Joe Takes the Hill

For Joe, baseball season is in full swing.  He's playing for the 12U Gray squad at Harris Baseball Club, a tournament team.  When he doesn't have HBC games, he's also playing for the WNSL Braves with several of the boys from the Junior Dodgers and my fall WNSL team, as well.  A lot of baseball, which is the way he likes it.

It's interesting, too, because on the HBC team, Joe is one of the younger and smaller players.  He bats lower in the order and generally plays right or left field.  He hasn't pitched yet, although the tournament season is just getting under way.  I'm not concerned about that - at least, not yet - although he throws harder and more accurately than a few of the other boys who have pitched.  He'll get his chance on the mound for his HBC team and because he's Joe, he will rise to the occasion.  I have no doubt about that.

On his Braves team, Joe bats second or third, plays shortstop or pitches.  He's the most consistent pitcher on the team and he's getting innings, which is partially why I'm not too concerned if he pitches for his HBC squad early in the season.

Earlier this week, I filled in for my friend, Scott, and coached the Braves against a solid Orioles' team.  The WNSL Orioles actually are leftover remnants of the Lions, a St. Matthews's team from years past that broke up after half of the team opted to play tournament, or travel, baseball.  Still, the Orioles have a good team and their starting pitcher was one of the better 12 year olds I've seen in a while, including in the HBC tournament games.

He was tall for his age with a very nice, smooth delivery from the mound.  What really impressed me was how he gained great leverage by fully striding off the mound toward home plate with every pitch.  That led to a lot velocity and the ability to keep the ball down.  A good combination for a 12-year old pitcher.  Hard to hit, too.  The Braves scratched out a run on him, though, when Joe scored after getting on base on an error when he hit a hard ground ball to shortstop, then stole second base and got to third on a passed ball.

I started Joe at pitcher and he was on, for sure, against a decent to good hitter.  It's funny but unlike JP, Joe tends to grunt when he pitches, like he's an older player exerting maximum effort on every pitch.  Not loudly or obnoxiously, but audibly.  He's so much like JP was at that age on the mound.  Pretty good velocity for a boy who is not too big and very good control.  He also thinks about what he's doing, situationally, and moves the ball around in the strike zone.  For example, if he's up 0-2 on a bigger boy, he'll climb the ladder on the next pitch or two and try to get him to chase.  

Joe pitched three scoreless, and hitless, innings, allowing only one baserunner, a boy he plunked in the leg after being ahead of him, 1-2.  No one hit a ball hard against him and I could have thrown him one or two more innings but I wanted to get a couple of the other boys some work.  Joe is a gamer, like JP, and I love that about him.  No situation is too big for him, particularly when he is pitching.

As I did with JP, I sat on my bucket of baseballs outside the first base dugout while our boys were in the field and Joe was pitching.  When there was a runner on first base and I wanted Joe to throw over, I removed may baseball cap.  Joe has a nifty, quick move to first base, just as JP did at that age.  His throws over were accurate, too.  

Big Mike, who followed Joe on the mound, struggled with his control and gave up 4 runs in what ended up as a 5 - 4 loss for the Braves.  Bennet gave up the go ahead run on a passed ball in the last inning, which is the way it goes sometimes.  

This weekend, it's all sports all the time.  JP plays for the MBA JV squad in the tournament against Ensworth today at 4:30 p.m. (at CPA) and Joe plays Armada soccer at 7:30 p.m. in Bellevue.  Tomorrow, JP will have another baseball game at CPA and Joe will play two games in Lavergne for HBC.  Sunday, Predators' playoff game and more baseball for Joe.

And I will love every minute of it.

Just like Bo Jackson in the old Nike ads, Joe knows baseball.  And soccer.

The Beast Returns

Monday afternoon after baseball practice, JP changed out of his baseball uniform and into running shorts and an MBA singlet and walked over to the track to compete in the Freshman Metro Championships.  Like Superman, I guess.

JP was scheduled to run the 1600 (mile) first, followed by the 800 (half mile), sometime around 6 p.m.  As I arrived at MBA after grabbing a quick cup of late afternoon coffee from Dose, I was nervous, as I always am when JP runs.  The weather was perfect, a spring evening that almost felt like a fall evening.  Deep blue sky withe slightest chill in the air.

