Wide World of Sports

Even for a family as sports crazed as ours, yesterday was one for the books.  

Shortly after my cup of coffee at Portland Brew, it was off the races as we drove to MBA for Joe's basketball game.  I sat, or stood, near Jude and her parents on the baseline, but still managed to shout instructions to Joe or his teammates, as needed.  Joe's team didn't play particularly well, nor did Joe, but they beat a lesser skilled team by 20 points or so.

After Joe's game, J.P. and I walked over to the MBA baseball field and watched a partial inning of a game against Goodpasture.  The fans were bundled up, as the temperature was in the high 30's.  Next, we hustled over to the Vanderbilt bookstore (Barnes & Noble) on West End Avenue, because J.P. wanted to buy some Vanderbilt gear.

We met Jude and Joe at the house, ate a quick lunch, then I drove to Vanderbilt with J.P. and Joe to watch the Vanderbilt-Army baseball game, courtesy of my sister, Tracy, who has Vanderbilt baseball season tickets.  Because it was still quite cold, and windy, we dressed appropriately and took along a couple of blankets, too.  Sitting on the first base line, next to Army's bullpen, we enjoyed ourselves in spite of the cold weather.  

Happily, we saw Josh Beckman and his son, Benjy, shortly after we got settled and they sat with us.  It was a real treat to catch up with Josh while we watched the game.  I've coached Benjy in baseball for many years, including last fall, so it was great to get caught up on family news.  

We left between the sixth and seventh innings and hurried home.  Jude drove Joe to his 5 p.m. basketball game in Franklin, while J.P. and I went to the Belmont-T.S.U. basketball game, also slated for a 5 p.m. start.  It was Belmont's final home game of the year and, more importantly, the final home game of point guard Grayson Murphy's storied Belmont basketball career.  He's already has more assists than any player in Ohio Valley Conference history and he broke the conference record for steals during the game, as well.  What a career!

J.P. and I got there in time to watch the Senior Day ceremonies, as Belmont honored what I think might be the most impactful senior class in school history - Grayson Murphy, Nick Muszynkski, Tate Pierson, Caleb Hollander, and Luke Smith.  We've seen those boys play so many games over the last 5 years.  It's gone by so quickly, for sure.  J.P. and I left at halftime and, still hurrying, arrived home just as Jude and Joe were pulling up.

Next, we put on more warm clothes - really warm clothes - grabbed blankets, and drove to Nissan Stadium, home of the Titans, where we watched the Predators play the Tampa Bay Lightning as part of the NHL's Stadium Series.  With 68,000 + in the stands, the Predators lost a close one, 3-2, to the 'Bolts.  Watching hockey outside, in the cold, was different and fun.  

By the time we got home, all of us were exhausted.  We collapsed into bed, laughing, and thinking about how crazy our lives are. 

 

Hey Nineteen

Yesterday, Jude and I celebrated our 19th wedding anniversary.  We dated for almost five years before we got married so, all told, we've been together almost 25 years.  

My plan had been to cook dinner last night for Jude and the boys, as I had blocked my calendar when I originally intended to stay in Sewanee and extra night.  As is often the case, however, life happened and I as busy the entire day working from home and Jude had to work late to get ready for an important meeting in her office today.  Because I was at home, though, I was able to pick up a Cheesecake Factory cheesecake for dessert.  I picked up the boys from school, too, while participating in an hour long conference call with a client.  Yep, the joys of remote work.

So, we did what we too often do or dinner.  Takeout for Jude and the boys from 12South taproom.  I had a glass of a nice Cabernet and a salad I made at home.  The important thing, though, is we had dinner together, and watched "Next Level Chef," a Chef Gordon Ramsay show that against all reason has captured our attention as of late.  

Jude and I are at a stage in our lives, professionally, where we're incredibly busy.  We're in our professional primes, so to speak.  And, because we had children relatively late in life, we're in our personal primes, too.  For the most part, it's go, go, go.  Running the boys to and from school.  Running the boys to and from practices and games.  Predators' games.  Belmont basketball games.  This weekend, Vanderbilt baseball games.  

The last year hasn't been a particularly easy one.  Jude handled some health issues with her usual stoicism and resolve.  In my view, she is under a tremendous amount of pressure at work, in large part because she cares so much about the work.  Her work ethic is top level.  I know that because I see it every day.  For my money, she's often an island of reasonableness and professionalism in an ocean of incompetence, but that's state government.

