It's Not About the Baseball

For a variety of reasons, I avoided signing up JP for travel baseball for many years.  I've always felt - strongly - that playing recreational league baseball and all-stars in June - was the right decision for JP and our family, especially since we played in the spring and fall.  

As is abundantly clear to anyone who has read this blog, I wouldn't trade anything in my life for the years I spent on the baseball fields in middle Tennessee - at practices and games - with JP, his teammates, and the men who coached for me.  Those are some of the best memories of my life, by far.  Hopefully, they're some of JP's best memories or, perhaps, they will be as he gets older.  

Sadly, travel baseball is slowly and inexorably squeezing the life out of recreational league baseball, or so it seems to me.  By age 13, I think playing travel baseball is a necessity for players who want to play in middle school and high school because the competition is so much better than in recreational league baseball.  In truth, I might have waited a year too long before starting JP in travel baseball at age 14.  

Still, here we are, all up in travel baseball.  For better or worse.

JP and I spent the weekend in the Tri-Cities.  Our home base was a Holiday Inn Express in Johnson City, Tennessee.  His 15U team - Harris Baseball Club - played games in Johnson City, Kingsport, and Greenville.  We were rained out of a game in Bristol, so we just missed four games in three days in four different cities.  Yep, travel baseball.  

Here's the thing, though.  Getting to spend five hours in the car with JP, listening to podcasts, then hang out with him over three days was fantastic.  For me, the baseball was icing on the cake.  I felt so lucky to downshift for few days and just spend time with JP, along, away from the distractions of home.  It was similar to how I felt when I took Joe to the travel soccer tournament in Chattanooga a month or so ago.

JP and I talked about, well, nothing and everything.  The NBA draft, baseball, driving, teen suicide, friendship, school.  With a teenager, having a captive audience, so to speak, presents a rare opportunity to cover a lot of conversational ground.  We listened to music.  We listened to a Slow Burn podcast episode about Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, which was an entry point into a conversation about the Supreme Court, the confirmation process, Thurgood Marshall, and politics.  

The good stuff.  We talked about the good stuff.  

What's really special, I think, is that because of travel baseball, I know my 15-year old son just a little bit better than I knew him before we left Nashville on Thursday evening.  

And that's the secret, I think.  It's not about the baseball.  It's never been about the baseball.

It's about spending time with JP, on the road.  It's about listening to him and learning who he is becoming.  Above all else, it's about discerning what I can do to help him and support him in becoming who he wants to be.  In sports, sure, but more importantly, in life.  

When we ate dinner at Bonefish Grill in Johnson City Saturday night - after JP had given up and absolute bomb to right field for 2-run homer in the first inning of a loss (to a kid hitting with a wood bat, no less) - I asked him where he wanted to go to college.  

"Away, I think."  

I smiled and nodded.  "I'm proud of you.  I've always admired people who go away to school."  

It almost stops my heart to think that four years from now, right now, JP will be preparing to leave us and go to college.  How can that be so?  I still gaze longingly at the City Elite stroller almost every time I go down to the basement, reminiscing about my many walks through the neighborhood with JP and later, Joe.  

The elusive nature of time passing.  It's crazy and it's terrifying.  And, in many ways, it's sad.  

What to do?  Treasure every minute I spend with JP the next four years.  Every travel baseball trip.  Every run.  All of it.  That's all I can do, really.

And when the time comes, I'll say goodbye.  I'll hug him.  I'll cry.  And off he will go to college.  To Middlebury, Sewanee, Georgia, Dartmouth, Colorado, Berry, or Stanford.  I'll stumble haltingly back into a house that's suddenly grown quieter.  

I'll hug Joe and get ready to do it all again four years later.

A Rainy Morning in Johnson City

On a rainy, dreary Friday morning, I'm sitting in a quaint coffee shop in Johnson City, TN, waiting on my coffee.  Open Door Coffee House.  Voted best coffee house in Johnson City five years running.  I've been to dive bars but dive coffee houses?  Is that even a thing?  Either way, good coffee though not great.  Very friendly staff.  Nice atmosphere.  Odd location.  Off the main drag on an old side street with businesses that likely have seen better days.  Bays Media.  A barber shop.  You get the idea.  3.7/5.

Why Johnson City?  JP has a wood bat baseball tournament in the try-cities region this weekend (Johnson City, Bristol, Kingsport).  That's the good news.  The bad news?  The weather.  It rained all last night and this morning, although for now, it's overcast with no rain.  The forecast doesn't look good, though, and I've prepaid for the room at the Holiday Inn Express where we're staying.

