  Other shop owners were allowed to stay.

Honest Coffee Roasters is undergoing another expansion as a result of which it's suddenly been halved in size to the point that it's not really possible to sit in the shop and drink my coffee without feeling like I've been shoe horned into the place.  I guess it will be better when they're finished with the expansion but I'm not sure if that will be the case.  Much as with the renovation of the Factory itself, I fear the intimacy and character of the old coffee shop will be lost in the expansion.

Change is inevitable, of course.  Progress, too, I guess.  Still, I miss the Factory of old.  Yes, it was under utilized and, I assume an under performing asset.  A lot of vacancies and unused space was a problem, to be sure.  For me, though, I loved being able to wander through the three buildings as I talked to a client, or attorney, on my AirPods, sometimes for thirty minutes or an hour.  It was different from being in the office, obviously, and a nice change of pace.

Especially during the early days of the pandemic - when I was terrified of getting Covid-19 - I got coffee at Honest Coffee Roasters, then walked up to the massive, wide open lobby area and sat on one of the four couches arranged in the four corners of "the Great Hall," where I read the New York Times online, answered e-mail, or otherwise planned my day.  It was nice to be around other people but distanced from them because it made me feel less isolated.  

Now, of course, there is a temporary wall that cuts off access to what is left of "the Great Hall."  Through circular windows in the temporary wall, I can see that the new owners cut down the trees that grew in planters and brought a unique feel to the space.  That was to be expected but is still feels wrong, somehow.  The entire area looks like a bomb went off in it.  

The back building where I often camped out to work on projects that required a couple of hours of deep thought or concentration is closed to the public.  Renovations are going on in there, too, or so it seems.

Outside the Factory's main building, the owners recently demolished a beautiful, old patio (I guess you'd call it) that was adjacent to Honest Coffee Roasters.  They also cut down an old tree that grew next to the patio, which seems unnecessary to me but what do I know?  I just hate to see old, healthy trees cut down in the name of progress.

Well, my reverie has been interrupted, suddenly, by Christmas music blasting over the loudspeakers, so guess it's time to move along to the office.  It's time to deal with a lingering personnel issue, dictate a couple of Orders from a hearing Friday afternoon that went surprisingly well, and visit a new client at the Williamson County Jail (don't ask).  

So much for slowing down the week before Christmas, right?  

Turn, Turn, Turn

To everything (turn, turn, turn)

There is a season (turn, turn, turn)

And a time to every purpose under Heaven.

Pete Seeger

Sometimes, like just now as I stood in a line at Dose, waiting to order my morning coffee and scrambled eggs, I'll see a mom and dad with a son in a stroller.  If it's a day or a moment that I'm not lost in thought or distracted, worrying about work, I find myself overwhelmed with emotions as if by magic, I travel backwards in time and see myself standing in line with JP or Joe comfortably ensconced in my stroller.  

It happens so quickly and unexpectedly that it's like touching an emotional live wire and receiving a quick but strong electric shock.  This morning, it staggered me for a moment and I felt tears welling in my eyes as I gazed down at an infant boy in a stroller, as his parents stood above him, talking quietly.  As he looked up at them - the picture of contentment - the boy's father smiled at him and reached down to adjust his stocking cap.  

I'm not sure how or why but I could sense that he was their first child.

For an instant, I could see JP in that stroller, looking up at me, as we stood in line at Bongo Java, 13 or 14 years ago.  The memory was so real and so powerful.  

As I often do when I have an experience like this, I leaned over and touched the father lightly on his shoulder and smiled.  

"I just dropped off my oldest son at school for last exam of the semester," I said.  "He's in 8th grade.  Trust me, they go from that age - I pointed down at his son - to 8th grade so fast.  Enjoy every minute."

The man and his wife smiled at me, friendly and grateful I had taken the time to speak with them.  "Thank you," the boy's father said.  "We do and we will.  Enjoy every minute."  

I turned away so they wouldn't see the tears in my eyes.  

Today, JP is taking his last exam of the semester, Latin, a class he enjoys that is taught by a teacher he loves, Ms. Ellery.  Joe is back in circulation after missing two and half days of school with a virus or bug of some sort.  He was smiling and happy today, anxious to get back to school for the Christmas party.  

I miss the stroller days terribly at times.  There's no denying that fact.  Those days came and went like an Indian summer, gone all too soon.  

Still, Jude and are blessed beyond belief to have the boys we have at the ages they are now, 14 and 10.  Healthy, happy, smart, funny, filled with kindness and goodness.  God has been so good to us and I'm so very grateful.

 

Turning the Corner on Covid-19

Yesterday, for the first time in a week, I finally started to feel a little bit like myself.  My voice is back.  I was less tired.  I was less congested, although I've got a dry cough that I suspect will be with my for a while, courtesy of Covid-19:  The Sequel.

According to CDC Guidelines, I no longer need to isolate (5 days of isolation after the onset of symptoms).  I was back in circulation yesterday afternoon.  I got my haircut while wearing a mask, of course.  Then, I stopped by the office for the first time all week.  It was good to see everyone and to sit in captain's chair again, even if it was only for a few minutes. 

My gratitude at feeling better is palpable.  That's the thing about being sick - for me, anyway - it makes me appreciate even more being well.  I can't wait to run again. 

After work, at my urging, Chas, Lee, Andrea and I sat up front and had a bourbon together.  I turned the lights off and we basked in the glow of the lights from our Christmas tree and talked while we watched people walk buy us outside, headed to Puckett's for dinner or to Main Street for the beginning of the Dickens of a Christmas Festival.  I feel this way a lot,  honestly, but sometimes it's nice to have an office in downtown Franklin.

As we sat together, I was struck by the fact that I'm very lucky to work with and, especially, to have the law partners I have.  It was special to spend a few stolen moments with Chas, because he and his family have had such a tough go of it the past few months.  His wife has been ill and his mom just got released from the hospital, too.  I don't know how he works, raises two kids, and cares for his wife and mom.  He's got broad shoulders, literally and figuratively, but still, he has so much on him right now.  

