The Kid Crosses the Finish Line

JP's first cross country meet of the season was Thursday at Vaughn's Creek Park which is, in essence, MBA's home course.  Belmont University's home course, too, for that matter.

I've arranged my work schedule this fall so I won't have to miss any of JP's cross country meets.  I left work early on Thursday and picked up Joe at USN because Jude had a 4 p.m. meeting.  I wanted to make sure Joe and I could get to the meet in time for the girls' race, which started at 4:30 p.m.  The boys' race was scheduled to follow, a little before 5 p.m.

As I mentioned last year, I get more nervous before JP's cross country races than with any sport he plays.  I'm not sure why that it but it's a fact.  I'm pretty sure it's because running is something we have in common.  While I've never run at the level he is at right now, I know how it feels to run a race and push your mind and body to the limit.  I know how that feels and I know it takes courage to toe the starting line with the realization that you're about to put your body through a certain amount of pain in an effort to run your best in that race.  

JP has put in so much work this summer.  I was confident that of the 75 or so other runners at the meet, no one had put in the mileage JP had leading up to the race.  I knew he had run well at practice, as evidenced by the 10:24 two mile time trial he ran last week.  In other words, I knew he was ready.  Still, I was nervous for him, wondering if there was a runner we didn't know about - maybe a talented 7th grader from another school or an 8th grader who had moved to town over the summer.  It turns there wasn't, at least not at this race.

I waited at the 1 mile mark and as the boys approached, JP was comfortably in the lead.  By comfortably, I mean the second place runner - a new boy from USN - was 30 or 40 yards behind him.  I walked across the park to wait at a spot at the 1 1/4 mile mark.  I waited for a couple of minutes, then watched as JP emerged from the tree line.  There was no one behind him, at least in my line of sight, until he got even with me.  

"How far back?" he asked as he ran by me.  "Way, way back," I replied.  "You're good."  And he was.

I walked over to the finish line, across from where Jude and Joe were waiting.  A couple minutes later, JP made the final turn and headed home.  As he approached where I was standing, I could hear a few voices cheering for him.  He was running comfortably and finished strong, more than thirty seconds ahead of the second place runner.  JP's buddy, Abe (a rare combination of hockey player and cross country runner), finished third.  MBA won the meet easily.

What made me the proudest, though, was watching JP finish the race, pick up the first place index card, then immediately walk back up the outside of the finishing chute to cheer on his MBA teammates as they finished the race.  His coach, Elijah Reynolds, took note of that when he addressed the team after the race. To me, that was JP being a team leader, and it made me really, really proud of him.

A few minutes later, I drove Joe to baseball practice at Warner Park.  In between coaching he and his teammates, I couldn't help but show the video I'd made of JP winning the cross country race to a few of my fellow coaches and dads.  

A pretty damn good afternoon and evening, I would say.  

 

An Endodontist and a Divorce Lawyer Walk Into a Coffee Shop

It's a strange place out on the end of the pain spectrum.

I just completed the root canal procedure that I've been dreading.  Maybe it's the drugs slowly wearing off - nitrous oxide and novocaine - or the relief I'm feeling now that it's over, or both, but I almost feel a sense of euphoria as I sip a latte out of a straw at Honest Coffee Roasters.  

Somehow, someway, I overcame my visceral fear - dental anxiety, if you will - and survived a root canal today without being put completely under as I originally had planned.  It's a small thing for normal people, I know, but it's a huge thing for me because my fear of the dentist - of root canals and oral surgery - is very, very real to me.  

As I told Dr. Hicks and his staff today - all of whom were excellent, by the way - there is a lot in common between what he does, as an endodontist, and what I do, as a divorce lawyer.  Stay with me on this because it makes sense when you really think about it.  I promise.  

Nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to have to go see an endodontist or a divorce lawyer.  However, if you find yourself in need of one, you want him or her to be very good.  Experienced.  Reassuring, with excellent bedside manner.  

The more time you spend with an endodontist - multiple visits and such - the more expensive it will be.  It's the same with divorce lawyers.  Complicated cases cost more money.  Period.  And, in most cases, there is no insurance so the patient - or the client, in my case - is paying out of pocket.  