We're blessed to have had each other all of these years.  We're blessed to have been together all of these years.  We're blessed to have been on this journey, together, for a quarter of a century.  And most of all, we're beyond blessed to be parents to J.P. and Joe, to work together to raise them up to be the kind of young men we want them to be.

Happy 19, Jude.  I love you.

A Run to Remember on the Mountain Goat Trail

Saturday late afternoon, I left our rental house in Sewanee for the 5 minute ride to Sewanee Village and campus.  I parked my truck behind the Blue Chair Cafe & Tavern and ran a little less than a half mile to the Mountain Goat Trail, the paved path that runs along Highway 41 between Sewanee and Monteagle.

I've run on the Mountain Goat Trail many times on our sojourns to Monteagle Mountain.  In fact, running on the Mountain Goat Trail is how I stumbled upon the Lake Dimmick trail, one of my all time favorite trails to run on with the trail end at Lake Dimmick the big payoff.  For me, there's just something special about running on the Mountain.  

It was cool, but not cold, as I began run up the Mountain Goat Trail.  With the temperature in the high 30's, I was comfortable in a long sleeve running shirt and my neon green lightweight, windbreaker vest.  I thought about listening to a podcast but opted, instead, for my favorite Spotify playlist, "the Haunting," a collection of songs I've curated over the past few years from the "Discovery" playlist I get from Spotify every Monday morning.  Most artists have only one entry on my playlist of songs that I discovered and love - that haunt me - or one reason or another.  Someday, if the boys want to understand the kind of music that moved me, they can listen to "the Haunting," which is well over 100 songs and still growing.

As I eased into my run and passed the one mile mark, then two, I felt good.  The trail is flat for the most part with only a couple of small hills.  At first, my pace was around 8:15/mile, which was fine given that I was going to run long.  Slowly, though, the run began to evolve, as runs often do, into something different than I thought it would be when I started.  

As I think about it this morning, sipping my coffee at Portland Brew, I realize that's one of the things that I love the most about running.  Contrary to what non-runners think, running - even running the same routes - is not boring or monotonous.  Every run is different.  And, most importantly for me, rarely does a run turn out to be what you thought it would be when you started.  

For me, anyway, my runs often metamorphose into something different, something unexpected.  The beauty of it, too, is that it happens independently of anything I do during the run.  Sure, I can run faster or slower, I guess, but the run evolves on its own.  If I leave it alone and just let the run come to me, I'm always surprised by what the run a get, in the end.  

And this time, on this run, I was surprised by how strong I felt, particularly as I turned around at the four mile mark, just past Mooney's Market & Emporium, the Mountain Goat Trail on the opposite side of Highway 41 from where it started.  As I finished mile five, my pace was dropping closer to 8:00/mile and I started to think I could finish eight miles under 8:00/mile, which would be the fasted long run for me in a long time.  

You see, this is what the run had evolved into, all on its own.  A fast, strong, memorable long run.  It became a run where I shed years off of my life, decades even, and reveled in the ability to run fast and long on a trail that I love, for eight miles.  I lengthened my stride on miles seven and eight, picking up the pace as I checked my half mile splits to make sure I was on target for the finish I wanted. 

As I approach the end of the trail, I crossed Highway 41 and ran toward Sewanee Village.  I felt fantastic.  In a word, I felt alive.  I felt like I could run forever and that's the best feeling a runner can get, a feeling I chase all year long on all of my runs.  And Saturday, with the sun setting on Monteagle Mountain, I found it.  

I averaged 7:52/mile over eight miles.  I ran the last mile, the eighth mile, at a 7:12 pace.  Fast for me.  I felt like a million bucks as got in my truck and drove to Stirling's coffee house for a late coffee.  On the front porch at Stirling's, as I sipped my coffee, I took a few moments to sit quietly and reflect on how fortunate I am to be healthy and to have the desire and ability, at age 55, to run like I do.  

It was a run to remember.

Joe Turns 10

A letter to Joe on his 10th birthday.

Dear Joe -

Like yesterday, I remember when your mom told me she was pregnant with you.  She and I so wanted J.P. to have a sibling, so the two of you could grow up together.  And, as is always the case, God answered our prayers.  

Your mom was exhausted after surgery when you were born and I held you in my arms for what seemed like hours while we waited for her to wake up.  I rocked you and talked quietly to you.  I sang to you.  Elizabeth Mitchell - "So Glad You're Here" - changing the words of the song to "J.P.'s glad you're here," "NC's glad you're here," etc.  Over and over again.

