Run Joe Run

Wednesday marked the end of Joe's abbreviated 5th/6th grade cross country season.  In the HVAC championship meet, held at USN's River Campus, Joe covered the 1 1/2 mile course in a personal record time of 9:41.  He wanted to break 10 minutes and he did, so I was very proud of him.  He was the second USN runner to finish - behind his buddy, Bennett - and 10th runner overall.  

What I wanted most of all out of this cross country season for Joe was for him to have fun, taste a little success, and most importantly, to want to keep running.  Using those metrics, all of the boxes were checked so it was a successful season in my book.

It's hard to remember where JP was when he ran cross country in the 5th grade.  Not that it matters but I have no recollection of the times he ran or how he stacked up against his competition.  I do remember that Porter, a grade ahead of JP at Oak Hill (and now a 10th grader at MBA), won all of the races.  Porter was not a cross country runner per se but he was bigger than everyone else and simply outpaced the other boys.  

I think JP finished around where Joe has finished in his races, somewhere between 5th and 10th places.  I don't think I saw anything out of JP in 5th grade that was a glimpse of the runner he was to become.  Certainly, I never anticipated he would grow into one of the top cross country runners in the state for his grade by the time he reached 8th or 9th grade.  

Just as was the case with JP in the 5th grade, it's too early to tell if running is something at which Joe will really excel at a competitive level.  If I'm being honest, what I want more for Joe - or at least just as much - is for him to continue to develop a love for running that lasts a lifetime, long after middle school and high school.  There are so many benefits to being a dedicated runner and I want Joe to experience them all.

Discipline.  Self-confidence.  Fitness.  Mental and emotional health.  Stamina.  Dedication.  

I firmly believe if Joe continues to run, he will grow in all of those areas and more.  That's precisely what I want for him as a runner.

My philosophy for running as it relates to the boys is quite simple but, I think, effective.

Let the boys come to running rather than me taking running to the boys.  

When Joe sees my lacing up my running shoes, if he asks to run with me, great.  If he'd rather read or watch a game on television, that's also great.  He knows JP and I will be there, running, and he's welcome to join us at any time.

She Grew Us Up

The autumnal equinox was yesterday - September 23, 2023 - the day the sun crossed the celestial equator.

Yesterday was also the day an unusually diverse group of people came together all from over the country to celebrate the life of the best person I will ever know, Carley Meade.  

I could write a book about Carley.  Maybe someday I will.  It's so hard to describe what she meant to me, her friends, her family, and all of the children she nannied for during the too few years before she left us.  

Carley was everything.  She still is.  Most of all, though, Carley was love.  

Love for Jon Meade, her beloved husband, whom Carley affectionately called Jonny Love.   Her love for Jon burned as brightly as the sun, inextinguishable to the very end.  It's a flame that will burn for all of eternity.  Theirs was a love story for the ages. 

Love for her family.  They provided Carley with the space to become who she was and then generously shared her with the rest of us.  What a gift they gave us!

Love for her friends.  To know Carley, to meet her even one time, was to be friends with her forever.  She so loved the women of Flo, her Ultimate Frisbee playing teammates.  In ways that I don't think those of us in the Nashville Ultimate Frisbee community fully understood at the time, she was the nucleus of our wonderful band of merry pranksters - men and women - who traveled across the South on weekends to play in Ultimate Frisbee tournaments in the days of our relative youth.  Those of us fortunate enough to have been a part of that group shared a collective bond with Carley that was made up of a thousand individual memories of inside jokes and stolen moments she shared with every one of us.  Carley was the tie that bound us all tougher - she still is - and all of those singular moments with her, held together with her love,  formed the patchwork quilt that tells the story of our lives the decade plus before we said goodbye to our youth and grudgingly entered middle age.

Love for our children who became her children.  Carley fiercely loved them with her whole heart. Every day, every hour, every minute she spent with one of our children was as precious and pure as the rarest gemstone.  To call Carley a nanny trivializes who she was and what she meant to our children.  

Carley was the sun and our babies and toddlers the planets that orbited around her in a solar system that she created for them with her beautiful and endless imagination.  Like magic, she created entire worlds for our children that were known only to them and not to us as parents, which is maybe the best kind of magic of all.  

I arrived home from work one day to find all of JP's stuffed animals ("lovies" in Carley's lexicon) carefully arranged in the den.  Twenty or thirty lovies.  JP told me they were having a rock concert.  I'm guessing he was playing the ukulele or the drums.  That's the world that Carley created for my son that day.  A world of rock concerts and band members and cheering fans.  What she created for Jude and me is a memory we will carry with us forever.  

For all of the children that Carley cared for over the years, she created worlds and invented games unique to a specific child and, of course, to his or her family.  Although Carley's physical presence is no longer with us, her spiritual presence - her essence - remains in a very palpable way for the children who were blessed to have her in their lives during such an important time in their young lives.   

How much she meant - and still means - to our children and the role she played in their lives - and continues to play - defies description.  Yesterday, Elena Rollins eloquently captured some of this when she recalled Carley's greeting to her children - Chloe and Phillip - every time she arrived at their home. "Hello, friend."  That was what Carley always said that to one or both of them, with a smile on her face and love in her heart.  

"Hello, friend."  

In a way, that's what Carley said to every one of us - or it's what we felt, anyway - when we had the great and good fortune to see her.  

For many of us, Carley was more than a friend.  She was family in the truest sense of the word.  During the last week of Jude's pregnancy with Joe, we learned at a routine doctor's visit that Dr. Maikis wanted to admit Jude to the hospital on the spot and deliver Joe that morning.  What did we do?  We called Carley and, of course, she and Jon picked up JP from Children's House at the end of his school day and stayed with him that night.  Yesterday, I learned that she did the same thing for Rhonda and Scott Simms when their second daughter was born.  