While I don't think I'm contagious, I want to be careful not to get JP sick, since he is in the middle of exams.  He took his history exam yesterday and though it went well.  He has exams all next week and, just like that, the first semester of 8th grade is over.  

Joe's looking forward to finishing the first semester, as well, but his days are a little easier than JP's at the moment.  Yesterday, the big news was that Joe's team won in football at recess, 37 - 35, when Joe sacked the opposing team's quarterback - his friend, Bennett, for a late safety.  Big day.  

Joe plays quarterback and when I get home each day, I'm always anxious to hear about that day's game.  How many touchdowns did he throw?  How many picks?  Any disputed calls?  That kind of thing.

The life of a 4th grader is so innocent and carefree.  It's almost painfully beautiful, like a cold winter morning.  Blue sky, sunshine, and watching the cloud your breath makes as you walk to the car to go to work.  What a great time in Joe's life and what a great time in mine to watch it unfold.  

Today?  Another busy Saturday.  Jude is taking JP and a couple of friends to a noon Predators' game. 

Joe and I have quite the day planned.  All basketball, if we can pull it off.  Joe plays in a doubleheader at St. Paul's at 11 a.m. and noon, then we're going to go to MBA and watch the Big Red play McCallie at 1:30 p.m.  Afterwards, Joe plays his third basketball game of the day, at MBA.  Then, we'll rush to Belmont U. to catch the second half of Belmont's basketball game.  

Our boys keep us busy on weekends, an young, too, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Here Comes the Judge

Nine years.  $360,000,000.  $40,000,000 per year.

That's price tag of the Yankees new contract with Aaron Judge, reigning American League M.V.P. and, apparently, a Yankee for life.  Or, at least until age 39.

It's the largest deal - in total annual salary and total value - ever for a position player.  It's only fitting, I guess, that the Yankees would be the franchise to pay it.  Somewhere, George Steinbrenner is smiling smugly and nodding his head.

Is it too much money to pay a 31-year old outfielder,  often injured during his career but coming off a season for the ages in which he broke Rogers Maris' American League home run record and led the Major Leagues in on-base percentage, slugging percentage, runs scored, runs batted in, and total bases?  

No, it's not too much for Yankees to pay to Aaron Judge.  In fact, the Yankees had not choice.  They had to sign Aaron Judge or their fans would have revolted, and rightfully so.  

Franchise players, true franchise players - the superstars - are so rare in sports today.  In the modern era of the N.B.A., there was Michael Jordan, Hakeem, and Kobe.  Now, there is Steph Curry, standing alone.  In the N.F.L., no one stands out.  Peyton Manning and Tom Brady changes teams late in their careers.  

In baseball, there's Clayton Kershaw for my Dodgers, at least for now, although I suspect he pitches a final season for the Texas Rangers.  Barry Bonds is a San Francisco Giant for life but he carries a ton of baggage, obviously.  

Almost all of the superstars in baseball move on at some point from the team that originally drafted them.  As a Dodgers' fan, I was ecstatic to get Freddie Freeman from the Braves last year and he had a predictably fantastic season.  As a baseball fan, though, I was sad to see the Braves allow him to leave.  He was their heart and soul and he wanted to stay in Atlanta and would have taken less money to do so.

That brings me back to Aaron Judge.  I think it's important for teams to keep their heart and should superstars.  The ones the fans - especially kids - identify with and whose jerseys they wear.  That's who Aaron Judge is for the Yankees, for sure.  

So, good for Aaron Judge.  Good for the Yankees.  Good for baseball.

I still want Dansby Swanson from the Braves, though.  I can't wait to see him playing shortstop in Dodger Blue next season.

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/12/07/sports/baseball/yankees-aaron-judge-contract.html

Covid--19: The Rematch

Here we go again.  

Last night I tested positive for Covid-19.  Again.  The second time this calendar year.  

My entire family has been coughing since before Thanksgiving but I've been careful to try and stay away from them.  Mostly just to avoid getting a cold or sinus infection or so I thought.  I've even been sleeping in the guest room because Jude has been coughing a lot at night.

Friday late afternoon, I began to feel a little run down at work.  Scratchy throat.  A little sniffly.  I didn't sleep well Friday evening.  Sinus infection, I thought.  Saturday morning, I drove to the walk-in clinic and arrived just as it opened, saw a doctor, and convinced him to prescribe me a dose of antibiotics.  My plan, as always, was to get on a Z pack (or something similar) and knock the sinus infection out in three of four days.

I filled the prescription, took the antibiotics Saturday morning and evening, then again Sunday morning.  I was feeling well enough Sunday evening to coach Joe's basketball practice at MBA.  Not much of a voice, scratchy throat, but overall, better.

Later Sunday evening, I decided to run a Covid-19 test, just to be sure, because a friend  was scheduled to mediate a difficult case of mine on Monday and Wednesday.  He is in his mid-60's and had a rough go of it with Covid-19 late in 2020, so I wanted to be sure I wasn't putting him at risk.

And, damn if I didn't test positive for Covid-19, again.  Second time in 2022.  Well, shit.

Fortunately, for reasons beyond the scope of this post, my mediation ended up being canceled Monday morning.  Of course, that didn't happen until I was sitting in the Factory, sipping my morning coffee, properly distanced, about to go to the office.  My plan had been to mediate by Zoom upstairs in our conference room, away from everyone else, and to use the side entrance to our office to go in and out, as needed.  I was going to meet my client outside or in the parking garage to talk, if necessary.

A different approach to Covid-19 in the latter part of the third year of the pandemic, to be sure.

It's ironic - I guess - because I've spent a lot of time thinking about how differently we, as a society, feel about Covid-19 in year 3.  I'm fascinated with the entire subject.  Our behaviors have changed so much as it relates to what we're willing to do to try to avoid getting Covid-19 and how we reach when we do get it.