Along with playing baseball, JP has been running close to 20 miles a week.  As near as I can tell, he runs one day during the week and Saturday and Sunday.  His fitness level is high but still, I had no idea how he would fare against other freshman who have been training and running exclusively for track all spring.  The uncertainty added to my nervousness, I think.

I walked down to the track for the start of the 1600 because I like to be by myself when JP races.  No distractions.  No exchanging niceties with other parents.  All of that can come later.  Just a silent prayer or two, then I watch the race.  Alone.

When the race started, JP settled comfortably into the middle of the pack on the first lap.  Midway through the second lap, his freshman teammate, Gabe, was running first and JP settled in right behind him.  At that point, it was pretty clear that Gabe and JP were racing each other, not the rest of the field.  Something tells me that may be the case in a lot of races over the next few years.  

At some point on the third lap, JP passed Gabe and moved into the lead.  He looked good as he always does when he races, running easily and naturally with his shoulders back and his head high.  Watching him run is akin to a religious experience to me.  It's beautiful.  

He pulled away from Gabe just a bit on the fourth lap and as the boys turned the corner from home, it looked to me like JP had enough to win the race.  He did, finishing ahead of game by a couple of seconds.  Gabe is an amazing runner, to be sure, and having run the 3200 in a track meet the previous Friday undoubtedly affected his finishing kick.  JP and Gabe finished 1 and 2 for MBA, which proved to be significant in the overall team scoring.

JP ran a 4:37, which is really strong.

Immediately after the race, I could tell JP was fired up, which Ioved.  He was talking to himself a little bit, then yelled something to no one in particular.  It was like an engine cooling down after running a full throttle.    

As Coach Russ and I discussed after the 1600, the hardest thing about this particular meet for JP and Gabe is that because there are no girls' races and no 350 hurdles, the 800 is run less than 20 minutes after the 1600.  In other words, it's very, very tough on runners who are running both events, because there is so little time to recover from one race to the next.  Also, there was a tall, lanky boy from MLK running in the 800 - a strong runner - who didn't run in the 1600, so he would be fresh and ready to go.

Again, I stood by myself along the outside of the track, near the starting line, when the starter fired his pistol in the air to begin the 800.  Suddenly, at the first turn, a couple of runners in the middle of the pack cut inside too soon and a runner fell in front of JP.  JP fell over that runner and landed on the track, scraping his arm and hip.  Gabe, running behind JP, tried to leap over the runner on the ground.  Unfortunately, the runner on the ground tried to get up as Gabe was leaping over him, causing Gabe to somersault onto the track, landing on his left forearm.  

The starter fired his pistol again and stopped the race as the trainer attended to Gabe, who was lying on the track in obvious pain.  As JP walked by me and nodded, I could tell he was pissed.  I've seen that look before and it gave me an idea of what likely to follow as the runner lined up to restart the race without Gabe, who was unable to race.  

As the starter fired his pistol for the second time to begin the 800, JP quickly surged to the lead early in the first of two laps.  By the beginning of the second lap, I could tell no one was catching him.  Not today.  When he made the final turn on the home stretch, he turned on the gas and considerably lengthened the gap between himself and the MLK runner, who didn't have anything for him.  I was stunned as I watched JP sprinting down the home stretch.  

The beast returns.

JP ran angry in the 800, not unlike the 8th grade cross country race at Ensworth a couple of years ago, when one of his USN rivals apparently talked a little trash before the race.  JP ran that race going away, too, because he was running angry.  

I'm not sure where all of this is going but is sure is fun to watch JP race.  It's also fun to watch him play baseball, which is what I'll be doing this afternoon in the first game of the junior varsity baseball tournament.  

In the end, MBA's freshman won the Metro Championship by .667 of point.  Quite a day.

A Lesson Learned

Jude and I are blessed, in every way, as it relates to our boys.  Unquestionably.  Occasionally, though, we're reminded that are boys are human and not perfect.  And you know what?  That's as it should be.