For several couples - Elena and Rob, Rhonda and Scott, Jim and Stephanie, Brian and Rebecca, and Jude and me, to name a few - Carley was in our lives on a daily basis for a period of time.  For two, three, or four years, she generously provided us with the support we needed as we learned to balance being a parent with our social and professional obligations.  Carley was our back stop.  Our safety net.  As Rhonda Sims so aptly said, "she grew us up," as parents.  Then, like Mary Poppins, she departed and became a part of another family who needed her more than we did.

Why?  Because she had grown us up to the point that we could parent our children more or less on our own.

Of course, Carley never really left us.  She was still there, babysitting for all of our children on occasion.  JP and Joe were never as happy then when they learned that Carley was coming over to stay with them while Jude and I attended an event or went to dinner together.  And wonder of wonders, for our boys, Carley and Jon came to an occasional soccer, basketball, or baseball games for our boys.  Even after Carley got sick and during difficult, painful times, she and Jon still came to JP's 4th grade operetta, in which JP was dressed up as Frank Sinatra.  Every year, Carley and Jon went to the State Fair with us.  Carley loved - there's that word again - seeing her kids in the real world, competing or performing, long after they were old enough that she had ceased caring for them on a regular basis.  

You see, Carley grew our children up, too.  

Saturday morning, JP had a cross country meet for MBA in Chattanooga.  After the race, he skipped the bus ride with his teammates to ride back with me, so he would have time to get home, shower, and go to the celebration of Carley's life at Edwin Warner Park.  He had a travel baseball doubleheader and could have made the second game - and baseball is very important to JP - but not nearly as important as celebrating Carley's life with others who love her as much as he does.  

In fact, a couple of weeks ago, JP asked Jon if he could be one of the speakers at the celebration of Carley's wife. Speaking in a public to a large group of people does not come naturally to JP, at least not yet, so this was big deal for him.  What he showed to Jude and me, though, was a maturity beyond his years and a desire to be seen and heard in an arena where he could express how important Carley was to him and how much he loves and misses her.  

At Jon's request, I agreed to emcee the speaker's portion of Saturday's celebration, which was an honor and a privilege beyond measure.  It was comforting to gaze out on the crowd and see so many familiar faces, many of whom I hadn't seen in years.  Dave Turell.  Kelli McAbee.  Carrie Plummer.  And on and on.  It was something I'll never forget.  

Jude spoke about Carley and led her FLO teammates in a rendition of Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" that they had movingly performed for Carley at Alive Hospice more than four years ago.  I remember hiding my tears from them when they were at our house, practicing, before they went to sing for Carley.  They were celebrating her life even then, preparing to lift their voices in song to express their undying love for Carley.  They did it again on Saturday and as I watched them singing, my mind drifted back to so may Ultimate Frisbee tournaments and so many silly songs sung by FLO to the opposing team after a hard fought game.  Singing for Carley - then and now - was an act of love for one of their own.    

JP nervously stepped to microphone after Jude and FLO.  The crowd grew silent as he pulled out a piece of paper.  Slowly and deliberately, JP lifted his head and his voice quavering with emotion, began speaking to the crowd.  After a few sentences, he got choked up, tears rolling down his face.  JP paused, tried to start again, and couldn't continue.  He turned away from the microphone and the crowd, trying to collect himself.  I stood up and quietly walked over to him, hugged him, then put my arm around him.  He took a moment, turned back around, and spoke to the crowd from his aching heart.

In my life, I've never been prouder of JP.  He loves Carley so very much.  He misses her every day.  He's old enough to appreciate the impact she had on his life.  All of that, and more, was evident in his remarks to the group.  I don't think - I know - that somewhere Carley was watching and listening - probably crying a little bit because she could see that JP was so sad but smiling through the tears, too, with pride.  Like a spring shower when the sun suddenly comes out and a rainbow is just beginning to form.  

JP talked about how Carley lived her life and how she would want us to live our lives - loving and caring for each other.  He talked about how the world would be a better place if we all tried to live our lives like Carley lives hers.  He's right about that, too.

Several other people spoke about their love for Carley and told stories, too, that made us laugh and cry. I wasn't alone, I know, in not wanting the day to end.  

It was a beautiful day of celebration.  Sadness, yes, but so much love.  Love for Carley Meade.  Love for Jon Meade.  Love for Carley's family.  Love for all of Carley's children.  Love for each other.  

And, for me, that's what Carley was about.  Love.  It's what she always will be about.  

Love.

 

 

On the Road Again

I'm having a quick cup of coffee at Mean Mugs on a Saturday morning in Chattanooga.  JP races in a little over an hour at the McCallie Cross Country Invitational.

I drove over from Nashville last night after I finished a mediation for two of my favorite lawyers.  Very nice clients, too.  It makes such a difference when I'm mediating for experienced, professional lawyers with nothing to prove to me, their clients, or each other.  No ego, just a strong desire to get a fair result that benefits the parties and their children.  It's refreshing because it's not always that way. 

I hope JP and the team run well today.  I know it would mean a lot to all of the boys to win the meet.  As I understand it, McCallie has a strong team of returning runners from last year so it should be a good race.  Also, it's a challenging course, according to JP.  

I just got a text from JP with a diagram of the course.  He and the team are headed over there now.  

I've got butterflies in my stomach, as I do before every one of his races.  My hope for him is to run the race he wants to run and to give it all that he has on the course.  There rest of it will take care of itself. 

Chickasaw Trails Invitational

So much to write about and so little time to write.  That's the story of my life.

Last weekend after work, I picked up sushi from Sakura in Franklin and drove to Decatur, AL, still in my coat and tie.  I had booked a hotel room in Decatur because it was about 20 minutes away from the park at the Oakville Indian Mounds in Danville, AL.  

The 22nd annual Chickasaw Trails Invitational was held on the cross country course at the park.  Saturday morning - a week ago - I found myself driving the back roads of rural Alabama, listening to Jimmy Buffett, then waiting in a line of traffic to turn into the park's grassy parking lot.  