Good, caring, and kind staff can make all the difference to patients, or clients.  Honestly, that starts with the receptionist, or scheduler, and continues with whomever assists the endodontist with the procedure.  It's exactly the same way in my office.  I've always said that a good receptionist can help me get clients and keep clients, as well.  My legal assistant and, especially, my paralegal, are so important to my practice in that they're interacting with my clients on a regular basis.  Comforting them.  Reassuring them.  

One of the scariest things - for me, anyway - about getting a root canal is my fear of the unknown.  I don't understand exactly what the endodontist is doing, how he's going to do it, what the risks of the procedure are, what my prognosis is, and how much it's going to hurt.  I just know there's drilling involved and everyone says it's scary and extraordinarily painful.

Divorce cases, and clients, are like that, too.  When a potential client initially comes to see me, often times they're frightened, uncertain, confused, and filled with anxiety.  They have heard so many horror stories about divorces, divorce lawyers, court, depositions, trials, etc.  And, of course, they never thought they would be talking to me.  

I've joked before, many times, to clients that giving a discovery deposition is like getting a root canal, but that's not right.  The entire divorce process is like getting a root canal.  And what I have to do - and what I have to teach my lawyers to do - is to realize that and to make sure we always treat our clients with the care and kindness that I needed today when I walked into Dr. Hicks' office.  I do that, for sure, and we do that, but it bears remembering why it's so important and, well, so necessary.

So, I'll go get a new crown on tooth no. 3 in a couple of weeks from my dentist, Haley Schmidt, DDS, whose bedside manner isn't quite what Dr. Hicks is, unfortunately.  I'll dread it but I'll get through it.  

And in the meantime, I'll redouble my efforts to be patient and understanding with all of my clients, and to do what I can to assuage their fear, concerns, and feelings anxiety.  

Where Is the Tooth Fairy When I Really Need Her?

I don't like going to the doctor and I especially don't like going to the dentist.  For the past 30 + years - ever since I had a root canal during college - I've lived in fear of having to get another one, because it was such an unpleasant experience the first time around.  This week, I'll realize my worst fear as I have another root canal on a different tooth.  

On top of that, I'll have to get a new crown on the same tooth, repeating what probably was the second worst medical procedure of my life, after the root canal in college.  

I realize it's an irrational fear and that I shouldn't dread going to the dentist so much.  Somehow, it's gotten much worse as I've gotten older.  I don't even like to get my teeth cleaned.  I have no idea how I got this way.  It's more than a little embarrassing, frankly.

Still, I can't go on this way, as I've been had a considerable amount of pain in my tooth (#3), gum, and jaw for the past week or so.  I saw my dentist last week and she did some tests, then referred me to the endodontist.  I go there this week, first for testing, then for the root canal.  Because I'm so ridiculous about all of this, I'm going to pay extra to have him put me under for the procedure.  I want to wake up and have it be over, like when I got my wisdom teeth out as a teenager.

Then, I'll go back to my dentist, apparently, and have the crown replaced.  For that one, I'll be wide awake.  Shit.  I want to get in a time machine and be done with all of this.  

I've been so down about it and paralyzed by the feeling of dread that I haven't felt like doing much of anything, not to mention that I've been in pain, off an on.  I started a round of antibiotics the end of last week, which seems to have helped a bit.  It's weird, though, because I'll feel fine then suddenly, my tooth and gum will start throbbing.  The pain lasts for 15 or 20 minutes, then goes away.  I'm not sure what causes the flareups.  

Over the weekend, though, I decided to start running again.  I'd been avoiding running out of fear of jarring my mouth or causing more pain.  I was able to run three miles, fast, on the treadmill at the YMCA on Saturday and Sunday, which made me feel a little better.  More like myself.  I needed those runs.  I'm going to try to do the same thing this afternoon.

My rational brain knows that this too shall pass but damn, I'm scared.  

Brad Miles

My family on my mom's side has a bit of a star crossed history.  Hell, I guess every family does.  My mom lost both of her older sisters, Sue and Ann, way too early.  She lost her father - my grandfather - way too early.  I lost my my way too early, in my view, anyway, when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's then died after a massive stroke three and a half years ago.

Last Sunday morning, we lost my oldest cousin, Brad Miles, when he died of a heart attack at age 60. Way too early. 