Last Thursday, MBA's JV baseball squad played Ensworth, a team they soundly defeated earlier in the season.  With a 6-2 lead, JP was batting in the later stages of the game.  The first pitch from Ensworth's second pitcher was a slow curve, clearly inside, that the umpire mistakenly called a strike.  

JP, who has been scuffling at the plate the last few games, didn't like the call.  He stepped out of the box and shook his head slowly.  Then, much to my surprise, he tapped the end of his bat on the turf well inside of home plate three or four times, clearly pointing out to the umpire and everyone watching the path he thought the ball took to the catcher's mitt, well off home plate. 

And then all hell broke loose.

The umpire, a tall, imperious man who played offensive line for Boots Donnelly at Austin Peay State University in the mid-70's, ripped off his mask and immediately confronted JP.  

"Don't you do that!" Les bellowed.

"What?"  JP replied.  

"You know what you did!  I know what you did!"  Les continued, voice raised in anger.  

At that point, genuinely mortified that things had turned on him so quickly, JP mumbled "I can't believe this."  JP didn't mean it disrespectfully.  He was stunned by what had happened.

"You better believe it!  Step out and talk to your coach because I'm about to run you!"  Les replied.  

At that point, JP stepped completely out of the batter's box.  The crowd murmured quietly and a feeling of unease and disquiet settled over us.  Coach Anderson encouraged JP and still somewhat bewildered, he stepped back in the batter's box.

While I hoped JP was going to get mad and rip a single back up the middle, I knew that wasn't what was likely to happen.  JP doesn't like to be the center of attention, particularly for the wrong reasons, and he was completely flummoxed by the intensity of Les's reaction and the fact that he came within an eyelash of ejecting JP, one of the quietest players on MBA's JV baseball team.

Ensworth's pitcher, and auburn haired heavyset boy, threw two more curve balls, both of which JP flailed at helplessly.  Strike two.  Strike three.  JP staggered back, to the first base dugout, completely lost.  I felt for him.  I really did because I knew he was embarrassed by the whole incident.  

Keep in mind, of course, this is the same boy who was one of two members of his class elected to the Honor Council at MBA the day before.  I knew all of that, and more, was going through his mind as he walked back to the dugout.  

What happened with Les was out of character for JP.  Anyone who knows him knows that to be a fact.  However, I knew he was pressing at the plate and I could sense his frustration building the day before, at Father Ryan, when he struck out looking at a called third strike.  

Now, here's the good part.  As I predicted in a conversation with Boots Donnelly between innings, when the game ended JP popped out of the dugout and walked straight up to Les to catch him before he left the field.  As I watched with tears in my eyes, Les put his arm around JP and talked with him for five minutes or so.  They shared a private moment as JP's teammates lined up and walked across the infield to congratulate Ensworth on a well played baseball game.  

It was a moment I will never forget.  

I was more proud of JP than at any point this season, as I watched him in quiet conversation with Les, who is an excellent umpire and, really, a role model for our boys.  

When he arrived home after the game, JP and I talked about what had happed before I hustled off to the class at teach at Nashville School Law on Thursday evenings.  We agreed he had learned a valuable lesson, one better learned late in the season of a JV game than in a tournament game as a junior or senior.  

Unbeknownst to JP, I snapped a quick photo after the game while he was talking with Les.  If ever a picture was worth a thousand words, it's this one.

A Day of Days

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be able to look at all of the days of my life and pick out my favorite.  

All of the days would need to be in categories, I guess.  Maybe categorized by age, subject matter, special events, or normal days.  What would be really cool, though, would be if I could select my favorite 14 days and relive them.  Not to change the days but to experience those 14 days all over again.  

It's very likely that yesterday would be on the list.  

I had a trial in a case involving a client of whom I'm very fond.  My team and I worked very hard to prepare for the trial.  It's nice to walk into court for a trial and feel like you're prepared and that you've done all you can do to be ready.  My opponent is a very good lawyer.  A worthy opponent, to be sure, and a lawyer I like a great deal.  While we zealously represented our clients in court during the trial, he and I were respectful of each other.  No tricks or games, just professional, diligent, competent lawyering.  The way it should be and, sadly, the way it often is not.   

Before he made his ruling, the judge complemented my opponent and me on a well plead case and a well tried case.  He made a point of complimenting the parties and the witness, as well, for being honest and credible.  