I had no idea what to expect as I followed the crowd and walked toward where I believed the staring line to be.  There were tents set up everywhere for the cross country squads from high schools all over Alabama and Tennessee.  JP's MBA varsity team was running in the large school division against 4A and 5A teams from Huntsville, Birmingham, etc.  JP's old school, USN, was running in the small school division.  

It was a sight to see for an old runner like me.  High school runners - boys and girls - loosening up everywhere, along with coaches, parents, and siblings.  I felt a low level buzz of nervous tension as I walked through the sea of tents, looking for JP and his teammates.  After a few minutes, I saw two maroon tents, side-by-side, nestled against a lake with other schools' tents on each side.  "MBA" was emblazoned proudly - or so it seemed to me - across the front of one of the tents.  

Roll Red Roll, I thought, as I glanced around for JP.  I saw Jack, JP's longtime friend who was running with the junior varsity, and he told me JP was with the other varsity runners, stretching somewhere.  As I walked away, I saw JP and his varsity teammates walking up the throughway.  I walked toward him and as I do before every race, I silently and solemnly fist bumped him.

"You ready?"  I asked.  

"I am."  

I walked away to let him do what he needed to do to get ready for the race.  

I wasn't sure where to set up, since I was unfamiliar with the course.  I settled on a spot on the front stretch at about the quarter mile mark.  When the gun sounded, I started intently to my right as the mass of boys approached, trying to catch a glimpse of JP.  There were so many runners massed together as they ran by me that I couldn't pick out any of the seven MBA runners.  They ran by me in a blur.  

I jogged over to a different part of the course at, I guess, just before the two mile mark.  And I waited and waited some more.  Nervous because I hadn't seen JP yet and I had no idea how we would do.  Finally, I saw Samuel, one of MBA's seniors and a co-captain.  He was in third place and running strong.  10 or 15 second later, I saw Jack, a junior I haven't too much about other than that he always runs hard on race day.  Then, I saw Mitchell, also a senior and co-captain.  

Still, no JP.  

Finally, I saw Gabe, then JP, running close a couple of seconds apart.  They looked good, though not as fast as the MBA upperclassmen.  I was able to get to a spot closer to the finish line, the to the finish line, too.  Samuel finished third overall, (15:29) which was impressive in such a large field - 329 runners.  The rest of MBA's team finished Jack (15:56), Mitchell (16:25), Gabe (16:43), JP (16:46).  Senior, Junior, Senior, Freshman, Freshman.     

What was really impressive was that MBA finished in second place overall in the large school division, behind only Huntsville HS, a 5A high school in Alabama.  That's quite an accomplishment and a reflection, I think, of the depth of MBA's team.  In my book, too, it's a tribute to the leadership provided by Samuel and Mitchell in preseason and in season workouts.  1 - 5, all of the boys ran well.  

Samuel and Mitchell presented the second place trophy to Dr. Daughtrey at assembly on Monday morning.   

I was proud of JP.  He competed, ran well, and got his first race in the books.  I'm excited to see him - and the team - the rest of the cross country season.

"We're Talking About Practice"

To quote the immortal Allen Iverson, "we're talking about practice, man!  Practice."

Tuesday nights might be my favorite night of the week this fall because it's the night the Dodgers practice baseball.  We practice on Sunday, too, but there's just something special about being outside, on the field, practicing when no one else is at Warner Park.  

Our 7:30 - 9:00 p.m. slot is a little bit late but, actually, it works out well for our family because Jude an I are typically trying to be two places at once immediately after work.  Last night, for example, I had a hearing in Court - on that went extremely well for my client - then I rushed to get my haircut, ate grocery store sushi in the Publix parking lot, picked up Huck for practice in Franklin, rushed to get Joe from goalkeeper practice at Hillwood High School, then pulled into the parking lot at Warner Park right at 7:30 p.m.  Run, run, run.   

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I know these time are fleeting.  For example, it was a joy to have a chance to spend a few minutes with Huck, whom I've coached, off and on, for three or four years.  Such a sweet, earnest boy.  He's also gotten stronger, earlier, than the other boys and turned into a damn good hitter.  His throwing and catching need work but he can get there if he wants it badly enough.  As I told him during our drive to pick up Joe from goalkeeper practice, he has a gift that most boys his age don't have - the ability to barrel up a ball and hit it hard and with power.  Bat speed, too.  

Huck is an emotional kid, too, but I like that.  Joe is emotional in a different way.  It comes from a desire to excel and a desire to win with the other side of the coin being extreme disappointment when faced with a lack of success.  The hard part, of course, is that baseball is a game of failure.  The best hitter make outs 7/10 times.  That's why mental toughness isa prerequisite for success in baseball.

Still, as I also told Huck, I'll take 12 Huck's, 12 Joe's, or 12 Benton Wright''s on a baseball team anytime.  Boys that are competitive and have a burning desire to play well and to win.  You can't put that in them but you can mold it and redirect it in a positive direction.  That's my belief, anyway.

As we arrived, Coach Mike had the boys doing a good catch play warmup drill.  Throwing and catching five balls in a row with five pushups if the ball hit the ground.  After five completed throws, the boys took five steps back, and so on, until they were long tossing.  The boys looked pretty good.  Mikey, John, Henry, Trey, Ram (Novak Chitale), Huck, Nico, and Joe.  

Our infield practice was suspect, as throwing the ball to first base with accuracy and consistency continues to be an issue for some of them.  I often wonder how JP and his teammates compare to Joe's group of Dodgers at the same age.  It makes me sad but I don't remember much about how JP and his group actually played at the age.  Sometimes, I wish I had video of the games but it's hard to get that when you're coaching on the field.  