Survived by his wife, Theresa, and three children, Nathan, Ben, and Sara Ann, it's beyond tragic, really. 

When Brad's mom, Ann (Ussery) Miles died, he and his sister, Ann Howard, were in high school and moved in with my grandmother in Jackson, Tennessee.  They finished high school at Jackson Central-Merry.  Alice moved in with us because she was closer to our age.  

I looked up to Brad when I was a child because he was the oldest of our group of seven cousins.  I was the second oldest, younger than him by four years.  He introduced me to comic books, and KISS (the band), among other things.  When I was in high school, I may or may not have ridden shotgun with him as we drove around Jackson and drank a beer or two.  

When I was young, we were playing in my grandparent's backyard at there house on West Forest Avenue in Jackson, when hundreds of yellow jackets swarmed out of a nest in the ground.  After telling me to run inside, he stayed behind and slammed a broom against the hole in then ground in a futile effort to slow the yellow jackets down and save me from getting stung.  

When Brad came inside a few minutes later, he had been stung multiple times on his forehead and face, in my recollection.  It was the first and purest act of heroism I had been exposed to at that point in my life.  I've never forgotten that act of selflessness and in many ways, it personified how Brad lived his entire life. 

Years later in in 1979, after Brad and Ann Howard had moved in with my grandmother in Jackson, he was a defensive lineman on a  Jackson Central-Merry  team that went 13 - 1 and was runner up to the state champions.  

Brad put others first, especially family.  Even if he didn't have much, he gave what he had to others. Always.

This was never more evident to me than when I spoke with his sons, Nathan and Ben, at a visitation for family and friends in Jackson last week.  Nathan is grown now and teaching and Ben is almost grown.  Both boys are big - taller than me -  but with reserved and respectful personalities that belie their physical stature.  And, to me, at least in the moment, both boys were mature beyond their years.  That would make Brad proud, I think.

At one point, Nathan remarked to me that sometimes it seemed to him that his father felt like he hadn't achieved as much as he could or should have or that he hadn't made enough of his life.  Nathan looked away from me, shook his head and said, almost to himself, "I don't know why he felt that way."  

I don't either.  What I think I do know, though, is that to Brad, his crowning achievement was his children, all of them.  Nathan.  Ben.  Sara Ann.  He was very proud of them, rightfully so.

Life is hard to understand sometimes.  Poor health.  Pain, physical and emotional.  Uncertainty.  Unhappiness.  Sadness.  Loss.  Death.  I guess it's all part of it, though.  The human condition and the human experience.  

I thought about this and a lot of other things as I drove back to Nashville from Jackson.  I hugged my boys a little bit tighter when I walked in the door that evening.  I reminded myself to appreciate my blessings, especially my family and friends, because in many ways, it's all fleeting.

  

    

A Happy Ending to an Unhappy Story

I'm taking a breath this morning after a long but successful mediation yesterday, one that ended a little about 7:10 p.m.  I know the time because I had to rush out the door to pick up Joe from his first fall baseball practice, which I missed.  It was good, though, to see some of the boys, just for a minute or two, when I arrived at Warner Park.

Yesterday's divorce case was was one that needed to be settled, as was the one I helped the parties settle, late, on Monday evening.  2 - 2 this week on helping parties, and their attorneys, settle the divorce cases. 

I enjoy everything about mediating cases for others, which is a good thing, since at last count I had mediated close to 850 cases over the last 16 + years.  It's an important, time consuming part of my law practice.  I take a lot of satisfaction out of helping parties - characters in what has turned into an unhappy story - resolve their divorce (or post-divorce) case and move on with their lives.  

For them, it's almost instant relief if a case settled.  No more attorneys.  No more legal fees and that's no small thing because litigation is so expensive.  The cost of taking even a straightforward divorce case to trial is prohibitive for most people.  And that's one of the best things about helping parties settle a divorce case.  They no longer have to live under the constant threat of court hearings, depositions or, God forbid, a contested trial.  That's no small thing either.  

In yesterday's mediation, I was working with two attorneys with whom I have longstanding relationships.  They're as much friends as they are colleagues, although we don't socialize together.  We've known each other for years and had multiple cases against each other.  There's a trust and comfort level that makes it easier, I think, for me to mediate for their clients.  We also can argue points of law, professionally, without anyone taking it personally.  