As we left the courthouse, I felt very proud to be a trial lawyer.  

I drove straight to MBA and arrived in the 2nd inning of JP's game vs. FRA.  The Big Red won easily, 13-3.  Ethan Deerkoski pitched well, again, and everyone hit the ball.  JP stole home midway through the game, taking off from 3rd base when he realized the pitcher wasn't paying much attention to him when the catcher through the ball back to him after each pitch.  Although a good throw might have had him, it was cool to see JP slide head first across home plate as a few of his cross country teammates cheered from the stands.

Joe had a soccer game in Murfreesboro.  His Armada team lost 4-1.  

Tried and mentally drained, I sat on our back deck last night before dinner and had a bourbon.  I didn't read or listen to music.  I just sat, alone and quietly.  

I felt content.  

That's not a small thing, either.  It's so easy to take our lives for granted.  To fall into the trap of wanting more.  It's much harder, I think, to feel content.  Harder, still, to be content.  

"There is no happier person than a truly thankful, content person."

- Joyce Meyer 

For Every Season

One of the coolest things about watching JP play baseball on MBA's JV team this season has been running into so many of his Dodgers' teammates on other teams.  We've seen Cyrus, Riley, Wes, Elijah, and Benton.  Of course, he plays with Winn, J.D., and Ethan.  All Dodgers at one time or another, which is really, really cool.

I take so much pride in watching those boys - my boys - play baseball in high school.  The entire experience of running the Dodgers and coaching those boys for nine years, fall and spring, in WNSL, all-stars, and the occasional tournament was life changing and transformative for me.  The boys, my assistant coaches (whom I miss seeing regularly), the parents, the grandparents.  All of it.  The best days of my life as a father have been spent on baseball fields with JP, Joe, and their teammates.  

JP, batting leadoff for MBA this season, already has batted against Cyrus (Hillsboro), Wes (David Lipscomb), and yesterday, Benton (Ensworth).  Watching my son in the batter's box, batting against boys he has known and played with since he was five years old is tremendously special.    

When Benton struck JP out with a curve ball in yesterday's game - a 7 - 5 - MBA win - I couldn't help but smile a little bit.  After the game, Benton told me the curve ball was a birthday present for JP.  Classic Benton.  I was smiling a bit wider, though, when JP lined a 2-strike single into left field against an Ensworth relief pitcher to plate the go ahead run for the Big Red.  He was due.

Although it drives JP crazy, I think, I've been walking on to the baseball field after games to take photos of my Dodgers together.  I can't help myself.  Our Dodgers parents' group loves it when I circulate the post-game photos on a group text.   

When I walked on to Ensworth's field yesterday after the game, I met Benton walking in with a teammate from right field.  As I hugged him, I marveled at the fact that he's taller and bigger than me now, his long, blond hair past his shoulders, as always.  My guy, almost grown up.

"Benton, I'm so proud of you," I said, my voice choked with emotion.  "You pitched a great game."

"Thanks, Coach," he replied.  

Benton had the sweet, teenage awkwardness about him, unsure of how to react in what was a bit of an emotional moment for both of us as we stood together on the Ensworth High School baseball field in the dying sunlight of a beautiful fall evening.  In that moment, I was overwhelmed with a flood of baseball memories, with Benton and JP in the middle of almost all of them.

"Coach."  

That word means everything to me.  I've gotten out of the mindset of seeing myself as a coach as the boys have gotten older and are coached by other, so it was nice to hear him say it.  For so long, coaching baseball was my identity.  It was how I saw myself, first and foremost.   

I started coaching Benton when he was five, maybe six years old, so I've watched him grow up.  I've been there through his successes and failures on the baseball field, through struggles and moments of triumph.  I've had a front seat to all of it.  The best seat, really. 

I think what I've loved about Benton over all of these years together is that he's a lot like me.  Stubborn.  Competitive.  Confident.  Emotional.  Sly sense of humor.  Tough but with a heart as pure as gold when it comes to his friends and family.  