Even if we don't get any baseball in, I'll get a weekend away with JP.  That's something that doesn't come along very often, if ever.  I'll take it and enjoy it, for sure.  This is the travel baseball life, I guess.  Average hotels in distant towns.  

Yesterday afternoon, while I was waiting to pick JP up from work at the MBA sports camp, I ran into Dr. Cirillo, a latin teacher and one of the cross country coaches.  He recognized me - again, I'm officially JP's dad, which I love - and we chatted briefly.  Like all of the teachers and coaches I meet at MBA, he was friendly, respectful, and kind.  JP already likes him and the other cross country coaches, too.  It's such a blessing to have my son taught, coached, and mentored by men and women he respects and who care about his development.  

JP's been running most mornings since summer vacations started.  Up on his own and out the door at 6 a.m.  Four miles, five miles, all over the neighborhood.  As a longtime runner, it's cool to see him expanding his routes just as I've don't over the years.  We live in a neighborhood and area of town with many, many places to run - leaving from our house - and I'm happy to see him discovering new routes of his own.  

He ran to Rose Park earlier this week, did a track workout, then ran home.  He's run by USN and stopped to say hi to a former teacher of his who was working a summer camp there.  He's run to Vanderbilt and into the garage, where he paused to watch part of a Vanderbilt baseball game, with others, from a vantage point high up in the garage.  

That's one of the cool things about running, to me.  It takes you places you never planned on going and, eventually, your running history is a giant patchwork quilt of all of the runs you've been on and all of the places you've seen.

The Wind Down

I ran three miles this morning from the cabin and straightened up while Doug and Mike packed their gear. I treated them to breakfast at the Blue Chair, a favorite of my boys whenever we're on the Mountain.  As we were eating, I ran into Pete Ezell, who was in town for the Sewanee Alumni golf tournament Friday and Saturday.  Pete just turned 74 years old, looks my age, and still plays in the NBA softball league for Baker Donelson.  Amazing.

Last night, Doug cooked steaks on the grill and sautéed asparagus as a side item.  Excellent dinner.  We had a nice bottle of red wine me brought from Atlanta.  Dinner at the cabin was nice ending to a day that began with a three mile run for me, followed by a hike of five miles or so, with Doug and Mike, to Lake Dimmick.  

The Lake Dimmick trail is a good one.  Gravel, double track dirt on an old fire road, then single track to the lake.  Not too hilly but a nice hike nonetheless.  Time slowed down as we walked through the woods and talked to each other, reconnecting.  I think that was my favorite part of the trip.  

Truth be told, we didn't go to Bonnaroo yesterday at all and I might not go on my way out of town today, although that's still a game time decision.  When we went Friday night, we only knew a band or two, and we stayed out of the fray for the most part, listening to music from afar as we sat and people watched.  To me, the crowd seemed younger than in past years but it may be that I'm just getting older.  

What I'm not sure about, though, is whether the artist lineup - unknowns to me for the most part - trended young this year or whether I've aged out of Bonnaroo.  For the first time in almost a decade, I didn't feel the urge this year to be at the Farm, in the crowd, listening to music.  I was more interested in spending time with Doug and Mike, or alone before they arrived, at the cabin or on campus, not with 75,000 of my closest friends.  

This year, coming to the Mountain, I just felt - and feel - so tired.  Mentally and emotionally exhausted.  I give so much of myself to my clients and their cases - their lives, really - that it wears me down sometimes.  On top of that, I feel like I'm constantly thinking about the office - staffing, processes, training, mentoring - it's a lot.  I'm not complaining, exactly.  It's just that all of it wears me down sometimes, so I go for a run or better yet, head to the Mountain.  

For now, I'll finish my coffee and drive back to the cabin.  I think I'll read for a while, then pack up and head back to Nashville.  I could stay another night but I've got meetings in the morning with prospective clients.  After a brief respite, it's time to put my shoulder to the wheel again.  If I time it right, though, I'll get to Donelson in time to watch Joe's all-star team, the Braves, play at 4 p.m.

Another Bonnaroo weekend in the books.  

Old Friends are the Best Friends

I'm blessed with a close knit group of friends from high school.  With my 57th birthday around the corner and one of our group terminally ill, I find myself thinking a lot about friendship, the passage of time, and how those two concepts are interrelated.  