For example, I'm sitting outside Dose right now, drinking coffee after finishing my breakfast of two scrambled eggs.  I'm not sitting inside, of course, because I'm still within the five day quarantine window of when I first experienced symptoms.  I did go inside, though, to place my order.  No mask.

I'll go to JP's basketball game today at MBA and sit away from everyone else.  I'll wear a mask and avoid coming in close contact with anyone.  But I'm still going to go.

I'm convinced my entire family had Covid-19 over Thanksgiving, when they were all coughing and had sore throats.  I can't prove it, of course, because people rarely test for Covid-19 anymore or so it seems.  As a society, we're firmly entrenched in the "don't test, don't tell" stage of the pandemic.  No one wants to know they have Covid-19 because no one wants to be quarantined for five days minimum.

It's been an easier ride this time around - at least so far - and for that I'm grateful.  Things did take a turn for the worse yesterday morning, however, when I woke up with the chills and body aches.  That subsided fairly quickly, though, and I've slept better, felt better, and not been as tired as I was last January when I had Covid-19.  

Really, it's felt like a sinus infection with a scratchy - not sore - throat.  I can handle that, even if it's a pain for my voice not to be as strong as it normally is.  Hell, anyone that spends much time around me probably appreciates a quieter me.  

I had a prescription for Paxlovid telephoned in on Sunday night and I picked it up on Monday morning.  The doctor I had a video consultation with through Cue Health - yep, these are the modern days - suggested I wait and see how I felt on Monday night and Tuesday before I decided if I wanted to take it or not.  The regimen is three pills, twice a day, for five days.  30 pills total.  In the end, I decided not to take the Paxlovid because my only risk factor is my age (50 +) and my symptoms weren't severe.  In the end, I hated to put that much of any drug in any body ever a five day period of time unless I absolutely had to do so.

So far, I've been taking it easy and working some from my office at home.  When my mediation canceled, it lightened my calendar considerably.  No running, which is killing me.  No bourbon or red wine, which is  killing me, too. (not really) We're holding of, for now, on decorating the Christmas tree until this weekend when, if I believe the CDC guidelines, I will no longer need to be in quarantine.  

Hopefully, I'll keep feeling better and I can run this weekend.  I don't plan on any lingering effects from Covid-19 but one never knows.  

So, for now, I'll isolate in the house and stick to the guest room and my office for the most part.  I'll work some and try to rest more than usual.  I'll read and watch movies on my iPad.  I might even nap with Angus - one of two cats, along with Mini-T, in my lap, like it did yesterday.  

If Covid-19 was going to catch me again, I'm glad it was before Christmas and after Thanksgiving, so I'm not missing holiday family time.   

A Night Out with Joe

Tuesday night, I rushed from work to MBA for parents' meeting for JP's middle school basketball team.  As we finished up and I was walking to my truck, I called home to see if I could pick up dinner.  I was looking forward to unwinding at home for a bit, then preparing for a mediation I had the following day.

Fate intervened, however, as Jude pointed out that Joe had noticed we had two tickets - through our longstanding hockey group - to the Predators vs. Ducks game that night.  The game was scheduled to start in 45 minutes, so we had to make a decision, quickly, if we were going to go.

When I got home, Jude told me Joe really wanted to go.  She has been under the weather, so I agreed to take him, albeit a bit grudgingly.  I was tired after a long day at work and I had more work to do, at home, which would need to be done at 10 p.m. or so, after the game.

No grumbling, though, because this is what we do as parents.  That's what I reminded myself of, anyway.  Also, Joe was really excited and it's not every day that I get a night out, alone, with him.

Because we live so close to downtown, we left at 6:45 p.m. and were parked and in Bridgestone in time for the puck drop to start the game.  We had a great time, of course, and saw the Predators' win an exciting game in overtime when the captain, Roman Josi, scored right in front of us (our seats are good ones), off a nifty pass from Matt Duchene.

In the end, really, it was a normal night out to the Predators' game with Joe.  We had so much fun together.  A little thing but everything, at least to me.  As JP grows older - he's off on a bus to see MBA vs. Baylor in Chattanooga for the state football championship tonight - I realize these times with the boys are fleeting.  Hell, everything is fleeting.  

So, I savored my night out at the Predators' game with Joe and got ready for my mediation after we got home from the game and I got Joe into bed.  I thought about how lucky we are to have the boys we have.  JP and Joe are the best.

Fatherhood.  

Coming Down from the Mountain

I just dropped JP off at MBA and I am having my Monday morning coffee at Dose before beginning a busy week at work.  Mediations three days in a row to close out November, then the spring to Christmas begins.  

Our time on the Mountain, in Sewanee, was a much needed respite for our family.  A time to recharge our batteries and to downshift into neutral for a few days.  

In the end, we were all glad we stayed, again, in the Midyett's house on campus, on Tennessee Avenue.  So convenient to all of the things the boys love to do which, of course, is sports, sports, and more sports.  Soccer field across the street, the Fowler Center nearby, and the football and baseball fields a few blocks away.  We packed a lot of fun into a five nights on the Mountain.

• JP and Joe walked across the street and played soccer Wednesday while Jude worked a bit and nursed a bad cold she's been fighting.

• Thanksgiving Day with Jude's parents, Jane and Jim, was good family time.  Smoked turkey from Martin's, ham courtesy of Jane White, and pies from Meridee's.  We gave them a tour of All Saints' Chapel, which they enjoyed.

• I had a nice trail run on Thanksgiving Day on the Dimick Lake trail, one of my favorite trails in Sewanee or anywhere else for that matter.

• JP and I had a nice run together on Saturday morning on the Mountain Goat trail.  It was so good to get a run in with him, as it had been a while.

• We had a list from the Davis family on Saturday, as Oliver, Tera, Preston, and Morgan joined us on the Mountain.  After a visit to the Cross at the end of Tennessee Ave. and a tour of All Saints' Chapel, we had lunch at Shenanigan's.  Great adult conversation while the kids played UNO.  Later, a baseball workout on Sewanee's baseball field followed by basketball at the Fowler Center.