Benton's always been a bit of a gunslinger and I've loved that about him.  He's a quiet leader and he instilled confidence in his Dodgers' teammates, always, with his demeanor on the mound and his confidence at the plate.  I could see that's still the case during and after the MBA-Ensworth game in the way his teammates interacted with him. 

From a very young age, Benton has been serious about baseball.  I can remember when the boys were young, really young, playing coach pitch baseball on fields four and five at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ.  While the other Dodgers were running around before a game, acting like five or six year olds act, Benton quietly put his baseball gear in the dugout.  He was the first boy to learn how to keep up with his own gear.  He always stacked it neatly in the dugout in between at bats or going out to the field to play defense.  While other boys were rummaging through the dugout, looking for their hats or gloves, Benton was always ready to go.

I thought to myself then, so many years ago, that this one is a baseball player.  This quiet, serious, respectful, blond haired boy is a baseball player.

And you know what?  I was right.  

Benton is a baseball player.  A damn good one.

Sweet 16

When I woke up this morning, I was the father of a 16 year old son.

How did it happen?  

To quote Ernest Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises, "Gradually, then suddenly."  

That quote perfect describes how I feel about JP turning 16 years old today.  It seemed like his childhood would last forever and that I would be the father of a young boy forever but as it turns out, that's not how it works.  It seems like yesterday that I planned my Saturdays and Sundays around our morning or afternoon strolls around the neighborhood, as often as not ending up at Bongo Java for coffee.  Today, he's driving.

"Gradually, then suddenly."

Last night, our friend, Kim, had to go to the emergency room and went there to be with her because her husband, Hal, is out of town.  When I got home, JP was just going to bed.  Jude, laughing, told me later that all night long, JP was practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation of turning 16.  He's such an even keeled kid.  Never too up or too down.  For him to get so excited about something and to show that excitement is out of character for him but very cool, too.

This morning, asked him if he wanted to drive to school.  He said he wanted to ride, so he could relax and think about his day.  I think he wanted to contemplate what it means to be 16 and how things are going to be changing in a very real way, very soon.  And, too, how they will never be the same.  The truth of the matter, of course, is that they won't be. 

When I turned 16, I was overwhelmed with a profound feeling of freedom and independence.  I would never have to rely on someone else to drive me somewhere.  Never again.  I could drive myself to school, to work, or to a friend's house.  I could drive to the beach or to California.  I could drive to familiar places or to places I had never seen.  Suddenly, the world was wide open to me, waiting expectantly for me to explore it. 

I wonder if JP was feeling those things as I drove him to MBA today.  Probably that and a whole lot more.

As I so often say, I don't know what I did to deserve a son like JP.  He's a gift.  I can't remember what my life was like without him.  

16 is the big one, maybe the biggest one of all.  Happy birthday, JP.  

I'm proud of you and I love you.

It's Hard to Begin to Let Go

I've been writing in this space for what seems like forever.  

Why?  Many reasons.  To let others know how Jude's pregnancy with JP was going.  To preserve a record for my boys of how I much I loved them when they were growing up and how much they enriched my life in ways small and large.  To give my mom something to look forward to as her health began to fade.  To try to work out my thoughts and feelings as I watched my mom drift away, stolen by Alzheimer's, and finally, leave me to fend for myself on this earth.  To help me, years from now, remember what it was like to be a father of young and growing boys.  

Most of all, I think, The Stork Stops Here is a love letter to JP and Joe.  

My sons are my world.  They are why I get up in the morning and go to work and why I stay late.  I can deal with the stress of my job because I am doing it to provide them with the life they have.  I work late sometimes, and miss things, to continue to build and maintain a successful career so I can be the provider I need to be.  I run, in many ways, for them.  I want to try to maintain my health and youth for them, because I became a father relatively late in life.  

Now, though, I find myself in the earlier stages of imagining a life without JP and Joe in it every day.  How will I be able to do that when the time comes?  

How will I be able to say goodbye and watch them go out in the world to live their own lives?  I don't know if I can do it.

Later this week, six days from now, JP will turn 16 and get his driver's license.  How can the boy I strolled around 12South and Belmont in the Baby Jogger City Elite be on the cusp of driving himself all over Nashville?  How?  