Maybe everyone feels this way but the group of guys I ran with in high school were special.  We were tight, maybe because we were the second graduating class in a new high school.  Our senior class in 1984 was small with fewer than 130 students.  Our community - Brentwood, TN - was small and bucolic, dotted with a horse farms and open land.  Everyone knew each other or so it seemed in the early 1980's.   

Sometimes I think what we didn't have made us closer to each other, then and now.  No internet.  No cell phones.  No computers.  No laptops.  No iPads.  No Instagram or SnapChat.  No Xbox or Playstation, although we gathered at the Brentwood Fun Factory to play video games for a couple of years during the arcade's limited run.  

Doug, Jay, David, Greg, Corley, Neil, Mike, Jabba, Jeroutek, Wass, Rip.  

Every name on that list is attached to a flood of memories.  Woven together, those names form the tapestry of my young life.  

Over the years, of course, some of us drifted apart as we moved away, married, had families, and lived our adult lives.  Others stayed in touch - particularly as the children got older - and visited or vacationed together.  

Recently, after one of our group - Greg - lost his father, he and I spoke briefly at the visitation.  I've known him the longest of our group, as he and his family moved to our neighborhood in 1976.  Latecomers, comparatively speaking, as we had been there since 1972.  He and I played baseball and football together as boys, then went to junior high school and high school together, as well.

Greg returned to town to stay for a week and to check in on his mom a couple of weeks after his dad died.  He and I tried to make time to get together and it almost didn't happen.  We settled on coffee on his last day in town before he left to return to Hilton Head, SC, where he lives.   

Although we only spent an hour and a half together, it was time well spent.  Time I needed to reconnect with Greg, talk and laugh, and reminisce a bit, too.  He invited Jude and me to bring the boys to see he and his wife in Hilton Head, SC, or at his house in the mountains in North Carolina, and we're going to make time to do it.  

Reconnecting seems more important, more urgent, since one of our group - David - was diagnosed earlier this year with a glioblastoma.  He's not going to make it - it's hard to even write that - and in our own way, we're all thinking about what that means.  To David, his family, and to all of us.  It's not something any of us have faced so processing it is difficult, at least for me.

I feel guilty about missing JP playing baseball in Louisville, KY, and Joe playing baseball in Donelson this weekend.  However, I wanted to get together with Doug and Mike on the Mountain, not so much to go to Bonnaroo but to spend time together.  

This time last year, David was healthy and on top of the world, professionally and personally.  Now, everything is different.  Irrevocably altered for David, his family, and all of us.  

I tend to look for the lessons in life, especially in times of adversity.  What can I learn?  What can I change?  

The lesson here, for me, is to reconnect.  Find time to be with my oldest friends.  Make the effort.  And that's what I'm going to do.

 

Dimmick Lake

For the first time in, well, forever, I slept past 8 a.m. this morning.  More than eight hours of sleep is a rarity for me.  My down time - my reading time - is at night after the everyone goes to bed.  I don't have the discipline to force myself to go to bed at or before 11 p.m., as I probably should.  

For now, I'm sitting in Stirling's Coffee House, one of my favorite spots in the world.  I love watching the students, faculty members, locals, and visitors smiling and chatting as they wait in line to order or wait for the coffee or food.  It's Sewanee.  

I ran three miles on the Dimmick Lake trail this morning.  It's one of my favorite runs.  Though I didn't run all the way back to the lake, it was still a beautiful run through the woods on the Mountain.  As my back felt a little balky this morning and I'm on the back end of a lingering head cold, I only ran three miles (same as yesterday).

As summer arrives every year, I find myself doubting my fitness level and ability to continue running regularly.  The rational part of my brain realizes this is something that I go though every year as my body struggles to adapt to running in hotter, more humid conditions.  The adaptation part is what kicks my ass.  It gets harder and harder every year to go from running in cooler, more pleasant weather, to running in hotter weather.  This year, a head cold wore me out, too, so I feel like I'm starting over just a bit.  

I seem to notice more aches and pains in my body.  Less than a month from 57, my low back hurts in the morning.  My right knee hurts and my ankles are stiff in the morning.  The back pain is the most concerning, as I don't see it getting better as I age.  

Lately, I've taken to going on walks later at night, often after 10 p.m.  It's strange, I guess, to walk two or three miles on a night when I could go for a run.  It's just that I don't like to start a run after 9 p.m. for some reason but walking is different, somehow.  I guess. 

Assuming good health with my knees, hips, and back, I don't see myself stopping running anytime soon.  However, for the first time, I can envision a time when I'll walk every day.  Three or four miles. 