• I alternated reading America, America (Ethan Canin) and First:  Sandra Day O'Connor (Evan Thomas).  Two excellent reads.

• I attended the Sunday morning service at All Saints' Chapel, early, at 8 a.m.  Seminarian AJ Boots ('24) gave a memorable sermon.

• We had two rousing games of family Catchphrase much to Jude's delight.

• On my laptop, I watched UT destroy Vandy, 56 - 0, much to my delight.

• Soccer, tennis, golf, baseball, and basketball for the boys.  Our own sports camp on the Mountain.

• We had front row seats, literally, in from the big screen television on the breakfast side of the Blue Chair to watch the USMNT tie England, 0 - 0, in the World Cup.  Really cool.

• The boys and I had breakfast Saturday morning at the Blue Chair, always a highlight for us.

• Friday evening, I sat in an Adirondack chair across the street from the house, behind the School of Theology overlooking the rugby field, and read a story, two poems, and an essay from, appropriately enough, the latest issue of the Sewanee Review.  It arrived at our house the day before we left.  

All right, my Monday morning reverie is over.  Time to get to work.

Sunday Morning at All Saints Chapel

This morning, in a reprise of the Sunday after Thanksgiving last year, I went to the 8 a.m. service at All Saints' Chapel, walking distance from the house we are renting on Tennessee Avenue.  

All Saints' Chapel is a beautiful, historic church on University Avenue in the middle of Sewanee's campus.  It's well over one hundred years old.  The stained glass windows are exquisite and provide a historical record of the Sewanee and the Episcopal Church.  There are historical markers - tablets, they're called - anchored to the wall of the Chapel in memory of various individuals with a connection to Sewanee.  Visiting All Saints' Chapel - especially for a church service - is a highlight of every trip to the Mountain for me.

I have a history with the Episcopal Church that predates my marriage to Jude, completion of the RCIA class, and eventual membership in the Catholic Church.

At some point in time in the late 1990's, I asked my mom if I had been baptized.  I assumed I had been, given that we attended the Methodist Church throughout my youth, although Tracy and Alice were more active than I was, to be sure.  To my surprise, my mom replied that she wasn't sure if I had been baptized or not.  I was mildly concerned because based on my very limited knowledge of general religious doctrine, being baptized was a prerequisite to being admitted into Heaven upon one's death.  

I had been attending St. Paul's Episcopal Church for a while and, truth be told, felt like for once in my life, I had found my church home.  Every Sunday morning when I attended the 7:30 a.m. service, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and certitude that I was where I was supposed to be.  I had never experienced that sense of belonging at a church before but it was very real to me, then and now, in my memories.  

The Rector, Bob Cowperthwaite, who served St. Paul's for 25 years before retiring to St. Augustine, Florida, in 2014, subsequently baptized me in the Episcopal Church after I took the necessary class over a period of months.  As I recall, my mom and my sister attended the service at St. Paul's where I was baptized and it meant a lot to me for them to be there to see it.

I was going through a difficult time in my life at that point in time, personally, and I relied a great deal on Father Bob's sermons on Sunday mornings for the spiritual sustenance to keep me going throughout the week.  The quiet fellowship of my fellow early rising Sunday morning parishioners was important to me, as well, not the least of which was a handshake and kind word from my law partner's grandmother, Brownie Puryear.  

I was newly single and Mark Puryear and I had left our jobs to start our law practice, so to say it was time of transition for me - personally and professionally - would be an understatement.  Still, throughout that challenging and difficult time in my life, St. Paul's and the Episcopal Church were there for me, something I can never forget.  

This morning, at All Saints' Chapel, a seminarian, AJ Boots ('24) - great name, isn't it? - delivered the sermon.  She was amazing.  Earnest, genuine, articulate, intelligent, and thoughtful.  All of those things and many more.  She was nervous - I was sitting close enough to see her hands shaking just a little bit - but that only added to the impact of her words on me.  

She talked about her studies at Seminary and, in particular, about dreading taking the choral class that was required of all seminarians because she always had been embarrassed about her singing voice.  Still, she completed the class and today, at the end of her sermon, she sang a bit of a hymn from her home parish in New Hampshire.  

It was beautiful, not because she has a classically trained singing voice.  It was beautiful because it was heartfelt and meaningful expression of her love of God and her love for all of us.  

I was blessed to be there, this morning, to hear AJ Boots' sermon and her voice lifted in song at All Saints' Chapel.

Thanksgiving on the Mountain (2022)

We're back, again, for Thanksgiving on the Mountain.  For the third consecutive year, we're staying in a house on Tennessee Avenue, on campus.  The boys chose for us to stay in the house again in part because we'r directly across the street from the Sewanee soccer field and a long walk (or a short drive) to the football and baseball fields.  The Fowler Center (basketball) is just around the corner, as well.

I'm glad to be here, of course, because being on the Mountain somehow rejuvenates me.  I love it up here.  

Jude and the boys arrived on Tuesday evening.  I had a mediation on Tuesday and needed to work on Wednesday, at least for a half day, so I drove up Wednesday evening.  Wednesday, the boys played soccer, nine holes of golf, and tennis.  Sewanee is like sports camp for them, so it's easy to see why they love staying on campus.  

I ran five miles on the Lake Dimmick trail yesterday.  It was beautiful to be outside plus there is always something special about running on a holiday.  The path was carpeted in leaves, so I was careful not to trip over tree roots.  I've been down that road, or trail, in a manner of speaking, when I broke my big left toe several years ago on a January trail run on the Cornelia Fort trial in Shelby Bottoms.  To this day, I can't grow a toe nail on that toe.  

There was a point in my run - about halfway through - when Lucinda Williams' song, Blessed, began playing and I thought, "how appropriate.  What a perfect song to capture my mood."  It was Thanksgiving morning, I was on a run, my family is well, and I felt strong.  In that moment, as so often happens when I run, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Lord for my life.  I stopped and took a few photos, which is not something I normally do when I run.  I guess I wanted to try to capture that feeling in the very moment, although it's not something it's really possible to do.  