Just yesterday, or so it seems, I was strolling him down 10th Avenue - on what might have been our very first walk in the old neighborhood together - when neighborhood handyman Ronnie Henderson drove by, saw me, and waved.  Later, laughing, he told me I was beaming with the pride of being a first time father as JP and I strolled down the street.  He was right.  

JP's ready to drive.  That's for sure.  He's long since logged in the required hours driving with a learner's permit, mostly by driving with Jude.  He's taken the dull but necessary eight week long defensive driver's class and driven with an instructor.  Think driver's education classes in the old days.  A few weeks ago, he took and passed the driver's test.  All that awaits is for him to pick up his Tennessee driver's license on Thursday.

The problem, of course, is that I'm not sure I'm ready for him to drive.

A large part of my fear is that I can recall all of the stupid things I did as a young driver.  Speeding.  Driving recklessly at times.  Listening to all kinds of music, loudly, on the Jensen triaxial speakers in my '66 Ford Mustang.  Drinking beer, then driving.  All of it.  It's a wonder I survived unscathed.

JP is a different kid than I was at 16.  That's what I tell myself, anyway.  I don't think he will take the chances I took as a young driver.  With all of my heart, I hope he won't, anyway.  

This is one of those times when being a control freak and averse to change is not helpful.  I have no choice but to trust JP and have faith that he will be a careful driver.  That he won't take unnecessary risks, like I did.  That he won't drink and drive, like I did.  That he won't drive and text or talk on his cellular telephone, like I do.  That he won't race a train across the tracks on the way to a job loading and loading tractor trailers after his freshman year of college, like I did.

Most importantly, I have to have faith that God will watch over him, protect him from other drivers, and keep him safe.  And He will.  I know that.

Still, this feels like the beginning of a long goodbye, first to JP, and then to Joe.  From the first sleep away camps at 10 or 11 to driving to, finally, college.  

I don't think I'm ready for that, not by a long shot.

Saying Goodbye to Santa Rosa Beach

Back to reality.

Following a nine hour drive in a lot of construction related traffic on I-65, we arrived home last night a little after 6 p.m.  It was, needless to say, a long drive made shorter, however, by JP driving the first two and a half hours.  He's a good, safe driver, and I was glad to get him some experience driving on a road trip, particularly since he will be getting his drivers license in less than two weeks.  

Friday, our last day at the beach, Joe was especially vocal about not wanting to leave.  Early Friday evening, Joe and I hung out at the beach together and threw the football while Jude and JP rode bicycles down to Blue Mountain Beach.  It was overcast and most everyone else had left the beach for the day.  It was nice to steal a few minutes on the beach with Joe, just to throw the football and enjoy each other's company.  

I was thinking about how each member of my family gets something different out of a trip to Santa Rosa Beach, or so it seems to me.  In truth, each of us probably needs something a little different from a week there, too.  We actually talked about it a little bit at dinner Friday night at Basmati's.  

For sure, Jude needs her morning walks on the beach, looking for seashells.  I think she needs the solitude and the peacefulness.  She needs to be at the beach at least once a year, I think, if for no other reason than to have those early morning walks on the beach.  I think it recharges her batteries.

Joe loves spending time in the ocean, which he did on this trip every afternoon.  Not a lot of people braved the cold temperature of the water, although Joe was one of the exceptions.  He's so happy playing in the ocean's waves, with JP or by himself.  He's like me, in a way, with his love of the ocean.  Joe also loves - and I mean loves - to eat at different restaurants for lunch and/or dinner when we're in Santa Rosa Beach.  

JP's a little harder to figure out, although I know he loves being in Santa Rosa Beach.  Like me, he loves to  go for runs almost every day we're there.  He also loves to ride bicycles - traditional and the electric bicycles that he and I rented for the second year in a row.  I know JP needs the break from school and academic intensity that is MBA.  Unwinding time is important for him, too.

For me, I like the feeling of familiarity that I get from staying in Old Florida Village in Santa Rosa Beach. It brings me comfort.  I know what to expect.  No surprises.  Of course, I love - love - having the time to run almost every day.  l love having the Longleaf Greenway Trail a half mile away, so much so that I ran on it three days during out stay.  I love having time to read and watch movies.  I also love bumping into residents and guests staying in Old Florida Village and striking up a conversation with them.