I could tell from those first few hours I spent with you, alone, that you were a fighter.  Tough and confident.  A survivor.  You were destined to be a leader.  I could sense it.  Nothing has happened since that morning to make me feel otherwise, because you're all of those things, and so much more.

I loved the times we spent together, walking through the neighborhood, as you slept in the stroller, the Baby Jogger City Elite.  In those days, the highlight of my week was Saturday and Sunday afternoons walks with you.  Often times, we would end up at Bongo Java or the Tap Room on 12th Avenue.  I'd read the New Yorker and have a cup of  coffee or a beer while you slept.  When you woke up, stretched your arms, and looked up at me from the stroller, smiling, my heart filled with joy.  I'd hand you a sippy cup of milk and some Goldfish crackers, and watch while you contentedly snacked away.  

After you started at Children's House, I usually took you there in the mornings.  Your mom took J.P. to USN first, then you and I had a hour or so alone.  We called it "Joe Time."  I loved that time together in the mornings, just the two or us.  Sometimes we went to Bongo Java for "second breakfast."  Other times, we wen to Belmont U. and played football in the atrium outside the Curb Center.  Students walking by never failed to smile and laugh, as I chased you into the "end zone" near the ticket office after you scored another touchdown.  Those were good days, for sure.

I love your competitive spirit.  Just like J.P., you've always had it.  You play hard.  You play to win.  You compete.  That will take you a long way in life.  All these years, that's what I've worked to instill in you, and your brother, the desire to complete and to be the absolute best you can be in everything you do.  Athletically.  Academically.  And, some day, professionally.

It's been one of the true joys of my life to coach you in sports, especially baseball, with our Junior Dodgers and, later, with Coach Oliver (Davis) and the Diamondbacks.  I think baseball is a sport you have a real aptitude for if you continue to put the work in, as I suspect you will.  Last spring, I loved watching you and J.P. throw together in the back yard, as he worked with you on pitching.

Your mom and I are blessed to have two sons who get along with each other as well as the two of you do.    Nothing makes up happier than hearing you guys talking and laughing together.  Playing X-box together.  Playing Nerf basketball together in the playroom upstairs.  J.P. loves you, intensely, and is just as proud of you as your mom and I are.  He always will be there for you, as a mentor, a friend, and your older brother. There is nothing he won't do for you.

I love your sense of humor and your kind heart.  I'll always believe a lot of that comes from Carley.  She loved you so much.  Your relationship with her was special and unique.  She held you in her heart, always.  Carley lives on through you and J.P., as well.  

Ten years - a decade - in the books.  I'm so blessed to have you as my second son.  I can't imagine life without you, Joe.  Every day, you brighten all of our lives.  You make me laugh.  I'm so proud of you.  I can't wait to spend the next 10 years with you.

Love,

Dad  

Happy 10th, Joe.

Home Again on the Mountain

President's Day Weekend is her and, thankfully, the boys were out of school on Friday and again on Monday.  For our family, the time off make for a perfect trip to the Mountain.

The house in which we're staying is a recent addition to the rental catalogue.  I think we're the second family to stay in it.  It's fine but lacking in certain areas.  It's like the owner rushed it onto the rental market without having completely finished it.  First world problem, I know, but having heat that works upstairs where the bedrooms are located is kind of important when the temperature drops into the mid-20's at night.  Still and all, it's fine.  Nice bluff views and less than 10 minutes to campus.

J.P. and Joe are excited because for the first time in our many trips to the Mountain, Sewanee's baseball team is playing a home series while we're here.  In fact, there's a double header today, starting at 11 a.m., that we're going to attend.  J.P. wants to get to the game early to so he can watch the players' pre-game routine.  That's J.P. - always working, always thinking about how to get better.  

After a lot of rain Thursday night, today and tomorrow (Sunday) are going to be beautiful, albeit a little o the cool side.  Perfect weather for a couple of trail runs.  I'm hoping to get 6 - 8 miles in per run today and tomorrow.  With luck, I'll have J.P. along for one of the trail runs.  

My guess is that Jude will walk Abbo's Alley while J.P, Joe and I watch the baseball games today.  We had dinner from Papa Ron's in Monteagle last night, always one of our favorites when we're up here.  I'm finishing my coffee at Stirling's on campus.  Tomorrow, for breakfast, we'll hit the Blue Chair.  Dinner tonight?  Maybe Shenanigan's, where we'll play hearts at one of the picnic tables inside while we wait.  

I've got some work to do, hopefully.  I have the house until Tuesday, actually, so I may stay Monday night because I cleared by calendar at work on Tuesday.  