All of the boys hit well, which was encouraging.  Hitting has been stronger than I expected this fall.  Perhaps it's because we're taking live ball batting practice twice a week at practice on Tuesdays and Sundays, along with batting cage work before games.  

I ended practice by playing the trash can game.  Two groups in the outfield, evenly divided, led by Coaches Ben and Mike.  $5, then $10, ten $20 if anyone could throw a baseball from left/center or right/center field into the trash can, which was laying down with the opening pointed toward them.  I stole this game from Oliver and the boys love it.  No one was able to throw a ball into the trash can but it was a fun way to end practice.

As the boys packed up and began walking to the parking lot, I smiled as I heard them talking and laughing.  A few shouted "Goodbye, Coach Phil."

Coach Phil.  Those two words mean everything to me.

I stopped and looked around the field to try and preserve the moment.  A beautiful, early fall night.  Our lights on field #2 the only lights on at Warner Park.  Tuesday night practice in the books.  I know this is all coming to an end too soon for me and I didn't want the night to end.  I wanted to freeze that moment on the baseball field forever.  

I took a quick video on the field, with the lights still on, as Joe and Nico carried my bucket of balls and the rest of my gear to my truck for me. 

Then I shut the lights of on field #2 and walked in the dark to my truck, where Joe was waiting.

 

Dodgers (Games 3 and 4)

I didn't write about Game 3 of the Dodgers' fall baseball season because, well, there was nothing to write about.  It was a 12 - 2 win over the Angels.  Nice coaches and good boys including Griffin, whom I coached in the early days with the Junior Dodgers.  It was a hot day and the Angels ran up the white flag and didn't take their last at bat, which was kind of weak.

The most exciting moment of the day was the pregame' meeting between the umpires and the head coaches.  I almost got run before the game had started because I insisted that the clock (1 hour 30 minutes pre game) didn't start until the catcher threw the ball down to second base before the first inning.  The umpire - older and lazy - tried to tell me the clock started when the home team began to warm before the first inning.  After the umpire asked me if I wanted to watch the game from the parking lot, I went and found Roger, who runs the league, and he straightened the umpire out.

My point is that since WNSL shortened the weekend games from 1:40 to 1:30, the boys have lost 10 minutes of baseball.  It isn't fair to them to take away another 5 to 10 minutes by not starting the game until after the home team finishes warming up.  I have 12 players and need to get as many of them at bats as I can.  Losing almost 20 minutes of playing time matters.

________________________________

Game 4 was a rematch against the Diamondbacks whom we lost to earlier in the fall season in a game that wasn't as close as the score indicated due to WNSL's silly 5 run maximum per inning rule.  

Oliver wanted this game badly, as evidenced by the fact that he started Simms, again, at pitcher and had him throw 72 or 73 pitches before taking him out.  My coaches were shaking their heads as Simms' pitch count got higher and higher.  In all of my years of coaching youth baseball, I've never seen a coach pitch an 11 year old 70 + pitched in a recreational league fall baseball game.  That one really left me scratching my head.

Joe started for the Dodgers and pitched well.  For the most part, he had better control.  If memory serves, he had, maybe, three strikeouts, and gave up only 1 or 2 legitimate hits.  In classic Joe fashion, after an infield hit he noticed the batter turned in toward second base and shouted at Daniel, playing first base, to tag him.  Daniel did and the umpire rang him up for an out.  Smart, smart baseball play by Joe but that's what he does.  Later, Joe made a sterling play at shortstop to end an inning, leaping to his right to catch a blooper headed for short left/center field hit by Leo (one of my favorites on the Diamondbacks and probably a future President of the United States).

In his first at bat against Simms - a very good right-handed pitcher who throw hard - Joe roped a 2 strike line drive down the third base line with his new bat.  It was his best hit ball of the falls season.  Coaching third, I immediately yelled "Two! Two!" as Joe headed to first.  The first mistake I made was that I wasn't coaching first, so it wasn't buy call.  The second mistake I made was that Leo - aka "Mr. President" was playing left field.  He chased the ball down and threw a seed to Henry (another one of my all time favorites) covering second base and Joe, sliding, was out by a mile.  Still, a great hit and a great play by Leo.  That's baseball.

In the second or third inning, our boys broke it open with good base running and 3 consecutive hits against Simms.  Two were doubles on balls hit over the center fielder's head by Nico and Huck.  We would have had 6 runs, at least, in the inning, but the silly 5 run maximum rule held us up. 

Huck hit another double, later, then fell asleep and got picked off second base by Simms.  Learning, always learning.  I love that part of coaching baseball.  Our boys ran the bases well, taking good secondary leads, and stealing several bags off Henry Singleton, an outstanding catcher.  He has a future as a catcher, for sure, as I know he'll put in the work to get his hitting where it needs to be. 

I pulled Joe after completed his third inning pitching.  Joe could have pitched another inning but was just over 40 pitches and I wasn't going to risk hurting his arm in a fall baseball game.  I also wanted him to leave with the confidence that comes with having a good outing, given up one one run.

After consulting Daniel - who I brought in to catch - I pitched Keaton, an athletic, competitive lefty.  He didn't have his best stuff and struggled with his control.  Still, he battled, which is what Keaton does.  I was closing to reliving him by bringing in Bennett but Keaton got out of trouble and we came to bat with a 7 - 5 lead.  

Joe led off and because I knew we only had 3 minutes left to complete the game, I told him to take some pitches and go deep in the count.  He did exactly that, worked a full count, then grounded out on a fairly close play at second base as the game ended on time since we were the home team.

The Dodger game the Diamondbacks what was their first (maybe second) loss of the season.  I wanted the win, I'll admit, for obvious reason.  Most of all, though, I wanted my boys to win against a good baseball team and that's exactly what they did.

