Angus

Almost two years ago, a stray cat wandered into our lives and stole our hearts.  Two days ago, he disappeared and now our hearts are broken.

On her morning walks, Jude first noticed Angus on 12th Avenue, as a kitten, hiding under a tarp that covered a car outside a vintage clothing store.  Evidently, he noticed her every morning because after a few months, he followed her home and appeared on our back deck.  He was scared of us, and everything, at first, but over a few days we made friends with him.  Soon enough, he was sitting in our laps in the wrought iron chairs we have on the back deck.

I named him Angus because he had a pair of giant balls of which he seemed to be very proud.  Angus Young was the lead guitar player of AC/DC.  One of their old songs is "Big Balls."  It's a silly song, filled with double entendres.  The boys loved it when they were young, although they didn't really understand it.  That's how Angus became Angus.

He was a true neighborhood cat, splitting time between our house and, apparently, another house a few streets away.  We had him vaccinated and, ultimately, neutered, and over time, he began wandering the neighborhood less and staying with us more.  In the end, he became our second cat and learned to coexist with Mini T, or she learned to coexist with him, actually.

The boys have loved having Angus around because he turned into a lap cat, at least with our family.  Also, he took turns sleeping with various members of our family at night.  One night, he'd sleep with JP.  The next night, Joe.  Then, Jude or me, and so on.  He was and is, I guess, just a really cool cat.  

Sunday afternoon, he went outside and by early evening, he hadn't come back.  That was unusual for him and, for some reason, I had a bad feeling that he was gone.  Sure enough, he stayed out all night Sunday night and we haven't seen him since.  The boys are torn up about it, as are Jude and I.  

I went to Animal Control yesterday and he wasn't there.  I've checked the Pet Emergency Clinic in our neighborhood to no avail.  I even posted a photo of Angus on Facebook, a desperation move if there every was one.  

It's rainy and cold this morning and our hopes that Angus will return are growing dimmer by the hour, sadly.  I'm going to try to believe he is in someone else's house in the neighborhood, warm and fed, and most importantly, content.

In the end, it may be the Angus was ours for just a little while, in the scheme of things.  Still, he brought our family a lot of love in the time we spent together.

Breaking Out

I finished my mediation yesterday a little early as a result of which I had time to get to his 5 p.m. basketball game at MBA vs. Lipscomb.

What I decided to do instead was skip the game and go for a run to give JP some space when he played.  My thought was that maybe he had been pressing because he doesn't want to let me down as I watch him play from the bleachers on the sideline of the basketball court.  I've seen or heard nothing - from JP or anyone else - that leads me to believe my presence at games is putting pressure on him to perform.  Still, with him mired in a shooting slump, I was willing to try anything.  

What happened?  JP shot his way out of the slump he was in, scoring 11 points and hitting 3 - 4 three pointers.  That's more like it!  More importantly, he as in much better place - emotionally - after the game, although his team lost to a very good Lipscomb team in a game that was close until the fourth quarter.  

The boys played better together, as a team, too.  I think that meant as much to JP - or more - than scoring in double digits.  JP believes so strongly in the concept of team and in the group working together toward a common goal and sacrificing, if necessary, that it's been a difficult season for him as he struggled to figure out what he could do to bring the team together.  I think, for him, it's been a puzzle without an answer as he has struggled to find a way to improve team chemistry. 

A buddy of mine whose son plays on the team texted me with updates throughout the game.  What he said about JP when he hit his second or third three pointer summed it up, for me.  

Different kid, tonight, Phil.  

Now, of course, I have to spend some time thinking about why that was true.  Do I put too much pressure, even inadvertently, on JP to succeed at basketball games?  Does he feel too much pressure when I am at his basketball games, even if it's intrinsically generated and not anything that I'm saying or doing?  It's hard to say but as his father, it's something I feel obligated to think about.  

The thing is, I happened to have a telephone conversation with Benton, one of my oldest friends whom I became close to as an adult, out of school.  Benton and I worked together at a law firm downtown 30 years ago at the beginning of our professional careers.  He started the year before me and quickly became a professional mentor, confidante,   and close friend.  Over the years, we played softball together in the bar association league and in the city league.  We played a lot of basketball together, too, in pick up games and in the bar association league.  