I'm grateful to be back here again, on what I've come to think of as "our Mountain."  Monteagle Mountain.  A time to recharge my batteries.  A time to disconnect from the office after a tumultuous two weeks due to personnel changes, present and future.  A time to reflect and be thankful for family, health, and life itself.

Rumour's, Josephine's and a Trip Back in Time

It's Thursday night, President's Day Weekend, and Jude and the boys have driven up to Sewanee ahead of me, braving the wind, rain, and fog to arrive tonight at the house we rented for the long weekend.  

After finishing up a mediation - my third of the week, all unsuccessful - I worked late and arrived home just after they had left.  With a rare night at home to myself, I had dinner at the bar at Josephine's, then began the laborious task of packing my clothes for the trip.  Like nothing else, I hate to pack for a trip and almost always do it at the last minute.  That says something about me, I know, and I suspect it's not good.  

Josephine's wasn't crowded tonight and as I discussed the dinner menu with the bartender and drank a glass of Cabernet, I lost myself in a memory of a Sunday night dinner a decade ago at Rumour's Wine Bar with Hal Humphreys and J.P., who probably was three or four years old.  Before it was torn down, Rumour's proudly sat where Josephine's is now, a small house with great patio on 12th Avenue before 12South was 12South. 

Here's what Hal's eloquent and talented wife, Kim Green, had to say about Rumour's when she learned it was closing.

https://aviatrixkim.com/2012/01/03/rumours-12south-closing-soon/

A few years earlier, Christy and Jenn decided to open on Sunday nights for dinner.  Although I don't recall how it all came together, I suspect Hal called me, and told me to meet him at Rumour's for dinner one of the first Sunday nights they were open.  I put J.P. in the stroller and we walked up to 12th Avenue to meet Hal at Rumour's.

Hal, J.P., and I had the restaurant to ourselves that night.  Our friend, chef, and owner of Mirror - a restaurant across the street - was cooking that night.  As Hal and I talked to Jenn and drank a glass of wine, Michael and J.P. made out dinner in the kitchen.  I remember - vividly - Michael showing J.P. how to cut up apples and J.P. being so proud to help him.

I also remember that somehow, someway, Jenn or Michael had managed to get line caught Salmon, so fresh it had been in the water earlier that day, in the restaurant that night.  It was, without a doubt, the best salmon I have eaten in my life.  

Really, it was a perfect night and one I'll always remember.  Hal, J.P., and me, together at Rumour's, with Michael hopping in and out of the kitchen and Jenn stopping by our table to talk with us.  It was a simpler time in my life then, for sure.  12South was a different place, too.  A neighborhood, not a tourist destination.

I miss Rumour's.  I miss Jenn and Christy.  I miss having a neighborhood hangout where I always knew I would see people from the neighborhood.  

Running with The Kid

 For J.P., basketball at MBA finished up on Thursday with a 20 point win over an AAU team.  It was a game that was added to the schedule so his team could have a season finale, after University School of Nashville - his former school - canceled a game at the last minute because they didn't want to lose badly to MBA.  I know that because I confirmed they had scheduled a game over their game with MBA and failed to tell MBA about it, so they could pick up another game.  The most USN thing ever, actually.

He made the baseball team and practice starts in earnest on Monday.  I'm looking forward to seeing how that goes, and to seeing him play baseball for someone else.  I've coached him for so many years - 9, I guess - so it will an interesting experience to be a spectator.

Yesterday, when I was about to head out for a run before helping coach Joe's two basketball games, J.P. decided to run with me.  I'm not sure if it's because I had Covid-19 or because I missed 10 days of running but my most recent runs have been okay, not great.  Being extremely busy trying to catch up at work after being out for almost two weeks hasn't helped in terms of finding the time to run either.  Anyway, I was excited to run with him because it's been a minute since we've run together.

As I almost always do, I told him when we started that we were going to take it easy.  My thought was to run four, maybe five miles, to Elmington Park from Fairfax and back home via Blakemore.  

We started out running down Belmont Boulevard in less than idea conditions.  Headwind in our face, 36 degrees with a wind chill of 27 degrees.  "This sucks," I said to him as we made our way past Belmont University's new concert hall.  He just smiled.  As I get older, I think I have less of an appetite to start runs in cold weather, especially if its' windy.