Being home again is nice but I already miss the beach.  

SRB

When you vacation in the same place for more than 15 years like we have in Santa Rosa Beach, you gain a unique perspective on it.  We're not locals, of course, but we're not really outsiders either.  Coming down from Nashville once or twice a year and seeing the changes firsthand, I guess, is akin to seeing another family every year and watching the changes in their children from one year to the next.  Suddenly, one year, they're no longer children and you're left pondering where time went.

As I sip my coffee in Sunrise Coffee in Gulf Place, I wonder if Sunrise Coffee will be even be here the next time we come to Santa Rosa Beach.

The Gulf Place Town Center always has seemed like the town square for Santa Rosa Beach.  Late last year, Gulf Place was sold to a developer of some sort.  As often happens in those kind of deals, the new owner unceremoniously evicted several of the longtime shops in Gulf Place, including YOLO Board & Bike, from whom we had rented bikes in the past.  A little internet research revealed it wasn't an exorbitant rent increase; rather, the new owner simply kicked the shipowners out.  

There's been so much growth in Santa Rosa Beach and he surrounding area, particularly the last five or so years.  Shunk's Gulley, next door to where I sit, was a needed addition.  A place to eat, drink, and watch sports on one of several flat screen televisions upstairs or downstairs, all with a view of the ocean across the street.  There's a new burger bar next to Shunk's Gulley, where we ate lunch yesterday.  It's fine but nothing to write home about.    

Gone, sadly, are Elmo's (an early favorite of JP's), Pickle Factory (the boys' favorite place for pizza), the Grove (here only briefly but where we had lunch and spent a wonderful afternoon last spring break), and Blue Mountain Creamery (it's still here, actually, but no longer owned by our friend, Jed's, family).   Grayt Coffee Shop - a Grayton Beach favorite of mine in the early years - moved from one location to another, then closed several years ago.  

One of the things that attracted us to Santa Rosa Beach in the first place, so long ago, was the fact that it wasn't as crowded and congested as Seaside, Seagrove, or Rosemary Beach.  There is a "see to be seen" aspect to those places that's missing from Santa Rosa Beach and, probably, Blue Mountain Beach.  More locals in Santa Rosa Beach.  I fear that's changing, though, with all of the recent growth in Santa Rosa Beach.  

As JP pointed out to us before we left Nashville, the MBA varsity baseball team always take a trip during spring break to play games out of state, often to Florida.  If he keeps playing baseball and makes the varsity squad in the next couple of years, spring break would look very different for us.  In other words, it's possible this could be our last spring break in Santa Rosa Beach, which is a sad fact to contemplate for sure.  

Sometimes, I wonder what life will be like, especially for Joe, when JP goes to college.  On spring break, for example, will Jude and I take Joe to Santa Rosa Beach?  What will Joe do by himself at the beach?  He and JP are so close and perfect companions, throwing the baseball with each other every day, running together, or riding in the golf cart.  Things will be very different for Joe after JP leaves for college.  No two ways around that.  

JP is driving Jude and Joe to Gulf Place as I write this because we're going to try breakfast at the Perfect Pig.  We love eating dinner there but we've never tried breakfast.  Joe is our culinary tour guide and he's excited about breakfast, so there you go.

My Other Happy Place

I write often about my happy place, Monteagle Mountain.  Less than an hour and a half from my house in Nashville, a trip to Monteagle or Sewanee always recharges my batteries.  I would be there every weekend if I could.  

My other happy place, though, is Old Florida Village in Santa Rosa Beach, FL.  For at least 15 years, Jude and I have been coming here with the boys for spring break, fall break or, occasionally, our end of summer vacation.  From the minute we pull up in the driveway of the house we've rented for the week, I start to relax.  

I love it here.

As a native Californian, the beach and the ocean are in my blood.  I could sit in a beach chair for hours, reading, and staring out at the ocean.  The ocean calms me and clears my head.  Being near it makes me feel alive in a way that I don't when I'm elsewhere, landlocked.  Something about the ocean releases my soul and encourages it to wander a bit and appreciate firsthand our beautiful life and this enchanting planet  on which we're privileged to spend our days and nights until it's time to go home forever.