I love seeing and playing against the boys I coached the last 2 or 3 years.  Leland.  Henry Singleton.  Henry Stout.  Simms.  Leo.  Parks.  Good boys, every one of them.  I talked with them and encouraged them throughout the game.  I congratulated them when they made good plays and encouraged them to get a hit when they were in the on deck circle in front of me.  

Oliver, on the other hand, didn't talk to any of our boys during the game.  He didn't interact with Joe except to tell him good game in the handshake line after the game, like he was a player he didn't even know.  Joe - on his own - mentioned it to me after the game.  I could never not talk to boys that had played hard for me, bled for me, given their all for me in past games just because they are on another team.  That's another thing that left me scratching my head.

A good baseball game and good win for the Dodgers.

Scott Tygard, Joe, and Roger Maness.  Scott and Roger have been the heart and should of WNSL for all of the years JP and Joe have played baseball and basketball in WNSL leagues.  

The Day Before the Big Day

Tomorrow is a big day for JP.  It's the first race of MBA's cross country season, as the varsity races in the Chickasaw Trails Invitational in Oakville, AL.  As a freshman, it's the first race of his high school cross country career.  He's excited and so am I.  

Excited for me and excited for JP are two different things.  I'm loud, expressive, emotional, verbal, and enthusiastic.  I think it's pretty easy for other to gauge my mood.  JP is not like that at all.  He's quiet, contemplative, driven, and reserved.  What we share, though, is a fierce competitiveness and a burning desire to win in everything we do.  

He's ready for this race and the cross country season.  He's put in the work, all on his own with no encouragement or reminders from Jude or me.  Up at 6 a.m. this summer for four or five mile runs in the morning.  He's been a regular at all of the MBA team's daily preseason runs at Vaughn Creek in Warner Park.  He runs with the first or second group at practice after school and he's run on weekends on his own.

For me, a lifelong runner, it's been cool to see him broaden his running horizons and let his runs take him all over town.  He ran five miles before school yesterday because he had a doctor's appointment in the afternoon and would miss practice.  On our drive to school later in the morning, he told me he ran down to the Gulch and back.  He's grown from one or two regular routes in the neighborhood a year ago to having routes all over 12South, Belmont, Green Hills, Vanderbilt, the Gulch, and downtown.  It's pretty cool.  

JP is so dedicated.  His work ethic is unparalleled.  He's serious about his business.  Always.  Whether it's running, studying, hitting, he's going to get after it and work hard.  Every day.  That's just who he is.  

I'm driving down to Decatur, AL, tonight, where I'll stay.  I think the hotel is 30 minutes or so from Oakville Indian Mounds Park, where the cross country races will be held.  For a minute, Jude and Joe were going to come, too, but they're going to stay home.  I'm kind of glad to be flying solo on this one - not because I don't want them there - I do, but watching JP run is such a personal thing to me.  I feel like it's something we share.  Something that binds us in a way.  

I get so nervous - anxious, really - before he runs that I wouldn't be very good company.  Not before his first race, especially.  There are going to be a lot of emotions for me to process over the next 24 hours and I think I'll be better able to do that on my own.  

As Jude mentioned last night, JP seems to really enjoy his MBA cross country teammates and being part of this team.  As a father, that's a good thing to see, for sure.  I know he likes being a part of something that's bigger than himself.  It was the same this summer, when he played baseball for HBC.  He loved being a part of the team.  That's just part of who JP is, in my view.  

On the drive to school this morning, we talked about tomorrow's race.  I told him he'd put the work in and that he was ready.  I reminded him it was just one race among many he had ahead of him and not to make it more than it is.  I also reminded him not to make the moment too big but to be bigger than the moment.  Have fun, run your race, and go get it.  

Off he goes.  

When Thank You is Not Enough

This is a post I should have written long, long ago.  Still, I am writing it now.  Better late than never, I suppose.  The titles says it all, really.  

What do you say to someone when thank you is not enough?

There is absolutely nothing I could do, say, or write that would adequately express the gratitude I feel toward my in-laws, Jim and Jane White.  Honestly, I could write a book - and it wouldn't be a short one - about all of the things they have done for me, Jude, and our boys in the almost 25 years since I was lucky enough to wander into their lives when I began dating their daughter.  

It's mind boggling to think that Jim and Jane were younger than I am, now, when I first met them in the late 1990's.  How can that possibly be?  

I believe Jim was still working as an investigator for the Internal Revenue Service.  Jane was still working as a registered dietician with the family practice section of U.T. Hospital in Knoxville, where they lived.  Jude's brother, James - 12 years her younger than her - was, I am guessing, a junior or senior at Farragut High School.  

As for me, I was 30 or 31 years old and divorced.  Jude was, I am guessing, 26 or 27 years old when we started dating.  Damn, we were young.  So very young.  We dated for almost five years before we got married.  Last year, we celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary.  

My law partner and close friend, Mark Puryear, and I had only recently started our law firm, Puryear & Newman.  We had no idea how to run a law firm.  We didn't have a pot to pee in, as they say.  A one year lease on part of an old house at 401 Church Street in downtown Franklin, TN, a line of credit, and a lot of big plans for the future.  That was it for us professionally.

Jude had recently finished clerking for her mentor, Judge Barbara Haynes, and was working, I believe, as a first year associate at Stewart, Estes & Donnell, an insurance defense law firm downtown.  My longtime friend and city softball teammate, Peter Klett, was a partner there and he and his girlfriend at the time, Jennifer Etheridge, set Jude and me up for our first date, but that's a story for another day.

I've often wondered what Jim and Jane thought when they learned Jude was dating a man - four years older than their daughter - who had been married before. My guess is that it wasn't necessarily how they saw things working out for their only daughter.  If they felt that way, though, they never let it show in their interactions with me.  I appreciated that then and I appreciate it more now, older and with boys of my own.  