As we made the turn on to Portland Avenue and ran toward 21st Avenue, we began to warm up.  Still, on Fairfax Avenue, the wind was in our faces, which made for relatively slow going as finished the first mile. Running up and down the hills on Fairfax, we began to stretch out a bit and pick up the pace.  As we ran down Marlborough Avenue toward Elmington Park, the Runkeeper App on my phone announced our splits at a mile and a half or so.  I smiled, looked at J.P., and said, "now, we're talking."  Our pace had picked up considerably as we got out of the headwind.  

We ran through Elmington Park, then started up West End Avenue, toward Blakemore.  As I often do went I run, we took a detour up the steps of Team Nashville, the oldest running store in the city, owned by my friend, Terry Coker.  Back in the day, Terry was a phenomenal track and field athlete at Belmont University.  We ran in the front door, waved and said hello to Terry, never stopping, then ran out the back door.  

Terry was helping a customer at the register and when he saw J.P. running, in the store, behind me, his face lit up.  "What's up, dude?!?" he said to J.P.  He reached across the register and gave J.P.. a high five, as the customers watched, a little confused as to what was happening.  

We ran down Blakemore, pushing the pace.  J.P. ran on the sidewalk for the most part, while I ran in the edge of the street, as I normally do.  I like running on the pavement, as opposed to the cement of the sidewalk, because I think it's easier on my knees.  It's a habit.  Actually, it's instinctual by now, because I've been doing it that way for so long.

As we turned onto 21st Avenue and into Hillsboro Village, our pace had fallen to slightly over 8 minutes per mile.  Although the run had turned into something more than an easy run, for sure, I felt good, and I knew a six mile run with a pace under 8 minutes per mile was in reach. 

J.P., of course, was running effortlessly, which is a beautiful thing for a runner like me, to see.  I wasn't struggling and I could have run faster - maybe my 15 seconds per mile - but I would have felt it.  He wasn't even exerting himself.  He runs so naturally.  Perfect form.

J.P. had asked to finish at Portland Brew, for hot chocolate.  Since my motto is "every run leads to coffee," I was on board with that plan.  We ran faster down Belmont Boulevard, turned left onto Kirkwood, made the block, ran past Portland Brew on 12th Avenue, then finished on Sweetbriar Avenue.  To cool down, we a walked a block or two back to Portland Brew.

I hadn't planned to run six miles.  I sure as hell hadn't planned to run six miles at an under 8 minute per mile pace.  We finished the run at 7:56 per mile and we ran negative splits the entire for every mile (each mile faster than the last one).

It's a pretty cool thing.  When we run, J.P. pushes me.  He motivates me.  He inspires me.  All without ever saying a word.  His talent is matched by his humility. 

We walked home, tired but satisfied, after a fast, 6 mile run.  A run I will remember for a long time.  

The Kid, as we waited for our hot chocolate and coffee at Portland Brew after our six mile run yesterday.

Mom

Monday marked three years to the day that my mom died.  I've been thinking about her a lot lately, and missing her.  She would be so proud of J.P.'s accomplishments this year at MBA, in the classroom and as an athlete.  She would be so proud of Joe and the kind of boy he his.  Happy.  Sweet.  Kind.  Caring.  Competitive.

Monday night, after the boys were in bed, Jude and I were sitting on the couch in the den.  I was reading and she was working.  I put my iPad down at one point and told her it was the three year anniversary of my mom's death.  "Wow," she said.  "In some ways, it seems much longer than that."

Jude's right, I think.  So much has happened in the world, and in our lives, in the three years since my mom died.  

The pandemic, of course, and the scourge of Covid-19 that seems like it will never end.  The presidential election and Donald Trump's lies about the election being stolen from him.  The January 6th insurrection.  Jude's eye surgeries and, last spring and summer, her bout with - thankfully - early stage breast cancer.  J.P. changing schools and starting at MBA.  Kaitlyn on the verge of graduation from Birmingham Southern and Matthew starting college at Mississippi State. 

My mom lived a happy, full life, so I try not to dwell on what she missed because of Alzheimer's disease and dying when she did.  It's harder for me, but I also try not to dwell on what my boys missed, especially Joe, in not really getting to know her and spend time with her.  

I think, though, that so much of who the boys are - their very essence - has been passed down from my mom, to me, and on to them.  Their faith in God.  Their love of sports.  Their  competitiveness.  Their love of reading.  Their sense of humor.  Their kind hearts.  Their love for each other, for Jude and me, and for their extended family.  

I can trace a direct line from who the boys are to my mom and, of course, to Carley Meade, as well.  