Benton was an outstanding high school athlete at Lipscomb, starring in basketball and baseball.  He played baseball in college, too, and a couple of years in the low minor leagues.  Benton is the best athlete I have ever been around.  I love sports, of course, and follow and play sports passionately.  However, I have. never been in Benton's universe athletically, not by a long shot.  

What we have in common when it comes to sports - and probably in practicing law - is our competitiveness.  Both of us have a burning desire to win in everything we do.  That's our currency, I guess, or a language in common that we speak.  

Very few friends know me as well as Benton knows me.  He has seen me at my best and my worst, competitively, on the softball field and the basketball court.  He knows and understands, like few others, how intensely the flame burns inside of me to succeed in every thing I do.  Sports, practicing law, coaching and, yes, parenting.  

And because Benton knows me and we have shared very trying life experiences - on both sides - I listen when he gives me advice, especially of a personal nature.  

At any rate, in our call, he picked up on something Jude said and completely agreed with her.  He reminded me that when I watch JP and his team play basketball, I have to smile, laugh and, generally, appear to be having a good time.  He accurately predicted that I probably grimace at a turnover or missed shot - by JP or his teammates - while I watch a game.  All true, I'm a bit embarrassed to admit.  Tuesday night, I found myself shaking my head when one of JP's teammates made a boneheaded play.  

Although JP's not a kid that looks over at me for any reason during a basketball game or otherwise interacts with me, Benton pointed out that he probably steals a glance my way when he's on the bench or during a stop in the action.  If I'm frowning or appear to be unhappy, that likely has an effect on him.  I have to credit Jude, too, because this was in essence what she had said, too.

So, I think about Tuesday night and how badly I wanted JP to play well against the boys he grew up with and went to school with at USN and how badly I wanted JP's team to win.  None of that happened and I was devastated . . . for him, not for me.  Still, I think - no, I know - I watched that game with a burning intensity and JP probably saw that or felt it, as I sat on the first row of the bleachers.  

Maybe my work calendar will prevent me from attending his last few basketball games.  If I able to go, though, I'm going to stand behind the bleacher with some of the other fathers and inconspicuously watch JP play.  And I'm going to watch him play with a smile on my face the entire time.  I can do that and I will do that.  

It's not enough, I think, to say all the right things to him after a game, win or lose.  I've got to do the right things - things that give him confidence and self-assurance - during games, too.  And I will. 

On the other hand, maybe JP just shot himself out of a slump.  Shooters are going to shoot, I always tell him.  Maybe that's what happened but I'm not taking any chances.  

Taking it on the Chin

When I think about it, there is a considerable distance between why I started writing in this space 15 years ago and why I continue writing in it.  At various times, I've written for others, for my mom, for my sons, and for myself. 

I've tried to be honest and candid in this space by writing about the highs and lows of parenthood and, well, life.  As my sons get older, though, I have to at least consider the unlikely possibility that someone could stumble across this blog and read something I wrote that might embarrass one of them.  In other words, I may have to pull some punches in my writing depending on the subject matter.   

A couple of nights ago, I found myself in unfamiliar territory.  I was driving home from a basketball game with an inconsolable 14 1/2 year old trying to make sense of of a basketball team gone wrong, a basketball season gone wrong, and a basketball game gone wrong.  He's struggling to understand how 8th grade teammates - some, not all - can not give a shit if their team wins or loses.  I don't understand that, either. 

All season long, I've watched a basketball team that doesn't play with effort or energy.  I've watched a team that continually takes leads into halftime, then falls apart in the second half and loses game after game.  I've watched a team that makes zero - absolutely zero - adjustments during games to what the other team is doing.  The worst thing, I think, is that I've watched a team where the players don't play with joy or a love of the game.  

The same team with the same players went undefeated last season, as 7th graders, playing the same schedule.  It's unfathomable that a team of the same players - one year older - could play as poorly as this team has played all season.  It's painful to watch these boys struggle on the basketball court, desperate for leadership and discipline, and receiving neither.  