Quickly, I was introduced to the rest of the family - and it's a very large family, with 10 cousins on Jim's side and seven cousins on Jane's side, unless my count is off.  I used to joke that I need a diagram of the White family to help me keep everyone straight.  Jude is the oldest of all of the cousins.  Between all of Jude's cousins and their parents (Jim's and Jane's siblings), a study aid of some sort was warranted, because there was just so many of them.  

At the family events I attended early in our relationship, I shook a lot of hands, gave a lot of hugs, and nodded dumbly as I was introduced to yet another cousin, aunt, or uncle.  I vividly recall having dinner at her grandparent's house at River Plantation in Bellevue and feeling overwhelmed at the sheer size of her extended family.  Cousins, aunts and uncles everywhere.  How was I ever going to get to know everyone?  

Here's the thing, though, Jim and Jane welcomed me into the family without question, so everyone else did, as well.  I think because they were so accepting of me from the very start, everyone else accepted me, too.  That's the way I see it, anyway.

It seems like a lifetime ago - it was, in many ways - when Jude and I were dating and we'd drive to Knoxville on fall weekends to see the Vols play football and stay at Jude's parents' house in Farragut.  In separate rooms, believe it or not.  

We dated for quite a while - more than four years - until, one day, Jane said, "Jude, where is this going?"  I think Jude probably silenced her mom instantly with her patented Sicilian stare.  Soon, though, we were engaged, and it was off to the races.  

Wedding planning.  We were married at Cathedral of the Incarnation.  Our reception was inside the Parthenon in Centennial Park, the only event I've ever attended there.  It was a perfect February night in 2003 made more so by the fact that is started snowing during the reception.  I've never been given an explanation for how Jane arranged for it to snow.  That was next level wedding planning.  It was a night to remember, for sure, and other than the days on which JP and Joe were born, I think it was the most memorable day of my life.   

I could never have imagined having in-laws who were as kind, accepting, and generous, to me as Jim and Jane have been.   

It's not a small thing - in fact, it's a huge thing - to have in-laws that are unwaveringly supportive of your family and everything you do.  Jim and Jane have always supported Jude and me.  Always.  They show up for us and for our family.  Always.  To have in-laws that provide you with that kind of unconditional love and support is rare, I think, and something I try to never take for granted.  

Jim and Jane moved to Bellevue after JP was born, which was a game changer for us (and for them, too, I suspect).  The really cool thing was that having Jim and Jane here, local, allowed them to play a much larger role in JP's life - and later, Joe's life - than they ever could have played had they stayed in Knoxville.  Our sons have been blessed in so many ways, small and large, by being around their grandparents regularly, at church, games, school events, etc.

I wonder if he remembers this, but Jim helped me at my very first baseball practice as a head coach - when the boys I was coaching were four and five years old - at Sevier Park on the makeshift all grass field there, of all places.  While I didn't know what in the hell I was doing as a coach, I felt better and more confident having Jim there with me.  I think we threw down some plastic bases in the grass, let the boys practiced base running, and maybe had the boys throw a little bit.  That was the beginning of my nine year run as the coach the Dodgers - something I've written about in this space many times before - and Jim was there when it all started.  He was there later, too, keeping a pitch count for me during JP's games, so I could make sure my pitchers didn't throw too many pitches.  

In some ways, Jim was a father figure to me, and that's something for which I've always been grateful.  He exhibited qualities I aspired to, as a man and as a father.  Steady.  Honorable.  Diligent.  Caring.  Dedicated.  Quiet - okay, I'm not quiet, but still, you get what I am saying.    

Jim and Jane have traveled right along with us on the sports odyssey that has consumed our lives, much to our delight.  They've driven all over middle Tennessee to watch JP and Joe play baseball, basketball, and soccer.  They've watched the boys succeed and fail.  They've watched their teams win and lose, sometimes in heartbreaking fashion.  They saw me coach JP's Dodgers to the 11U state championship in Lawrenceburg.  

They've seen JP blossom into an outstanding cross-country runner and they saw him cross the finish line in first place at every Junior School (7th and 8th grade) race last fall.  And, to bookend things, they were at the River Campus last Thursday to watch Joe run and finish in 6th place in his first ever cross-country meet.  They watched Joe play in a 3-on-3 Labor Tournament yesterday.  

I'm not sure I've ever seen more dedicated and supportive grandparents than Jim and Jane.  The boys realize how special it is that their grandparents watch so many of their games in so many different sports.  

When the boys' nanny and our dear, longtime friend, Carley Meade, was diagnosed with colon cancer, had the first of multiple surgeries, and couldn't work for us for several months, Jim and Jane stepped in for Carley and took care of our boys while she was out.  Honestly, with our jobs keeping us so busy, there is no way we could have run our household, cared for Joe at home, and gotten JP to school (I forget if it was Children's House or USN) without their help.  On top of that, Jim and Jane helped us many, many times with transportation for the boys to practices and games.  

This part is personal and it's hard for me to write about without completely falling apart.  When my mom's mind and, later, her health, began to fail her, due to dementia and Alzheimer's disease, Jim and Jane supported her, and me, in ways I will never, ever forget.  Before her health deteriorated to the point that she couldn't live on her own anymore, Jim and Jane often drove to Brentwood, picked my mom up, and took her to the boys' games, returning her home afterwards.  That's a kindness I could live a million years and never forget.    

Not too long after moving to Nashville, Jim and Jane joined St. Patrick Catholic Church, where Jude and I were members and had gone to church for several years.  It's been a joy for all four of us to see them, at church, most Sundays and to have donuts with them in the church cafeteria afterwards. 

One of the worst things about the pandemic was being relatively isolated and not being able to see Jim and Jane as often as we liked.  It's crazy now and feel like it never happened but I remember eating lunch outside on the porch of our rented house in Sewanee on Thanksgiving at the height of first year of the pandemic.  It a different Thanksgiving but having Jim and Jane there with us helped to maintain a semblance of normalcy.  