Doug and Mike are a couple hours away from the Mountain, coming from different directions.  Time to head back to the cabin, shower, and read for a bit.  

Damn, I'm glad to be here.

Return to the Mountain

Better late than never, I arrived at the Jennings' cabin in Clifftops late this afternoon.  Normally, I leave on Wednesday but this year, I couldn't get away until Thursday.  I had hope to leave early but I had to finish a few things for work before I left, so I camped out at Bongo Java - like the old days - for a couple of hours before JP helped me pack for the trip.

The important thing, of course, is that I made it back to the Mountain.  Monteagle Mountain.  Slowly, the stress of an incredibly busy few weeks at work is slipping away.  I'm sitting in the screened in porch listening to Radiohead - Pablo Honey - and album I've become obsessed with, thanks to Rohan Chitale.  I can't stop listening to it and, like all great albums, I find a different song every few days that I love.  

I knew about Radiohead but I'd never listened to them, which is weird because I'm such a fan of all types of music.  Pablo Honey was released in 1993, so it's been out in the world for 30 years!  Somehow, I never bumped into it until very recently.  I overheard Rohan talking about Radiohead at one of Joe's baseball games earlier this spring and I joined the conversation.  One thing led to another and he sent me a Radiohead playlist on Spotify.  The rest is history.

It reminds of the time, years ago, when Chris Vlahos introduced me to My Morning Jacket after a law league softball game.  After listening to Evil Urges (2008), which I think had been released that summer, was hooked.  I worked my way through the older MMJ albums and fell in love with the first one, The Tennessee Fire (1999).  I bet I've listened to it 200 times.  

Music, of course, is what brings me to the Mountain again.  Bonnaroo.  I think it's this is the eighth consecutive year I've been to Bonnaroo, not including the consecutive years it was canceled, 2020 (Covid-19) and 2021 (flooding).  As much as I enjoy listening to music at Bonnaroo, though, it's become as much about getting away for a few days and spending time with my friends.

This weekend, Doug Brown and Mike Matteson are joining me.  They will arrive tomorrow, midday, Doug from Atlanta and Mike from Franklin.  This year, no Hughey, Seve, or Bonnaroo Bill.  I'm not sure the original crew will make it to Bonnaroo again.  Hughey travels every summer with his family and Bonnaroo Bill, the oldest in our group, sold his architecture business and retired.  Chances are, he is hanging out with his wife in their Airstream somewhere far from her, remembering the days when he used to go to Bonnaroo.  

Paul and Lisa are so generous to give us their cabin every year.  It's the perfect place for me to unwind.  In Clifftops, on the Mountain.  j

Home.

Empty Nest

Last Saturday morning, JP left for Rome.  Jude, Joe, and I saw him off at the Nashville airport.  11 days away, as he returns on Tuesday.  It's an amazing opportunity for him to see Rome and party of Italy with the Latin Club at MBA, made possible through the Wilson Grant.  JP had a couple of friends that went on the trip last summer and being selected for the trip was a goal of his.  He wrote and essay and his grades I Latin were stellar this year.  Off to Rome he went.

Joe left for a week away at Camp Widjiwagon on Sunday.  He camped there last year, too, mostly because JP had gone to sports camp for three weeks at the Woodbury Forest sports camp the previous summer.  Joe idolizes his big brother, of course, and wanted to go to Woodbury Forest last summer.  Jude and I thought three weeks away at age 10 was a bit much for someone who had never been to overnight camp at all, so we compromised and sent him to Camp Widjiwagon.  Joe had a good time last year, so back he went this year.  

A week off, so to speak, has been nice, although Jude and I miss the boys terribly.  Sadly, I've been crushed at work this week - three mediations and several new clients, among other things - so Jude and I haven't had as much quality time to ourselves as I had hoped.  

We walked down and had dinner at Epice on Sunday evening, which was nice.  Epice is one of our favorites.  Great good.  Great service.  A place to unwind, for us, and to talk about how lucky we are to have the children we have.  That's been a theme lately, for sure.

Monday evening, I had a late softball game.  Tuesday and Wednesdays, I had mediations.  I got home a little bit late, so we stayed in and watched the Office.  A lot of the Office which, of course, reminded his of Joe.  I think it's his favorite show, by far.  I'm not sure why because at age 11, a lot of the humor goes right over his head.  Still, he loves Michael Scott (Steve Carell) and the entire cast of characters at Dunder Mifflin's Scranton office.