I guess that's part of what I love about this place.  So many of my runs, especially the trail runs, are damn near perfect.  In a given year, if I pinpointed my top ten runs, half of them probably would be runs I had on the Mountain.  In fact, a couple of my all-time favorite runs happened up here.  Certainly, I have had more memorable runs on the Mountain than anywhere else.

JP is itching to run with me today, which would be nice, because we haven't run together in a while.  With soccer practice every day and basketball or baseball workouts on weekends, combined with homework, it's been hard for him to find a time to run with me.  A little Cats in the Cradle?  I don't think so, not yet anyway.  

JP got the word on Wednesday that he made the basketball team at MBA on Tuesday evening.  We assumed he would make it but you never know, I guess, so we were grateful.  Unless I miss my guess, he will be playing on the "A team," but we'll learn more about that at the parents' meeting next week.  As was the case last year, I'm looking forward to seeing how much he can improve with a basketball in his hands almost every day.  

I've watched JP work out and scrimmage, at MBA, 5-on-5, a few times and he's way ahead of where he was last year.  He has a handle that I never had and he's been playing the point and distributing the ball.  Coach Amos knows he sees the court well and is a good passer, so I'm guessing he'll play point this season or, maybe, off guard.  He gets to the rim and has a nice 3-point shot, too.  Defensively, he's quicker and tougher than I ever was, no question.  He's a complete player at this point, so it will be interesting to watch the season unfold.  

I'm finishing my coffee at Stirling's Coffeehouse, on campus.  I'm so glad they're open this weekend because it's one of my favorite coffee shops anywhere.  Location, location, location.

Tough Times for the Kid

Sometimes, in this space, I find myself only writing about the boys' successes.  It's almost like Instagram, where all you see are people looking their best on the best days.  Happy.  Successful.  

Yes, my boys' accomplishments are many and, for sure, Jude and I are blessed beyond measure to have JP and Joe as our son.  Still, it's not all wine and roses.  Not by a long shot.  The boys struggle and, of course, that's part of growing up, too.  In fact, that might be the most important part.  It's easy to be happy and well-adjusted when things are going well.  It's much harder, though, when times are tougher.  

What we're trying to do as parent - certainly, what I am trying to do - is prepare my boys to face adversity as men and not to give up when times are tough.  Adversity is always around the corner, though it's not something to be feared.  It's something to be embraced, accepted, and fought to at least a draw if not a win.  

JP loves Montgomery Bell Academy and he's excelling in all aspects of life there.  Scholar.  Athlete.  Gentlemen.  That's the motto and JP is all three of those.  His grades are fantastic.  Privilege list every quarter so far.  He's a stellar athlete.  The most versatile athlete in his class, in my view.  

Still, school at MBA is hard.  Really, really hard.  He studies in his room for a couple of hours after practice (cross country, soccer, etc.) every evening, comes down for dinner, then goes back to his room to study for a couple of more hours.  I'm guessing he puts in three to four hours of homework and studying every night on top of what he does in study hall at school each day.  It's a lot.  

I know JP is stressed right now because he's talked about it a little bit with Jude and to a lesser extent, with me.  Although I remind him that he's the same kid walking out of school - regardless of what kind of a grade he made on a quiz or test - as he was when I dropped him off at school that morning, it's tough for him because he expects so much of himself.  He wants to be the best student, to continue to make all A's.  He wants to be the best athlete, too, someone his teammates can count on and someone his classmates can admire.  

He wants to carry the torch - and I admire that about him - but it's a heavy lift for him, sometimes, to measure up to the goals he sets for himself.  I've been there and I get it. 

Today, for example, he has a Latin quiz, a project due in Cultural Geography, a big (Honors) Earth Science test, and the second day of basketball tryouts.  That's a lot for a 14 year old boy, right?  I know it's a helluva lot more than I ever had to handle, at one time, when I was 14 years old, especially since he's at the most demanding - academically - school in Nashville.  

Lately, at times, JP has snapped at Jude, Joe, or me, which for him is very rare.  In fact, that's one of the ways I know he's under a lot of stress. 

Lately, Jude has started going up to JP's room and laying on his bed, answering e-mails and working, while he sits at his desk and does his homework.  She does it to keep him company because he seems to get lonely upstairs, in his room, alone, night after night, while the three of us are downstairs watching television, usually a game or reruns of the Office.  It's sweet and a simple act of love.  

I reminded JP this morning, on the way to school, that all we wanted - and all he should want - is for him to do his best.  The rest will take care of itself.  He's put the work in, relax, and just do his best.  That's all he can do.

That's all any of us can do.

Back to Bongo Java

There was a time - a decade ago - when I had coffee at Bongo Java almost every day.  In fact, I had never had coffee, or even liked coffee, until I started rolling JP into Bongo in the stroller, the legendary Baby Jogger City Elite.

If memory serves, JP and I started going to Bongo on Sunday mornings.  Saturday mornings were mine and I normally went for a long run in Shelby Bottoms.  Sunday mornings were for Jude and while she went for a walk at Radnor Lake or simply relaxed, JP and I had breakfast at Bongo Java.  

It was our time together, every Sunday morning, and as I sit at Bongo this morning - for the first time in years - I'm dumbstruck by the waves of nostalgia washing over me as I sip my coffee, listen to the music, and watch a few people scattered at tables, talking quietly with each other.  Honestly, I've sat at every table in Bongo multiple times, often with JP and later, Joe, sleeping in the stroller beside me.  

The presence of JP's toddler ghost is palpable.  My mind is playing tricks on me, for sure, because everywhere I look, if I look hard enough, I can see JP or Joe as they were at age 2, or 3, or 4, or 5, and so forth and so on.  So many happy memories in this place.  Bongo Java is, in many ways, where I felt the most like a father in the early days.  Eating breakfast with my son or stopping in for a Saturday afternoon cup of coffee while JP or Joe napped in the stroller.