Now, I find myself a 57 year old father of the two best boys ever to have been born on this earth.  I am so grateful to have had Jim and Jane in my life - and in our JP's and Joe's lives - for, well, forever.

All I can say - and it's not enough - is thank you, Jim and Jane.  For everything.  

 

   

  

Full Circle

This morning, Labor Day, I dropped JP off at the Shelby Bottoms parking lot, where some of his MBA teammates were already milling about and trying to wake up.  He and his cross country teammates are going for a long run (10 miles) on the trails at Shelby Bottoms.

Over the past 20 + years, I've done more long runs and, really, runs of varying lengths, on the grass trails at Shelby Bottoms.  It's my favorite place to run, hands down.  I have a difficult time putting into words how special that place is to me.  

I've completed 1,000 miles in a years there, twice.  I've run the trails in the snow.  I ran there after the flood 2010, when the first part of the trails by the Cumberland River had the look and feel of a lunar landscape.  I was running there several years ago - on the Cornelia Fort Trail - when I tripped over a root and broke my left big toe.  I ran to the Cornelia Fort Airport when it was still operational and later, sadly, after it closed, grass and weeds growing everywhere and the airport buildings crumbling after they were abandoned.  Over the years, I ran there with Tim Street, David Moyer, Ironman, Mike Matteson, and Mike Corley, sharing the trails with them.  My home course.  

I ran in the rain at Shelby Bottoms in 2008, crying, after I learned my close friend Benton's daughter, Elizabeth Patton, died the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  I'll never forget that run.

I ran, lost in my thoughts, sad and depressed, as my mother fought a losing battle with Alzheimer's disease.  I composed her eulogy - and others' - on long runs on the trails.  

Running the trails at Shelby Bottoms has kept me centered.  It's been an outlet for me, one that I needed.  Most of all the trails there have been a respite for me in the middle of a busy and sometimes stressful life, personally and professionally.  I always leave a run there rejuvenated and feeling better about myself, and my life, than when I arrived at the park. 

Some of the best runs of my life have been on the trails at Shelby Bottoms.  

Of course, I've run with JP a few times at Shelby Bottoms.  It was with great pride that I showed him what always seemed like my trails because I so rarely every saw anyone running on them during my runs.  My hope is that, someday, he will grow to love the trails as much as I do and that maybe, just maybe, he will start running out there himself during high school.  

So, it was with mixed emotions that I dropped him off this morning before I drove over to Dose on the east side for coffee and breakfast.  I was envious, to be sure, of he and his teammates' youth and fitness level.  10 miles at Shelby Bottoms.  Piece of cake.  That used to be me, not too long ago.  

I've had such an inconsistent year running.  Covid-19 at the beginning of the year, followed by a sinus infection that lingered.  Lately, especially, my low back has been hurting constantly.  Work.  Coffee and bourbon > running or so it's felt, at times.  I've still been running but not at the same pace and distance.

For most the last month or two, I've wilted, hopefully only because of the heat.  Last night at 8 p.m., I went for a three mile run in the neighborhood.  I used to run a lot at night when the boys were much younger and we weren't as buys with after school and after work activities.  I struggled to finish three miles, again.  No stamina.  No energy.  Slower pace than normal.

I'm hoping it's the heat and not a line I crossed when I turned 57 last month.  I'm not ready for my ability to run to be affected by my age, so I hope that's not the case.  I'm changing some things up in September - "30 for 30" I'm calling it - no alcohol, no Red Bull, no sweets, no breads/pasta/potatoes (not things I meat much of, anyway), running or walking 30 minutes every day, reading 30 minutes a day a book that is inspirational or of the self-help genre (not my favorite).  

If I'm not running better in October, I'll go to the doctor.  It's past time for an annual physical examination, anyway.  

Time to go pick up JP at Shelby Bottoms.  I can't wait to hear about his run.

Portland Brew and Hold On Magnolia

Once in a blue moon, I find myself somewhere when a song plays that stops me in my tracks.  It's usually a semi-obscure song, one that I love but now one I would expect to hear anywhere but on one of my Spotify playlists.

A minute ago, as I sipped my coffee and read the New York Times, "Hold On Magnolia" began playing at Portland Brew.  The first notes of the song by Magnolia Electric Company and Jason Molina brought a smile to my face and made me wonder which one of the baristas was playing it on the speaker behind the counter.  The music is louder that normal today - not so loud that patrons can't talk as they drink their coffee - but loud enough that I immediately recognized the song.

"Hold On Magnolia" is a haunting song, one I stumbled across several years ago, probably because it popped up on my Spotify Discovery playlist that I get every Monday.  Jason Molina, the lead singer, tragically died in his thirties from complications related to alcoholism, I later learned.  He was a songwriter's songwriter and I have since seen several singer songwriter's, like Glen Hansard, pay tribute to him.  

Portland Brew has a good thing going right now.  After several of the longtime baristas left, the quality of the coffee and food declined in quality.  More importantly, the atmosphere in the coffee shop changed for the worse.  The baristas didn't care as much about making good coffee or interacting with the customers.  Some of the regulars stopped coming, probably because they noticed the same things I did.  

Recently, however, one of the baristas returned as manager.  A few of the new hires seemed to "get it" - whatever that means - in the same way the old baristas did.  And, wouldn't you know it, the regulars began coming back in the early mornings, weekdays and weekends, to drink coffee, have breakfast, and chat before going off to work or family obligations.  

When someone recognizes you and calls you by name when you walk into a coffee shop or restaurant, it makes a difference.  Everyone one wants to be a part of something, I think, even if it's something as seemingly insignificant as the woven tapestry that makes up a coffee shop and the space it occupies in the universe of life.  Everyone wants to belong to someone, or something.  It's part of the human condition. 

The current team of baristas at Portland Brew are happy to be here, working together, and it shows.  It makes me happy to be here, too.