I didn't really know what to tell JP as we drove home from what had to have been the worst game of his young life.  His team lost to his former school, USN, and he didn't play well.  Neither his coach nor his teammates knew, or cared, how much this game meant to JP.  That's my view and I think it's the correct one.

I tried to help him put the game and the entire basketball season in perspective.  I don't want what has turned out to be a lost basketball season - a season to forget, to be sure - to sour him on playing basketball at school.  We talked about perseverance and character and the things that playing sports can teach you about life.  We also talked about the fact that in life, you can go on a losing streak, so to speak, or have a time when things at work or at home aren't going well.  But, you can't quit.  You keep working hard and, always, things turn around.  Easy for me to say, harder for him to do, I know.

Yesterday, as I took notes while my client was giving his deposition, I couldn't stop thinking - and worrying - about JP.  He works so hard in practice.  He wants to win so badly.  He cares.  He's so down right now and the only thing he can do is try to have fun, finish the season, and move on to baseball.  

I want him to learn from this experience - this basketball season, though - and I think he will.  He'll become stronger, mentally and emotionally.  I know it because that's the kind of kid he is.  

Four Basketball Games, One Baseball Practice, and a Run to Remember

One of JP's buddies from school asked him to play on his recreational league team this morning at 9 a.m. at the old Cohn High School building in Sylvan Park.  Joe had basketball games at 10 and 11 a.m. at CPA. JP had baseball practice, indoors, for his travel team at MBA.  Then, Joe had a basketball game at 4 p.m., also at MBA.

Four basketball games, one baseball practice.  Just another Saturday in January for us.  

Oh, and after I picked JP up from MBA after baseball practice and brought him home, I ran 5.5 miles, back to MBA, so I could watch Joe's basketball game.  

For me, a perfect Saturday.  

This morning, before Joe's first basketball game, I showed Joe a YouTube clip of "White Chocolate"- Jason Williams.  Old school.  He loved it.  Williams whirling, spinning and, most importantly, passing to teammates for assist after assist.  

In his first game - against admittedly weak competition - Joe started out like "White Chocolate," as he passed to teammates for the first three buckets of the game.  He passed to a teammate for a layup on their first bucket.  Next, on a 2-on-1 fast break, Joe looked away as he drove down the right side of the lane and passed the ball to his teammate for another layup.  Pure "White Chocolate," channeling Jason Williams.  It as awesome.

The best part, though, came a minute or two later when Joe drove into the lane and whipped a behind the back pass to . . . nobody.  Turnover.  I laughed and laughed.  I love the creativity and, more importantly, I loved that Joe had the cojones to try the pass.  For me, that was, by far, the best part.  That's Joe, for sure.

Later, my run was damn near perfect.  One of those days I run all year for, you know?  Shorts and t-shirt in January, a different route, running to somewhere.  A fast pace, too, for 5 + miles.  Slightly under 8:00/mile.  And I felt really, really good.  It was one of those runs where I felt thankful and blessed to be a runner.

Overall, a perfect Saturday.

What It Means to Be Kind

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about kindness and what it means to be kind.

Am I a kind person?  

What can I do to be kinder or, conversely, less unkind?

Kindness involves patience, I think.  That's an area, for me, that can use considerable work.  Often time, I find myself growing impatient during an interaction with someone I don't know very well, like a commercial transaction.

Maybe it's the Google Fiber representative on the telephone who can't tell me with any certainty why they can't activate my account or when they will be able to do so.

Maybe it's the hostess at Pancho & Lefty's who tells me I only can order Sunday brunch, and not lunch, even though it's almost 12:30 p.m.  Or, during the same visit, it's the waitress who is moving so very slow when the restaurant is uncrowded and takes forever to bring us water and take our order.

Maybe it's the wife of the owner of the dry cleaners I switched to who tries to tell me that my order wasn't supposed to be ready when I know good and well that it was.  

Maybe it's the barista in Honest Coffee Roasters - who, as it turns out, is working her first shift - to whom I show my obvious displeasure when she tells me she can't get me an actual coffee cup for my mid-morning latte, as opposed to a paper cup.  