In the best mediations - for me, anyway - I'm able to connect with the parties early on and gain their trust. We're able to laugh together, which eases their anxiety about the mediation process and, just maybe, adds a little levity when it's most needed.  That was the case yesterday, in my view.  

Helping nice people settle a difficult divorce case makes me happy.  I've added value to their lives.  I've helped them close a difficult, painful chapter in their lives, as well.  I've helped give them closure, which is so very important.  

I've helped write a happy ending to an unhappy story, relatively speaking.

Teeing Off

JP has been bitten by the golf bug this summer.  He comes by it naturally, I think, given that Jude's dad, Jim, played golf in college at Loyola in New Orleans and, later, at Holston Hills Country Club in Knoxville.  At one point in time, Jim was a scratch golfer (or close to it), which is a rare accomplishment for a recreational player. 

JP inherited a lot of Jim's personality, I think, which is a good thing.  Quiet, steady, calm, confident, always in control of his emotions.  All of these character traits are helpful on the golf course, it seems to me.  My guess is that golf is a sport that JP is going to take up seriously in the future and probably play all of his life, long after high school and college.  Golf is just a good match for JP.

Earlier in the summer, JP started playing at McCabe Golf Course with Wynn, a friend from MBA.  When Wynn left for camp, JP kept playing a couple of times a week.  Jude or I dropped him off in the morning and he walked nine holes, practiced chipping, then Jude picked him up.  The life of a 14 year old in the summer, right?  Not bad.

Recently, JP and Wynn played in a disc golf tournament at MBA to raise money for the Cumberland River Compact.  Somehow, they managed to win a raffle in which the prize was paid entry for four player in a golf tournament at the Hermitage (also a fundraiser for Cumberland River Compact).  

JP didn't really understand how the golf tournament worked or what he had won but Jude and I decided to let him try to figure it out.  He e-mailed the tournament director to tell her he had won the raffle.  In the e-mail, he quite earnestly told her he was 14 years old and couldn't afford the $1,000 entry fee.  She replied, of course, that by winning the raffle at the disc golf tournament, he WON the entry fee.  In other words, he could put together a team of four players and play in the tournament for free.  

It's been funny hearing about him reaching out to his buddies to find a foursome.  After a multitude of text messages and telephone calls, Jack, Benjy, and Wynn agreed to play.  Team MBA.

The boys' parents dropped them off at our house, this morning, at 6:45 a.m.  The boys loaded four sets of golf clubs into my SUV and I drove them to the Hermitage Golf Course, where they were set to play the links course (The President's Reserve).  We called my partner, Mark Puryear, on the way there so he could give them some tips for playing in a scramble format for the tournament.  

We arrived early and as the boys checked in, I discovered they were minor celebrities among the staff at the Cumberland River Compact.  They were very excited to meet the 14-year old boys set to play in the golf tournament with a bunch of well heeled, middle aged lawyers, doctors, and businessmen.  The boys were wide eyed, for sure, as they signed in, bought mulligan packages, and surveyed the scene through their relatively innocent eyes.  

I walked them outside and helped them search for the golf carts with their names on them.  I saw four sets of eyes widen, as the boys realized they would be allowed to drive their own golf carts, unsupervised.  This was a development they hadn't foreseen, as McCabe Golf Course - and all others, I suppose - requires golfers to be 16 to drive a golf cart.  

The takeaway for the boys, I think, is that they had arrived.  Grownups, at last.  Playing with other men in a golf tournament, driving their own golf carts, having breakfast for free, coolers in the back of their golf carts (for bottled water, not beer), etc.  In other words, the whole shebang.

I couldn't help but feel, as I drove away, that this morning marked a passage in time, for JP, and for his friends.  Playing in a golf tournament, by themselves, and just figuring it out as they go along.  That's what it's all about. 

I'm a little jealous, to be honest.  I have played golf.  But for the summer after law school while I studies for the bar exam, I've never played golf with any regularity and I don't play any more.  To be on the course, with three of your friends, playing golf on a summer morning, at age 14, no less.  It doesn't get much better than that.

As I shut it down and head to work, I just got a text from JP.  The boys got a par on the first hole (#2).  

What a day.