I remarked to one of the longer tenured baristas the other day - one of the few holdovers from the old, sold crew - that I thought the vibe at Portland Brew was really good and that all of the baristas seemed to get along and enjoy each other's company.  She smiled broadly, like I had discovered a secret that only she knew.  "I'm so glad you noticed!"  

I am, too.

Joe Gets it Done

One of the most beautiful things about having two boys, four years apart, is getting to do everything a second time.  

I appreciate things more the second time around, I think.  I savor more, too.  Things like coaching Joe in baseball.  Watching Joe play basketball.  Throwing batting practice to Joe.  

So much of this, for me, is about the joy my boys bring to my life  every single day.  That's what fatherhood is, I think.  My life has been enriched beyond belief by JP and Joe.  I simply can't imagine what my life would have been like without them in it.  It's unfathomable.

Before Joe's first ever cross country meet on Thursday, I tweeted the following:

It's not often that I get to see Joe, 11, do something for the very first time.  This afternoon, I'm going to watch him run his first cross country race for @USNXC.  That's pretty awesome.

And you know what?  It was exactly that and more.  Pretty awesome.

I left work early and arrived at USN's River Camps - the site of some of JP's biggest cross country triumphs as a 7th and 8th grader - in time to see the boys' middle school varsity race (7th and 8th graders).  Amazing finish, as an MBA runner - Wyatt Self - caught a USN runner in the last 10 yards of the race to win.  Inspiring finish.  

It was hot but it could have been hotter.  When I found Joe warming up before the race, he was, well, Joe.  Not nervous.  Smiling and laughing with her friends.  Blissfully unaware of what lay ahead of him, which is precisely the way it should be.  

Running, and racing, is about discovery and learning . . . about your body, about pain and your ability to withstand it, about finding the ability to summon reserves of strength, about determination and stamina, about learning not to quit.  It's about all of those things and many more.  This I know.  

It was important - no, it was necessary - for Joe to begin to learn those things on his own during the 1 1/2 mile race.  That's why I demurred when he asked me if I had any race strategies or race tips.  Right now, he's a blank slate as a runner and it's up to him to gather information and fill in some of the blank space.  That's the way I see it, anyway.

As I've written in this space before, I get more nervous before JP's cross country meets than any sport either of the boys play.  Thursday felt a little different, though, and I was determined not to be as nervous because, well, most of the kids are 10 and 11.  There seemed to be a little less at stake than in a middle school varsity race.  Did I succeed?  Partially, though I was still nervous.

The horn sounded and off they went.  As is my wont at cross country meets, I stood away from everyone else, alone, to wait for Joe to cross the quarter mile mark.  I never stand anywhere near the starting line.  Too many people.  Too much nervous energy.

As the lead runners made the turn around the fence on the outside of the USN track, I saw two boys running toward me dressed in red singlets.  Covenant Presbyterian Runners.  Running fast, side by side, looking strong.  Looking good.  And then, I saw him.

Joe!

In third place, 10 feet or so behind the leaders.  

Oh, shit, I thought.  Here we go again.  How?  Why?  Another runner.  So many thoughts.  So many emotions.  Pride.  Joy.  Anxiety.  Love.  An overwhelming sense of love.  My adrenaline kicked in and my heart started pounding.  

As Joe passed by me, staring straight ahead, I realized I had seen that look before.  That exact look.  Determined.  Driven.  I'd see the same look in JP's face as he ran the same path, literally and figuratively, that Joe was running on at the River Campus.  

The pace is a little quick for Joe, I thought.  It's hot and I'm not sure he can hold it for 1 1/2 miles.  That's what we're here to find out, though.

I jogged across the parking lot to get to the three quarters of a mile mark.  Veteran move.  I was the first parent there.  As the runner turned slightly right and ran toward where I was standing, I saw the to Covenant Runners still ahead.  I young lady, also running for Covenant, passed Joe as I watched.  She looked like a real runner.  I love it, at that age, when the girls run up front with the boys.  

As Joe ran by me, I could see he was starting to fade a bit.  I knew he'd gone out too fast for his fitness level.  It's one of the many lessons he would learn in his first cross country race.  I cheered for him, loudly.  Encouraged him.  

On the back side of the course, I saw two more runners catch Joe.  One was his USN friend, Bennett.  Tall, thin, good runner.  The other was a small boy from Overbook.  

I jogged back across the parking lot and stood behind the tennis courts to wait for the runner to get to the one a quarter mile mark.  The home stretch.  All three Covenant runners were running together, with the young lady in third behind the two boys.  

When I saw Joe approaching, I could tell he was struggling.  Tired.  Hurting.  Fighting it.

A runner.

I shouted encouragement to Joe as he passed by, then made quick note of the runners behind him in 7th and 8th place.  They were a ways back but closing on him.

I jogged past the pavilion and waited for the runners to clear the track, round the curve, and run to the finish line.  Not surprisingly, the two Covenant boys finished 1st and 2nd, with the young lady from Covenant placing a strong 3rd.  I expect big things from her in the future.  Bennent, from USN, and the Overbook boy finished 4th and 5th respectively.

I saw Joe round the curve and immediately saw that the two runners behind him were closing rapidly with their sights on catching and passing Joe before the finish line.  Nope, not happening, not without a fight, I decided.  

I jogged down toward the final turn, yelled for Joe, who looked up at me.

"Pick it up!  Finish strong!  Two runner closing on you!"  I shouted.

With a burst of energy I wasn't sure he had, Joe sprinted toward the finish line and easily claimed 6th place.  Jude and her parents watch him run by, cheering for him.

I got to Joe right as he finished, not quite sure what to expect.  He was breathing hard and tired but not exhausted.  Most importantly, he was happy.  He began congratulating teammates as they finished, taking a page out of JP's book.  I got him a cup of water, poured some of it on his head to cool him off, then let him mingle with his friends and fellow runners.  

First race.  Great race.