Maybe it's the new manager of Bongo Java Belmont - with whom I've become acquainted and like very much - to whom I express my frustration at breakfast with the boys when he tells me that they're not serving food on plates but in styrofoam containers, even for those dining in, like us.

Truth be told, I felt badly enough a few of these interactions that I apologized - then or later - to make amends.  I took a dozen donuts from Five Daughters by the dry cleaners because I felt bad for acting like a jerk a few days earlier.

Those are person-to-person transactions in which I've been involved with people I don't really know over the past couple of months.  I know there have been numerous occasions in the recent past when I have been impatient, or overly demanding, with my family or co-workers, or attorneys against whom I have cases.

Impatient and demanding.  Those words deserve some thought and consideration, too.  They're similar, yet different.  I don't think I can treat them as meaning the same thing because there are distinct differences.  

Now, this isn't to say that I am always an insufferable asshole, because I'm not.  I'm capable of being that way as, I guess, almost all of us are depending on our mood and the circumstances in which we find ourselves.  

Most of the time, my interactions with others are pleasant and, dare I say, kind.  I'm normally very polite to strangers and acquaintances.  I'm quick with a joke or a smile, which is the people who work at the  places I frequent seem to enjoy seeing me. 

Also, I'm forever trying help someone with something - often a legal problem - or offering advice when asked.  This happened recently at Honest Coffee Roasters and Burger Up, where I sat down (or telephoned) someone who worked there to offer my advice on how to work through a problem. 

That's all fine, well, and good but what I think I want to do, to the extent I can, is to eliminate the unkind or  impatient personal interactions from my life, at home, at work, and commercially.  That's my goal, anyway, and something I want to work diligently toward.

The Irrational Confidence Guy

Joe's basketball team - the Bucket Squad - lost in the only game he played on Saturday to the Outkast, a rival team with semi-obnoxious fans that our boys are not quite good enough to beat.  Not yet, anyway.  going 1-14 from he free throw line didn't help their cause.  1-14.  Sheesh.

This is not a game recap, though I could write one.  It's a paean to Joe playing what - for me, anyway - might be his best game ever, all without scoring a point. 

Joe's shot was off all game.  He couldn't buy a bucket.  His best friend and teammate, Pike (a.k.a. "Pikael Jordan") was on, tough, and he kept the game relatively close for a while.  

What I loved about Joe's game, though, was his attitude and how hard he played.  Even though he was missing shots, he never got frustrated.  He never showed any negative emotions on the court.  He played defense and he rebounded well.  Defense and rebounding require effort and energy and, as I tell him, effort  and energy never take a game off.  

Late in the game, the Outkast has an insurmountable lead.  Our boys were pressing.  Joe was in the backcourt, guarding his man, when he noticed an open man nearby.  One of his teammates had missed his assignment.

"Whose man is this?!!?" Joe yelled at the top of his lungs, so loudly that several of the Outkast parents - the semi-obnoxious ones wearing Outkast hoodies and t-shirts - snickered.  His teammate who had fallen asleep hustled into the backcourt to guard the open man.  

I loved it because that one moment said so much about Joe and his burning desire not just to win but to compete.  He was going to play his ass off - and lead his ass off - until the last tick of the clock, because that's what Joe does.  Every single game he plays in every single sport.  Basketball.  Soccer.  Baseball.  He fights.  He battles.  He competes.  

Honestly, what more could a father want out of his son?

My other favorite play occurred midway through the second half.  Joe was bringing the ball up the court against a full court press.  He had been stone cold all game long and yet, when he crossed midcoast, he pulled up at the top of the key and shot a three pointer.  It rimmed out, almost going in.  I stood and cheered wildly.

Why?  Because so few players at age 10 have the confidence - the irrational confidence - to take a three pointer at a big moment in a big game on a day when he's ice cold.  Hell, few players at any age have that kind of irrational confidence.  He was convinced the shot was going in and damn, it almost did!  

In that moment, I was so proud of Joe for taking that shot.  He's got that shot in his game and he had the confidence - the irrational confidence - to take it.  I absolutely loved it.  

I'm not sure you can coach irrational confidence.  It's akin to leadership, I think.  A few kids -  not many - have it.  Most don't.  Joe has irrational confidence in spades, which is one of the things I love about him.  He may be 0-7 but he believes - no, he knows - the next shot is going in the basket.  Or, if not, the one after the next one.  