For the longest time, I planned on writing an essay about Bongo Java - maybe I still will - entitled "How a Coffee Shop Became the Center of My Universe."  I thought about it a lot.  Still do, actually.

My memories of this place are so happy, I think, because of where I was in my life.  As I've written before, my Bongo days were a time of innocence and a time when anything was possible.  

What drew me back this morning - a Saturday - is that a friend tipped me off this week to the fact that someone at Bongo Java - probably the owner, Bob Bernstein, had pulled out a framed photo of the boys I game to our favorite manager, EJ, year and years ago.  

The photo was taken at Frothy Monkey in 12South when we were displaced for a couple of weeks while Bernstein replaced the front porch.  The boys were, I'm guessing, 7 and 3, and I told them to look sad in the photo.  JP held up a sign that says, "We miss EJ.  @bongojava."  It's hilarious, actually, and now it's on the wall at Bongo, below another black and white photo of a dad and his infant son laughing at a table in Bongo.

In the earliest of my Bongo Java days and for the longest time thereafter, my drink of choice was a Mood Elevator.  Chad was the first barista I met here, well over 15 years ago, and he turned me on to it.  A double iced mocha with hazelnut, two shot, very light on the mocha.  

Chad was fierce looking and intimidating, with pointed side burns, covered in tattoos with a lot of piercings.  But he had a huge smile and he loved JP, always engaging with him and making him smile.  Chad had personal problems and after he left Bongo, I heard he accidentally ran a samurai sword through a roommate - who survived miraculously - in an argument.  But that's another story, to day the least.

JP and I used to sit in the back at the same table most of the time.  It backed up onto the window seat, so he could sit up high, see everything, and look out the window, too.  There were only three or four tables back there so it kept us from disturbing anyone if JP was feeling particularly rambunctious.  The back room is closed off, now, and used as some type of a supply closet, which is a little sad.  

As I reflect back, I think something was lost when Bob Bernstein replaced the front porch.  He raised prices, as I recall, which drove some of the longtime regulars customer away, like Ms. Joyce.  It just didn't feel the same when he reopened.  Also, it caused me to branch out and try different coffee shops, Frothy Monkey and Portland Brew in 12South and 8th & Roast.  

The biggest thing, though, is Bob Bernstein slowly but surely ran off all of the old heads, the baristas who really cared about making good coffee, and replaced them with Belmont undergraduates who didn't care a whit about coffee.  Chuck, Hunter, Taylor, Adam, and finally, EJ, all gone.  That's what ended my run at Bongo Java, really.  The people that I knew and that loved my boys were let go, one by one, over a few months' time.  

Still, there is a magical feeling in this place for me.  The sense of nostalgia is so overwhelming I can feel it.  I don't think there is any one place where I have as many happy memories as I have here, at these table, inn this coffee shop, that once upon a time was indeed the center of my universe.  

Saying Goodbye to Soccer

In the HVAC tournament championship game last night at USN's River Campus, JP's MBA team lost to a tough David Lipscomb squad, 2-0.  

Lipscomb's goalie, Campbell, who plays travel soccer with my law partner's son, was the difference.  He was tested several times but never allowed a goal.  MBA's goalie wasn't as strong, and Lipscomb scored a goal late in the first half and another early in the second half.  Really, that was that, as MBA just couldn't break through.  

The first goal was a tough one, as JP - playing left back - and one of the midfielders miscommunicated on a ball that could easily have been cleared.  As a result, one of the Lipscomb players lobbed it over JP's head and Lipscomb's best and fastest forward beat JP to the ball and scored a relatively easy goal.  I felt for JP because he should have taken the ball and cleared it.  I think his inexperience showed on that play and it cost MBA a goal.

Truthfully, I was a little glad when Lipscomb scored the second goal.  I didn't want MBA to lose 1-0 and for JP to have given up the only goal of the night.  In other words, I didn't want his last memory of soccer to be of giving up the only goal in the championship game.  That would be a tough one but, yes, part of life, too.

 Last memory?  I think so because in high school, soccer is a spring sport, as is baseball.  It's very likely - a certainty, according to JP - that he will want to play junior varsity and varsity baseball, rather than soccer, next year and beyond.  In fact, on several occasions, including a couple of nights ago, he has told Jude that this is his last season to play soccer.  

I've enjoyed immensely the run his team has been on this season - 10-0 before last night's loss.  I've really enjoyed watching him compete in a sport about which I know very little.  He plays hard, physically, and aggressively, which I love.  He competes, because he's JP, something else I also love.  Although he's relatively inexperienced compared to a few of his teammates who play travel soccer, JP has not seemed out of place at all in any game.  What he lacked in soccer acumen, he made up for in athleticism and desire, or so it seemed to me.  

As I watched JP play last night and Tuesday night against USN, I couldn't help but think back to all of the recreational league games on Saturday mornings over the years at First Presbyterian Church, playing for Thomas McDaniel.  I thought about the FCS club team he played for with University School Classmates before it disbanded after a year or so.  Those are good memories, for sure, even though admittedly I'm not the biggest soccer fan.  

Watching JP play this season and seeing his skill level increase, undoubtedly because he's practicing and playing with more skilled teammates, I've wondered how different things might have been had he chosen to pursue soccer at a higher level at an earlier age.  For example, if we had moved JP to something like Joe's team, Armada, at age 10, my guess is that he might have had a future in soccer, particularly at the high school level but maybe beyond.

JP's body type is perfect for soccer.  He's thin, narrow waisted, and he can run forever.  He's got big, strong legs, too.  The only thing he lacked was the foot skills - the ball handling skills - that a few of his better teammates had.  That, of course, comes from years of playing soccer at a highly competitive level.  