Saying Goodbye to the Beckman's

Last night, we attended a going away party for the Beckman's, who are moving to Dallas, TX, in a week or so.  I'm still trying to wrap my head around the move because I only learned about it in an e-mail from Josh a few weeks ago.  The decision to move happened reasonably quickly.

The party was great - hosted by Giles and Josephine Ward - and there were quite a few USN families in attendance.  Nice people, one and all.

Shortly after we arrived at the party, Jude and I were talking to Lauren and reminiscing about their move to Nashville seven years ago and how we came to know one other.  To my surprise, Lauren told us I was one of the first people they met in town and, of course, it was because of baseball and our Dodgers' team.  

On a whim, Josh signed Benjy up for WNSL baseball as a seven year old and as luck would have it, he was assigned to my pre-formed Dodger team as a free agent.  It was a fortuitous development, for sure, because I probably had a full roster or close to it.  Perhaps the league saw that Benjy would be attending USN and assigned him to the Dodgers because JP attended USN.  Or, perhaps it was dumb luck or maybe it was fate. 

When I met Josh and Lauren that fall, I instantly liked them.  Josh was a cardiologist and they had moved to Nashville from Boston for him to take a job at Vanderbilt.  Big, gregarious, kind, always smiling, great sense of humor, and a big sports fan.  My kind of guy.  Lauren reminded me a lot of Jude.  Great mother, accomplished profession, who managed to find that sweet spot of work/life balance.  

It was good for Benjy, and Josh and Lauren, too, to meet other children and families, since they were new to town and Benjy was starting at a new school.  It's always good to be part of a group, especially one as unique and close knit as our Dodgers family. 

Initially, Benjy was a little behind most of the other boys on the Dodgers from a baseball standpoint but I immediately saw that he had a strong desire to improve and a love of playing the game, even at seven years of age.  

I don't remember much about that fall season other than it was the boys' first season in machine pitch baseball and many of them struggled mightily, at least at first.  I also remember the second half of the fall season was better than the first, as the boys adjusted to hitting baseballs from the machine.  

That spring, Josh decided to play Benjy in a baseball league at McCabe's Park, a decision he quickly regretted (as he later told me).  Bad coach, bad experience all the way around.  The following spring, Josh reached out to me, somewhat sheepishly, and asked if I had a spot for Benjy on the Dodgers.  Of course I did and Benjy played for me for the next several seasons, fall and spring. 

Benjy improved markedly over the years.  In fact, as I've said before  - Benjy improved more than any boy I've ever coached.  He was one of my two or three hardest working boys.  Benjy isn't blessed with the most athletic ability but he's smart, great attitude, very coachable, and always works hard.  All of that can take you a long way in baseball, and in life.  

That's the lesson - or one of the lessons, anyway - I wanted the boys to learn from playing baseball with the Dodgers.  Hard work pays off.

Over the years, Benjy (along with Cooper Allen) became my best bunter.  Good hand-eye coordination.  Benjy had the ability to lay a bunt down the first or third baseline to move runners over or, at times, to hustle down the first baseline for an infield hit.  He took pride in being able to bunt - or so it seemed to me - and that made me very happy.  

Benjy also became a reasonably versatile player and a good second baseman.  I remember on more than one occasion leaving the field after an inning in the field to high five Josh in the stands after Benjy made a  good play at second base on a grounder or a pop fly.    

At some point during the beginning of the pandemic - at age 12, I think - Benjy drifted away for a time and didn't play baseball on the Dodgers.  He is a year ahead of JP and played on the middle school baseball team at USN.  Like Indian summer, though, he rejoined us for the last days of the Dodgers when the boys were 13.  It so was good to have him back with our group, where he belonged, and to see Josh and Lauren with the other families as the boys played out the string together.

One of my fondest memories is watching Benjy close out a game on the mound, pitching, in a double header at Pitts Park, an old school baseball field that's always been one of my favorites.  We had a lead and at his request, I brought Benjy in to pitch.  Normally, he doesn't throw particularly hard but he was slinging it that day and throwing strikes.  It was impressive.  

In my memory, he struck out a couple of boys and ended the game for us.  His teammates were excited for him and as Benjy walked off the field, they slapped him on the back.  Benjy grinned from ear to ear.  Josh was beaming, as I recall, and we made eye contact and shared a moment and probably a fist bump.  