I talked to an old friend of my mom's late yesterday afternoon, Charlie Roos.  She is about a decade younger than my mom but, otherwise, they are a lot alike.  We had a great conversation.  Talking to Charlie on the telephone for 15 minutes - laughing, teasing, and joking with each other - really brought back memories of my mom and, I guess, reminded me of how much I miss her.  

It's strange but my memories of my mom fall seem to fall into two distinct periods of time.  Before Alzheimer's and after Alzheimer's.  I wish sometimes - actually, all of the time - that I had known the hardships my mom would face in her future before she began to suffer the effects of Alzheimer's disease.  Would I have spent more time with her?  Would I have bought the house across the street from her when Jude and looked at it?  

I'm grateful, though, that even with Alzheimer's disease, my mom was always happy.  Whenever any of us so her, especially at NHC Place, she was smiling, laughing, and seemingly content.  She wasn't frightened or angry - not ever - and that's a blessing.  When I went to see her, I always felt a kind of contentment and peace when I was there and we sat together, or when I read to her, or when I had her read to me.  Even now, I miss that and I miss the routine of stopping by to see her and spend a few stolen moments with her. 

My mom was an extraordinary woman.  One of a kind.  I miss her, quite literally, every day.  

Here's a link to her obituary.  It's the best thing I've ever written.

https://www.tennessean.com/obituaries/ten114188

   

The Sports Guys

Last night at 7 p.m., J.P.'s MBA 7th grade basketball team played a game at St. Bernard's.  They won big, 68-31, as they have in most of their games.  All wins and one loss, when the played Providence Christian Academy, a team with a 6'5" center who is the highest ranked 8th grade basketball player in the country.

J.P. scored six points and played good defense on St. B's best player.  It's been a good basketball season for J.P., all things considered.  He worked his way into the starting lineup after the first game or two and he's stayed there.  He's had a couple of games where he's scored nine points.  His defense and hustle have been impressive.  He gets his hands on a lot of balls and probably leads the team in steals.  His passing, as always, has been good, too.  He sees the entire court well and plays unselfishly.  

Joe, of course, loves going to J.P.'s basketball games.  He intently watched the games, of course, and he's always al over the referees if he doesn't like a call.  What he really enjoys, though, is shooting baskets at halftime and after the game.  Last night at St. Bernard's, for example, Joe was the last person on the gym floor, shooting, when the coach was ready to lock up.  I laughed and asked if I could just leave him there to shoot basketball all night and pick him up in the morning for school.  

Joe's had a pretty good basketball season, too.  He's one of the two better players on his team and handles the ball quite a bit.  He and his friend, Pike, shoulder the scoring load.  Joe turns the basketball over way too much, though, something we talk about a lot and something he's working on.  His team isn't that talented and although they have been together for a few years, they're not improving like other teams and players are.  That's a different story but it's been frustrating for me - and other dads - to watch.

On my way home from J.P.'s basketball game last night, he called me while I was at the grocery store.  He had just gotten an e-mail from the baseball coach confirming that he had made one of the two middle school baseball teams at MBA.  Apparently, after a couple of days of tryouts, the coach let several players know by e-mail that they were on the "in" list and had made the team but would be assigned to varsity or junior varsity at a later date.

J.P. was excited and I was relieved.  I felt like he would make the baseball team, particularly since it's his best sport and he's been working diligently on pitching and hitting and I knew he was better than most, if not all, of the 7th graders.  Still, you never know, and I just wanted it to work out for him.

When were thinking about switching him from USN to MBA, last year, one of my concerns was whether he would be able to play sports at MBA.  My concerns were unfounded, as it turns out, since he's 4 - 4 now, having run cross country and making the soccer, basketball, and baseball teams.  It won't always be like this, of course, and at some point he will probably need to concentrate on one or two sports.  For now, I'm happy for him and excited to watch him compete. 

For Joe's baseball team, Oliver and I organized workouts at D-bats - a new baseball facility in West Nashville - on Sundays from 1 - 3 p.m.  Joe also is working weekly with Coach Sam at D-bats, a half hour on pitching and a half hour on hitting.  He enjoys his time with Coach Sam and it's good for him, I think, to hear someone else's voice instructing him.  

I won the lottery, it seems, with my boys and their love of sports.  Playing sports, reading about sports, and watching sport, live or on television.  It's something we do together.  It's our common currency and I suppose it always will be.  As a father, I will love anything and everything they love, of course, but it sure makes it easy for me when we love the same thing.  

I don't take it for granted and every time I watch them play, it makes me happy.  I'm blessed, I know.