What's really impressive, though, is that JP heads straight to basketball tryouts on Saturday and Monday.  Unless something changes, he'll make the A team or, at least, the B team, then he'll play baseball in the spring.  I don't think any of his soccer teammates will be playing basketball and baseball.  I continue to be amazed by JP's athleticism.  

Next year, out of necessity, JP will have to make a decision about which sports he wants to continue to play competitively.  High school sports require more time, practicing and playing, and it's just not practical to dabble in multiple sports.  My guess is that he will run cross country in the fall, play basketball in the winter, and play baseball in the spring.  To be continued, I guess.

JP was the last player to leave the sideline last night after the loss.  I walked across the pitch in the cold, shivering a bit under the lights on a cold, clear November night.  As I approached, he hugged each of his four coaches in turn, the longest hug reserved for his head coach, Giles Cheevers, of whom he is very fond.

I overheard the coaches congratulating JP on a good season.  I might be overthinking it but I think his coaches recognized it was very likely JP's last soccer game.  I shook the coaches' hands and thanked them, as JP gathered his gear, seeming to linger on the sideline for an extra moment or two, like he was soaking in the moment.     

Coach Cheevers put his arm around JP, looked down at him, and said "JP, are you okay?"  "I'm good," JP replied, nodding his head, as he shouldered his backpack.  

As we walked away from the sideline, father and son, I told JP how proud of him I was, and that I knew it was a tough loss.  

"You competed," I said.  "All season long.   Tonight, you were the man in the arena, and that means something."  

We met up with Jude and Joe on the far sideline and just like that, JP's soccer playing days were over.  

When One Goal is Enough

Last night, in what might be the first legitimately brisk night of fall, JP's MBA middle school soccer team ran it's record to 10-0 by defeating USN 1-0 at USN's River Campus in the semifinals of the conference tournament.

Now, I'm not the biggest soccer guy, granted, but last night's game was different.  It was suspenseful, to say the least, as MBA scored early in the first half - Noah, of course - and held on the rest of the game for the win.  It was, by far, the most nervous I have been at a soccer game.  

The drama was heightened, of course, for me because several of the players on USN's team were boys JP has known and gone to school with since kindergarten or in a couple of cases, since the Children's House days.  Honestly, it was a bit emotional for me to see so many of the boys I've known competing against each other - really, really competing - on the soccer pitch.  

Henry, Calhoun, Aiden, and Cecil.  All of them have grown up with JP, from toddlers or little boys to the 13 and 14 year old young men they are now.  As I saw them playing an extremely physical game last night in the cold, under the lights, laying it all on the line, in my mind's eye I simultaneously saw them playing recreational league soccer together at First Presbyterian Church and, later, club soccer for Coach Gordon and FCA.  

The effect, for me, was almost like the picutre-in-picture feature on a television.  Two games going on at once but with the same players at different ages.  The game on the field and the one in my mind. 

The passage of time is such a curious thing.  Time is ethereal, yes, but in some ways, maybe it can be stopped by the memories we carrying in our minds and in our hearts and the stories we tell others based on those memories.  

The game was so intense, by far more so than any soccer game this season.  Very, very physical, too, with several penalties.  Nothing dirty.  Just good, hard, physical play.  The fans of both teams were way into the game, too, yelling about this or that call or non-call.

Joe, Jude, and I sat in camping chairs on the sidelines, bundled up against the cold.  Honestly, it was hard for me to watch late in the game as MBA desperately tried to fend off USN's spirited attack.  USN pulled their defense up the field - like a hockey team pulling its goalie - in the last five or six minutes in an effort to generate some offense.  They got close but could never put the ball in the net and MBA held on for the win.

JP played left back the entire game.  He moved the ball well and, along with Jay "the Eraser" at middle back, played solid defense and prevented USN from having a sustained attack until late in the game.

After the game, as we waited for JP, the three of us marveled at what a great game it had been.  The funniest part was Jude didn't realize MBA had scored early, so she thought the game was tied the entire time and headed for a shootout.  Now, that's suspenseful!

As we stood there, JP and Henry, one of his oldest friends from USN and one of their better soccer players, walked up together.  Arms around each other, I asked to take their picture.  Without any prompting from me and entirely on their own, they exchanged jerseys like professional players do and posed for a photo.  

With tears in my eyes at their spontaneous gesture of sportsmanship, friendship, and love, I took a photo that I will treasure for the rest of my life.  I hope they will, too.

Play Baseball Will Travel

This weekend, JP and I traveled to Knoxville for his last baseball tournament of the fall.  I missed Joe's soccer games, Saturday and today, but it was nice to get away for some one-on-one time with JP.

We drove over Friday night after I got off work and didn't arrive at the Hilton Embassy Suites Downtown until about 10:30 p.m. with the time change.  JP and I were beat, so we ate a late meal of Subway sandwiches, watched SportsCenter, then turned in for the night.

Saturday morning, JP took advantage of the complimentary breakfast while I went for a 5 mile run from downtown to campus and back.  It's been a minute - as they say - since I've been on campus, so I was looking forward to running over and seeing what has changed.  The answer, of course, is almost everything.  

New buildings.  New streetscape.  A whole lot of construction but, strangely enough, very few students out and about on a Saturday morning.  I ran back up Cumberland Avenue (aka "the Strip") and, similarly, it was hardly recognizable.  Stefano's Pizza (1977) and Copper Cellar were still there but that was about it.  There were new apartments everywhere, looming over the Strip, which was kind of depressing, honestly.  

When it comes to college and your college town, I'm not sure if you can go home again, after all.

JP and I drove over the Seymour early Saturday afternoon for his first baseball game, which was at The King's Academy.  He started and played a clean and confident second base.  He hit well, going 2 - 2 with a pair of singles to left center field.  The boys has one bad inning and lost a tough one to a Knoxville team, No Chance" by one or two runs.  

After the game, we hustled over to campus for a game under the lights at Lindsey Nelson Stadium - home of the Vols - which was cool.  The boys played the Tigers, an older, better team fro Virginia with the best pitching we've seen this fall.  JP didn't start but pinch hit late in the game.  Against an excellent pitcher, he struck out looking, ever taking the bat off his shoulder.  Very unlike JP but he took a couple of outside fastballs for strikes, then was completely fooled by a curve ball.  