Thursday night, Jude made reservations for us to have dinner with Russ and Susanna at Urban Grub at 7:45 p.m.  Jude and I walked down to meet them on a beautiful late spring evening.  We're spoiled, I know, living in a neighborhood like Belmont/12South, where we can walk to restaurants any night of the week.  Location, location, location, right?

Although our table wasn't ready when we arrived, eventually we were seated outside, which was awesome.  As I've written in this space before, Russ and Susanna are "friends that fit," and it was nice to spend an evening with them over wine and good food.  For me, it doesn't get much better than sharing a meal with friends.  Talking, laughing, learning, getting caught up, all while drinking a good bottle of wine.  It's the best.

Last night, Jude and I went to the Nashville School of Law Annual Dinner and Banquet.  My firm bought a table, as we did last year, although I didn't attend that event.  Lauren, Rob, Andrea, Lee, Hannah, Stephanie, Vanessa, Sharon, Elizabeth, Jude and me.  Great table.  Great event.  

Since I co-taught the Family Law Trial Practice last semester at NSL, I thought it was important that I attend the event.  Damn, I'm glad a did because it was reminiscent of the Nashville Bar Association Annual Dinner at Christmas that I attended religiously for almost two decades.  Jude and I saw so many friends and longtime colleagues last night.  It made me feel good to be a lawyer, which is the way I used to feel every year at the NBA Annual Dinner.  

Afterwards, we fought through the CMA crowd as we walked to Jude's parking garage.  She gave me an impromptu tour of the Senate and House Chambers - now abandoned for almost four years - under the Legislative Plaza.  I felt like I had walked onto the set of Planet of the Apes as Charlton Heston walks through the abandoned subway tunnels.  I saw meeting rooms, office,  and committee hearing rooms.  It was a surreal feeling to imagine how much of our state's business had been done there once upon a time.

A pay phone.  Wow.

Jude is off to pick up Joe, early, from Camp Widjiwagon this morning, so he can play in an all-start baseball tournament with the Braves today, starting at 10:15 a.m.  We can't wait to get him home, then JP on Tuesday.  

The Night of the Kid

Tuesday night, MBA held a graduation ceremony for the eighth grade class.    

It was a night to celebrate the successful completion of two challenging, yet rewarding, years of middle school for the eighth grade boys.  A night to congratulate the boys and allow them a chance to hear their name called, walk across the stage, and accept a certificate that marked the end of middle school at MBA. An ending and a beginning, as high school looms across the summer divide.  

It was also the night of the Kid.

JP has worked so hard the past two years.  Every night, without fail, he came home from whatever sport he had been practicing or from a game - cross country, soccer, basketball, and baseball - took a shower, and started studying upstairs in his room.  He took a break for dinner, then he studied until almost bedtime.  Another break - 30 minutes or so - to watch a game with me on television, then off to bed.  Every single school night.

On weekends, he had a bit of free time.  Still, he missed most of Joe's basketball and baseball games, because he stayed home and studied.  He skipped Belmont basketball games, sometimes, to study in "the Grind House" (the name he gave his room in the beginning of seventh grade).

Never once in two years, through all of seventh and eighth grade, did Jude or I have to remind JP to study or check in to see if he was on top of things from an academic standpoint.  He did the work.  He prepared. He studied.  He completed his projects.  He grinded because that's what JP does.

He was on the privilege list every quarter of seventh and eighth grade, which is reserved for boys who have an A average across all of their classes.  Those boys get a little more freedom during the school day to study in different places and roam the campus a bit.  JP's final report card for his eighth grade year was stellar, as he finished with all A's for the year.  No small feat, to be sure.

I won't recount his athletic exploits in this post because I've written about them in this space many times before.  Suffice to say he's worked hard to get better at all of the sports he's played at MBA and he's contributed to every team on which he's played.  JP burns with a competitive desire that's unique.  He wants to get better and he wants every team he plays on to succeed.  This year, by necessity, he's been a leader on his teams, and that's not necessarily something that comes easily or naturally for JP.  

As Jude, Joe, and I sat together under the trees and out of the late evening sunshine Tuesday evening, what I mostly felt was pride and gratitude.  Pride in how hard JP had worked the past two years and in the example he had set for Joe.  Gratitude for my family and for the fact JP has the opportunity to go to school at MBA and be a part of the MBA community.  It's the perfect place for him, really.

As per tradition, before the eighth graders are recognized individually for graduating from the Junior School, a variety of awards are given out to seventh and eighth graders.  Everything from Presidential Fitness awards and citizenship awards to various academic awards.  A lot of awards.  When a boy's name is called, he walks up front, is recognized, and receives his award as the spectators and his classmates. applaud.