I'll always remember that day, mostly because of the look on Benjy's face at the end of the game.  In a way, that moment encapsulated who the Dodgers were as a team.   

I was blessed and honored to attend Benjy's bar mitzvah last year.  My admiration for Benjy and, really, for the entire Beckman family, only grew as I sat with other, listened, and watched the ceremony.  It was a special day.  Knowing my father would have had a bar mitzvah of his own many, many years ago made the entire day more meaningful to me.   

If you're lucky - and Lord knows I have been lucky - you meet people and make friends through your children's activities.  Friends that last.  The Beckman's are friends that will last.  I'm sure of it. 

Goodbye, Benjy, and goodbye to the Beckman's.  Good luck in Dallas and Godspeed.

Left to right, JP, Benjy, and Cecil at last night's party.

   

Comic Books and Memories

When I was cleaning out my mom's house a couple of years ago, one of things I rescued was a milk crate full of comic books.  Spiderman, The Fantastic Four, Ghost Rider, and Moon Knight to name a few.  All Marvel Comics because when I was ten years old - Joe's age - I was a Marvel Comics guy.  No DC Comics and no Batman or Superman because they weren't cool enough.  

I put the milk crate in our basement where is sat until a few months ago when, after watching the original Spiderman movie w/Toby Maguire, I decided it was time to show them to Joe.  When I brought the milk crate of comic books upstairs, his eyes lit up and he grinned at me.  I told him how much I had loved Marvel Comics when I was about his age and how my favorites were Spiderman and The Fantastic Four.  He listened intently, nodded, and I left the milk crate in the playroom for him.  

Over the next couple of weeks, I noticed him reading the comics on weekends during "40 for 40" (the boys do 40 minutes of reading then get 40 minutes of iPad or Xbox time).  When we went on vacation to Bradenton, FL, Joe brought five or six comic books with him and read them in the afternoons.  I could tell he was hooked, just as I had been at age 10.  

Yesterday, I picked up JP from cross country practice at MBA and got home a little early for a Friday.  I was finishing up a little work in the office when Joe walked in and wanted to show me something.  

"This is may favorite comic book, Dad," he said.  I took a closer look at it.  From 1977 with a 60 cent cover price, it was a year end double issue.  Spiderman and the Thing, teaming up to fight some villain.  

As I held the 45 year old comic book in my hand, then opened the cover and began to look through it, I stepped backwards in time, suddenly, to 1977, when I was 11 years old.  Spiderman and the Thing, my two favorite comic book characters.  Together, in one issue.  I probably got that comic book at Kwik Sak market on Moores Lane with my mom, who would have been 37 years old when she bought it for me. 

"You know what, bud?  I think it was one of my favorites, too." I said, shaking my head.  Wow.  We laughed about the price tag, too.  60 cents.

It makes be so happy - happy beyond belief, really - to see Joe reading my old comic books, the ones that my mother bought me when I was 10 or 11 years old.  I am so very glad I saved them all of these years hoping, I know, that someday I would have a son who wanted to read them.  A son who would love them as much as I did.  And with Joe, I do.  

Though he is his mother's son for sure, Joe is like me in so many ways, more so even than JP.  He is confident and outgoing, a natural leader.  Vocal when he's playing sports.  Stubborn, at time.  Competitive.  Emotional.  Absent minded.  He's a dreamer with a vivid imagination.  Those are all qualities we share.

My comic book phase didn't last terribly long.  I never became a serious collector.  There was a probably a two or three year window before I got into baseball cards which, of course, I did collect for several years.  

I doubt Joe's comic book phase will last too long either.  Still, it's cool to see him so enthralled with them for a while and to see some of me, at that age, in him.  

I would give anything to be able to talk with my mom about Joe's similarities to me at age 10.  She would see it, too, I know, and probably laugh at the irony of Joe being like me in so many ways.  Sometimes, watching Joe being Joe reminds me of how much I miss her.  

Recently, in something I was reading, someone said that the burden of carrying the grief of someone lost doesn't get any lighter over time.  You just get stronger and develop the ability to carry it with you with less effort.  I think there's some truth in that sentiment.  