That's the irrational confidence guy.  That's Joe.

A Car Accident and the End of Automotive Infallibility

On December 27, while JP was still out of school for the holidays, I dropped him off at the Green Hills YMCA on my way to work so he could work out and get some shots up.  It would be nice to be 14 again, wouldn't it?

I pulled out of the parking lot at the YMCA - in the heart of Green Hills - turned right, then stopped in the left hand turn lane at the intersection of Green Hills Circle and Hobbs Road a couple of blocks away.  There was little or no traffic at 7:35 a.m.  As I waited in the turn lane, I saw what turned out to be a Land Rover Defender pick-up truck approaching the intersection on Hobbs Road, from my right.  I could see that the driver was going to turn left onto Green Hills Circle.

My first thought was "wow, he's going fast."

My second thought, as the driver turned his vehicle left at the intersection, without stopping, was "he's going to cut that turn awfully short."

My third thought was "he doesn't see me."

My fourth thought, probably verbalized, was "Oh shit!"

Then, impact.  He cut the left hand turn so short that the front, driver's side portion of his Land Rover Defender - a nice truck, actually - collided with the left corner and front of my GMC Yukon.  He was cutting through the right hand turn lane at the intersection when he hit me going full speed.  

I could see him, clearly, through his windshield before he hit me and he never saw me.  It was odd, almost like it happened in slow motion.  Luckily, I had time to brace myself against the steering wheel before the impact.

I take care of my truck, so I was pissed, really pissed, when the accident happened.  I leaped out of my truck and unleashed a stream of expletives that would have made a veteran sailor proud.  In my mind, I already was thinking that my day was ruined; I would have to spend days dealing with his insurance company; I would miss work; and I would be stuck in a shitty rental car while the repairs - which would take weeks - were being done.  And, now, I'd be driving a wrecked truck through no fault of my own.

The other driver was extremely apologetic.  I calmed down after a few minutes of conversation with him.  He's a couple of years older than me and grew up here.  This being Nashville, it turned out we shared several mutual friends.  I called the police, made a verbal report, and after a bit we left, fortunate that both of our trucks were able to be driven.

I wasn't hurt.  He had a cut on his forehead, between his eyes, that was bleeding slightly.  I suggested he get it looked at just to be safe.  

In the end, I was glad no one was hurt and more glad that JP or Joe wasn't riding with me when the accident occurred.  This is especially true as it relates to JP because I don't want him to be overly cautious or afraid as he begins driving and gets his drivers license in a little over a year.

My takeaway and what I explained, painstakingly, to JP was that when you're driving, even if you do everything right - and I certainly did - another driver may do everything wrong or simply not be paying attention, as a result of which you can be in a traffic accident. 

The more I thought about it, though, I realized it went deeper for me.  I'm a very good driver.  Always have been.  I'm also a fearless driver, having never been in a motor vehicle accident that was more than tapping someone else's bumper in a parking lot or in a line of traffic exiting the interstate.  More importantly, no one has ever hit my car or truck out of carelessness or negligence on their part.  That just isn't something that has happened to me.

Because of what I see now was my great good fortune, as they say, I've lived in a bubble of naïveté for many, many years when it comes to driving.  I've assumed - incorrectly, as it turns out - that as long as I pay attention and don't take unnecessary chances while I'm driving, I'll be fine because everyone else - the proverbial "other guy" - is going to do the same.  In other words, I have driven fearlessly and assumed that I will never be in an accident because I am not going to cause an accident.

Not to overdramatize things, I've learned that everything I believed and felt is wrong.  It's as if I suddenly realized the laws of physics actually apply to me, too.  I can do everything right and still, someone could run a red light at an intersection, hit me broadside, and kill me or someone in my family.  That's a sobering thought, of course. 

For the first time since before I turned 16 and was driving guy mother's station wagon around the neighborhood, I feel slightly nervous at certain points when I'm driving.  Crossing a busy intersection.  Driving in heavy traffic at a relatively high rate of speed.  Not all of the time but some of the time.  It's been an unpleasant lesson to learn at age 56 and, frankly, not one I wanted to learn with JP on the cusp of becoming a licensed driver.