Although he never told us it was the case, JP really wanted to receive the award for Eighth Grade Athlete of the Year.  Joe wanted him to receive it more than anyone because he is JP's biggest fan and number one supporter.  As I've always said, JP is Joe's superhero.  More than anyone, Joe wants everyone to know how great JP is.  It's a special relationship, to be sure, that the two of them have as brothers.  

Driving over together to the event, I reminded Joe that in our family, we don't work hard to get awards.  We work hard to get better, academically and athletically, and the reward is in the journey not the outcome.  I also reminded him that in my view, it's difficult for a seventh or eighth grader to be the best athlete at MBA if he doesn't play football which, of course, is the bell cow of sports at MBA.

Still, when it came time to announce the best athlete awards, the three of us leaned forward slightly, almost imperceptibly.  I surprised myself a little bit with how badly I wanted JP to be awarded the Best Athlete for Eighth Grade.  I wanted it not for myself but for him, because I know how hard he worked, how much he cared about winning and making the teams he played on better, and how hard he took his teams' losses.  

When the announcement was made - "JP Newman" - Joe grinned widely, started clapping, then fist bumped Jude and me.  Jude and audibly sighed in relief, as JP walked up to get his award.  A couple of friends of mine with boys in JP's class immediately texted me congratulations.  Gavin O'Hare, sitting a couple of rows in front of me, turned around with a grin on his face and fist bumped me.  He was as happy for JP as I was, which meant a great deal to me.  

For us, the night was complete.  Except that it wasn't over.  Not yet.  What happened a few minutes later was something I will remember for the rest of my life. 

To close out the evening, Brad Gioia, the longtime retiring head of school at MBA, walked to the podium to announce the winner of the Best Boy of the Seventh Grade and the most important award of the night, the Walter Noel, Jr. Outstanding Boy of the Junior School.  

JP's baseball teammate, Will Brock, was named the Best Boy of the Seventh Grade.  His dad is a teacher and assistant football coach at MBA and one of JP's favorite teacher.  Will is a great kid, so we were pleased to see him get the award.

Next, Mr. Gioia began a long description of the winner of the Walter Noel, Jr. Outstanding Boy of the Junior School, the suspense building.  He described a boy whose hard work in all of his classes set and example for his classmates.  He described a boy whose humility, friendliness, and quiet sense of humor made all of his classmates feel comfortable around him.  He described a boy who competed like no other on the athletic fields in a variety of sports and who, according to his coaches, "was the very soul of every team he played on."  

Tears came to my eyes when Mr. Gioia said, "MBA is a better place for having this boy here.  The winner of the Walter Noel, Jr. Outstanding Boy of the Junior School is . . . JP Newman."  In fact, tears come to my eyes as I write this on Sunday morning sitting in Dose having coffee.  

Jude and I were stunned.  She teared up and Joe cheered.  My cell phone exploded with text messages, again, from friends who were there and I just shook my head and smiled.  I watched in a state of disbelie as JP walked up to receive the award and shake Mr. Gioia's hand.  

As a father, I've watched JP grow up.  I've seen him take over a soccer game against his USN classmates in third or fourth grade and will his team to victory with a second half performance that remains one of my favorite sports memories.  I've seen him strike out batters to end games.  I was on the field when he won a state championship in baseball at age 11 and was name to the all tournament team.  I've seen him win cross country race after race.  

I've also seen him fail, then pick himself up to try again.  I saw him take too big of a turn around second base in an all-star game in Bellevue and get picked off to end the game - and the tournament for his team - when the centerfielder threw behind him.  I've seen him get out kicked by his eighth grade teammate, Cade, at the end of the HVAC cross country championship in his seventh grade year.  I've seen him in tears when as he struggled to figure out how to lead the basketball team and get the most out of himself, and his teammates, during a tough stretch of games.   

I've seen all of that and more.  

Watching JP receive the Walter Noel, Jr. Award, though, was probably my proudest moment as his father.  

I called Jon Meade on the drive home.  I wanted him to know about the awards that JP had received and, more importantly, I wanted him to know that I felt Carley's presence there with us.  I also wanted him to know that all of the time Carley spend with JP when she nannied for us and all that she taught JP about how to be curious, how to be friendly and kind, how to love life and love others - all of that was an important part of JP's accomplishments at MBA in the two years he has been there.  

I was emotional as Jon and I talked and he was, too.  It was a special moment.

Price and gratitude.  I still feel those emotions.  

What a night for JP.