I love where Joe is right now.  10 and 11 years old is such a great age.  Joe still has the innocence and naïveté of a child because he still is a child, at least for a couple more years.  I want to savor these next couple of years with him, to make them last.  

I hope they're as memorable to him, someday, as they are to me, right now.  I also hope, someday, he reads the entries in this blog and understands how much I loved him, today, on August 6, 2022.  I hope he understands how almost every day, I wonder what I did for God to bless me with the him, and with JP, as my sons.  

  

The World of Travel Baseball

I spent a good part of the weekend driving JP to various travel baseball tryouts.  The goal is to find a team for him to play for next spring and summer, so I can spend every weekend driving him to baseball tournaments all over middle Tennessee and beyond.  And so it goes.

Thus far in his life, JP has, for the most part, enjoyed a modest amount of success in whatever he has chosen to do athletically in team sports.  He's not the best soccer player, basketball player, or baseball player but he starts on his middle school teams, competes, and contributes.  He made all of the teams, at school, that he tried out for last year and I suspect it will be more of the same this year, in eighth grade.

Perhaps I will be surprised but he is not going to make all of the travel baseball teams he tries out for over this crazy two week period of  baseball tryouts.  I'm hoping he gets an invitation to play for one or two teams but there are not guarantees.  As a father and, honestly, an admirer, it will be interesting to see how JP handles failure because he simply hasn't experienced much of it to date.  Knowing him like I do, mu guess is that failure will inspire him to work harder to get better.  

As I watched the 14 year old boys walk onto the baseball field at Centennial High School and, later, Christ Presbyterian Academy, I was struck by the sameness of the expressions on most of their faces.  I saw nervousness and uncertainty hidden beneath a mask of stoicism.  I was struck by what I didn't see, too.  Smiling.  Laughing.  The joy 14 year old boys should feel when they're playing baseball.  Those things were completely missing and to be honest, it made me more than a little sad.

All of these boys, of all skill levels, trying out to make baseball team at a cost of, roughly, $1,500 - $2,000 per player.  Trying out now, at the end of summer, for a team that won't play any games until late next spring, after the middle school and high school teams have finished their seasons.  

While I am not a fan of travel baseball, it's a bit like musical chairs.  If I don't find a team for JP now - even though he won't start playing with them until late next spring - he won't have meaningful baseball to play next summer.  If he wants to keep playing baseball, competitively and in high school, he has to play in the summer.  And that means finding a team for him now, because all of the teams will be set by the time next baseball season rolls around.

Truthfully, it makes me miss the halcyon days of the Dodgers all the more.  My one mistake, I guess, is that I didn't take the Dodgers to a few tournaments on weekends to see how we stacked up.  I don't regret that - not really - because we had such a good time playing baseball in the WNSL.  We always were competitive and, in fact, won most of our games as the boys got older.  We did it the right way, too, with coaches who cared about our boys and made sure to provide them with a positive experience.  

The proof is in the pudding, as they say.  The core Dodgers are all still playing baseball on middle school teams or, next year, as freshman on high school teams.  Benton, Wes, JP, JK, and Porter.  And, I guess, that's what matters.  

Still, as I watched a bit of the boys' tryout on Saturday, I found myself wondering what we - all of the parents, mostly dads - were doing.  Travel baseball.  To what end?  That was the real question, to me - To what end?

Are all of these boys going to play college baseball, even at the small college or mid-major level?  Are many of them?  Of course not.  Will they even want to keep playing baseball past high school?  Probably not.  

As Benton's dad, Will, said in a text last night, these are strange times for the boys from a baseball standpoint.  I agree.  

POSTSCRIPT:  At least as of now, JP is going to play for HBC, a relatively new organization started by a a young man who went to MBA and, later, played baseball at Tulane and walked on at Vanderbilt.  I haven't heard back from Midland (Showcase) or Nashville Select and, although they have makeup tryout dates this weekend, my assumption is that JP wasn't on their initial list.  

I am trying - because of course I am - to get Benton, Will, and JK a tryout with HBC.  It would be fantastic if the boys could play together, again, next summer.  I hope it works out that way.

And so it goes.  

JP's middle school cross country team started practice this week.  He'll take some baseball lessons, keep working on basketball with Coach Amos, and we'll let the baseball take care of itself.