In the last inning, however, JP made a nice play on a ground ball to shortstop, and threw a runner out at first by a half step.  Nice. confident play, and a good one to end his night.  I was glad he got to play on Lindsey Nelson field, even if it was only for an inning.  The boys lost again but played the Tigers relatively tough.

Today, the boys played another No Chance team, also at The King's Academy, and lost 6 - 4 in a game they probably should have one.  As has been the case, they had one bad inning and it cost them.  JP played shortstop and struck out in his first to at bats, before singling sharply to left center (line drive) in the bottom fo the 7th inning.  The boys rallied from a 6 - 1 deficit and had bases loaded with no outs but J.D. grounded into a double play and the last batter grounded out to the third baseman.

JP was 3 - 6 for the weekend.  Good, yes, but I think he can hit better.  It's something we're going to work on this winter with some private lessons.  Joe, too.

So, now, it's back to reality.  I've got a big week at work and JP's MBA soccer season is winding down.  They're 7 - 0 and hoping to finish the season with the HVAC championship.  Basketball tryouts are next week for JP and so it goes.

JP and JD.

JP.  Lindsey Nelson Stadium in the background.

The Captain

Friday night, after a long week at work, I went for a run while Jude took Joe to "the carnival" at MBA before the last home football game of the season (vs. Knoxville Catholic) for the undefeated Big Red.  I needed the run, for sure, and honestly, I was looking forward to a little quiet time at home that evening.

As I walked back into the house, I noticed that Joe's club soccer coach, Caleb, had texted me asking if Joe had time for a quick telephone call.  That's odd, I thought, but with the team scheduled to play in a tournament in Murfreesboro Saturday and Sunday, I called him to make sure everything was all right.  

I didn't know what to expect when I called Caleb.  What I got, however, was what will go down in the history of my life as one of my all-time favorite telephone calls.

After making small talk for a minute, Caleb got right to the point.  He told me that playing center back on defense, Joe had really become a vocal leader, positioning the defense and communicating with the forwards in front of him.  He also told me that at practice, he always knew he could pay less attention to Joe's side of a drill because he would encourage the players to run it correctly, pay attention, and complete the drill properly.  

Continuing, Caleb told me had talked to Thomas McDaniel (who is serving as assistant coach), as well as Gabe (who runs the organization), and told them he wanted Joe to serve as team captain for the tournament over the weekend and the foreseeable future.

Team Captain.

I paused for a moment to collect myself, a million thoughts running through my head, my heart about to explode from my chest in a burst of pride.  Smiling as I paced around the house, I told Caleb how much I appreciated his kind words about Joe and that Joe would be honored to serve as team captain.  I also told him that Joe should hear it directly from him - that it would mean more - so we coordinated a telephone call later that evening with Jude and Joe after the MBA football game.

He asked Joe to keep it quiet and Saturday morning, as the boys warmed up before their first game, he brought the team together, Caleb made the announcement to the entire squad.  As his teammates clapped for Joe, Caleb presented him with an armband emblazoned with a "C" - the captain's armband - well known in soccer circles and not unlike the "C" sewn on the chest of the captain of a hockey team.

That one letter - "C" - carries so much meaning to me, as a father who tries every day to teach his boys to be leaders.  Really, it's everything.

As I watched Joe and his teammates play soccer over the weekend - four games with two easy wins, a blowout loss, and a tough loss in the championship game against a bunch of boys from St. Henry's (including Keaton from the Braves' baseball team) - I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and pride.  

Gratitude that God has blessed me with not one, but two, intelligent, competitive, kind hearted, athletic boys.  And pride that Joe is a natural leader in everything he does, in athletics, school, or socially.  That's just who he is and how he is wired.

I think a lot about leadership in general and, specifically, whether it can be taught to children.  Is leadership a character trait a child is born with or is can it be developed over time?  There's not an easy answer to that question but, in truth, it's probably a little of both.  Some boys are born leaders.  Leadership skills can be developed over time, I think, and boys can grow into leadership roles.  

Joe falls into the former category, as he is a born leader.  From day one, he has been someone his peers turned to as a tone setter as far back as Children's House.  There, the longtime director, Anne Colley, once told me that Joe mediated all of the disputes not the playground.  Sound familiar?

In school at USN, Jude and I have heard time and again from teachers - particularly last year when his third grade class had a few students who were a handful for the teacher to manage - that Joe did his work, behaved, and encouraged other kids to do the same.  Joe took ownership and in some sense felt responsible for how smoothly things went - or didn't go - in class each day.  

On the baseball field or on the basketball court, Joe always has been a leader.  Confident, outgoing, and in charge.  Playing shortstop or second base, he's the one telling the other players how many outs there are or where they need to go with the baseball if it's hit to them.  

This summer, when he played for the Braves' all-star team with boys he didn't know, he quickly established himself as a team leader.  Honestly, as the team leader.  His enthusiasm, versatility, competitiveness, and burning desire to win was apparent for everyone to see.  It was contagious and the other players gravitated to him.  Several parents I didn't know before he played for the Braves marveled to me how easily he fit in with his new teammates and how quickly he began leading them in practices and games.  

It's the same with basketball, really.  Joe often handles the ball and is an exceptional passer for his age.  He sees the court well and has the ability to find his teammates when they are open for easy baskets.  He communicates on defense and offense, reminding his teammates where they're supposed to be.  He's always been that way.

That's Joe.  Comfortable in his own skin.  Not particularly concerned about what others think.  Confident enough to lead in any situation in the classroom, socially, or playing sports.  Always smiling and happy.  The kind of kid other kids like to be around.  

It was a big moment for Joe when Coach Caleb presented him with the captain's sleeve on Saturday morning.  It was a big moment, too, for his old man to watch him play soccer wearing it.