Joe and the Flu Game: The Sequel

A little more than 25 years ago, Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls defeated the Utah Jazz in Game 5 of the NBA Finals.  With Jordan battling an illness of some sort the entire game, he scored 38 points and willed the underdog Bulls to a victory over the Jazz, putting the Bulls up 3 - 2 in the series.  Forever dubbed "the flu game," the iconic shot was of Michael Jordan leaning into Scottie Pippen late in the game and being helped off the basketball court, barely able to stand on his own.

For me and so many others who watched "the flu game," it was perhaps the most memorable testament of Michael Jordan's indomitable will to win and a hyper competitiveness that was unlike anything any of us had ever seen in sports.  

Last Saturday, New Year's Eve, Michael Jordan would have been proud of Joe as he battled a terrible cough and shortness of breath through five games in a 3-on-3 tournament at Legacy Courts in Franklin.  He was the third player on what turned out to be a three man team, so if he had not played, his team - the Bucket Squad - would have had to forfeit. 

We're not bad parents, mind you.  Joe had been to the pediatrician, who told us he was congested and the occasional shortness of breath was nothing out of the ordinary.  She told us the cough was something he had to fight through.  Well, that's exactly what he did.  

I watched games 2 - 4, then JP and I left and Jude watched the final game.  That's where the magic happened, as it turns out.  

I watched in admiration, maybe even a little bit of awe, early in game 2 as Joe leaned over with his hand on his knees during a break in the action.  I overheard a parent of a boy on the other team remark that one of the boys on our team - Joe - already was tired.  I was tempted to turn around and tell them he was my son and that he was under the weather but I didn't want to give them an edge.  

After losing game 1 in overtime, 26 - 24, I watched Joe play his ass off the next two games.  He passed the ball well, as he he normally does and he hit a few important shots.  What impressed me most, though, was his defense and rebounding.

Defense and rebounding are are all desire and effort.  At one point in game 3 - a close loss to the Ballers - Joe boxed another, taller boy out so thoroughly that the boy retaliated by shoving Joe and was hit with a technical foul.  I can't remember if Joe hit the ensuing free throw or not but to me, it didn't matter.  What mattered was that Joe was battling for position and hitting the boards to rebound, just like I've taught him and just like we try to teach all of his teammates.  

On another play in the same game, Joe guarded his man as he drove the lane, then switched off for a double team when his man passed the ball to a mother player under the basket.  Joe swatted the ball out of the player's hand then, in the ensuing scrum, Joe saved the ball by one-hand passing it to his teammate, Pike, before falling to the floor out of bounds.  

On that play alone, Joe was like a whirling dervish, as he seemingly was everywhere all at once.  Perhaps more than anything he did the entire day, that play showed his heart and his desire to compete, and to win. That's Joe.  

In game 5 - the finals - Joe's team played the Ballers again.  Early on, they trailed by 10 points and it looked like they were headed for another loss.  However, they rallied, only to find themselves down buy five points with less than thirty seconds remaining.  First, Joe hit Nash with a nifty bounce pass for a back door layup to cut the lead to three points.

Then, after Joe's team got the ball back, he and Pike worked the two man game to perfection and Pike launched a 3-pointer with less than 10 seconds left in the game.  Nothing but net.  Game tied. Sudden death overtime.  

The Ballers got the ball first and scored.  Then, Nash drove to the basket and scored, too.  A layup.  On to free throws to decide the championship.

The Ballers' player hit his free throw.  Pike stepped up and, although he is not a good free shooter, knocked his free throw down.  

Next up, Joe.  Ice water in his veins and a kid who lives for this kind of moment.  Joe hit his free throw, decisively.  The Ballers' player missed his and the game was over.  A tourney title for the Bucket Squad.

Perhaps no game better encapsulates who Joe is as a boy and an athlete.  Not the strongest.  Not the fastest.  Not the most athletic.  Very smart.  Very unselfish.  Almost always makes the right play.  And no 1 year old I know has a bigger heart and a desire to win in that heart that burns as brightly as it does in Joe.