As I sit on the downstairs porch in the fading sunlight, listening to Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova and sipping a bourbon, I'm overwhelmed with my great good fortune.  What did I ever do to deserve the family I have, the friends I have, the life I live?  God has blessed me well beyond what I deserve but I am grateful beyond measure nonetheless.  

JP and I went for a six mile trail run this morning on the Longleaf Greenway Trail near our rental house.  Over the years, I've run that trail so many times.  It's one of my favorites and to be able to share it with JP is a gift.  It's not lost on me - it never is - that I'm blessed at age 57 to be able to run with him as a peer.  Sure, he's faster than me but on a longer run, I don't slow him down that much.  At least, that's what I tell myself.  Either way, my guess is that there aren't a lot of 57 year old men going for a six mile run with the number one ranked freshman cross country runner in the state.  

The point, of course, is that I'm beyond grateful to be able to run with JP.  He loves running the same way I love running.  I hope that never changes.  

Last night, Joe couldn't sleep, in part because we have some spring breakers in the house next to us and they were doing what college boys on spring break do.  Drink beer and talk, loudly.  Joe wandered downstairs, laid down next to me on the bed in the guest room, and watched the end of the Lakers win over the Timberwolves.  Just us, up late, watching the Lakers.

I never take for granted how lucky I am to have two sons that love sports the way I do.  Our love of sports is the common language we speak that many others don't.  It's part of our bond.  A love of sports and especially a love of the Laker and the Dodgers.  I don't think that will ever change.  One of my mom's greatest gifts to me was a love of sports and now, I've given passed her love of sport along to my sons.  

Could I live here one day?  Maybe.  Probably.  I don't know.  

I often wonder where the boys will end up, short term and long term.  Will JP run cross country or track in college and, if so, where?  What will Joe be like in high school?  Where will he go to college?  Will one or both of the boys go away to college?  I hope so.  I want that for them, as hard as it will be for Jude and me to not have them near enough for us to drive to in a day.  Still, I want them to be independent and to have their own lives.  To do that, I think they need to go away to college.  

I like the not knowing, if that makes sense.  It's like a book I have in my book case that I know I want to read but I haven't, not yet.  I know I'll love how the boys turn out.  Their personal story.  But I also like not knowing, at least not right now.  I like knowing that God willing, I'm going to get watch their lives unfold.  That's maybe the greatest blessing of them all. 

My family doesn't need a a lot to be content on vacation.  We don't have to travel to an exotic locale.  A nice place to stay but not too nice.  Nothing pretentious.  A beach.  An ocean.  A place to run.  A place to throw the baseball.  Restaurants.  A swimming pool or two.  Books to read.  And, most importantly, each other. 

Really, that's all we need.  

Each other.  

Dodgers Reunion

Yesterday, MBA's junior varsity baseball team played the first official game of their nascent baseball season, a non-league tilt against Hillsboro.  The game was uneventful, as MBA easily defeated an undermanned Hillsboro squad 15 - 3.  Neither team hit particularly well but Hillsboro's infield had several errors that led to a couple of big innings for MBA.

What was really cool, though, was seeing several of my former players on the field.  For MBA, Winn Hughes (shortstop), JD Bashion (catcher), Ethan Deerkoski (pitcher), and JP (second base).  For Hillsboro, Riley Hayden (third base), and Cyrus Connor (starting pitcher).  

Cyrus - one of the all time Dodgers - started on the mound for Hillsboro.  He always was the youngest, and quietest, player on our team.  In those days, he was on the small side but I always suspected he would grow bigger than the other boys in the end because his dad and my friend, Ike, is 6'6".  Sure enough, Cyrus is 6' now, taller than me, with a mini-afro that I love.  He's still on the quiet side but as was the case when he was younger, he interacts easily with his teammates, joking around and laughing, even racing one in a spring in left field after the game.  

I always told Nalini and Ike, Cyrus's parents, that he had a future as a pitcher.  He's a kid that God blessed with a magic right arm.  Although he was smaller and thin as a youngster, the whip action of his right arm as he pitched created snap on the ball.  Real speed.  Now, as he's filling out to be a long-legged, superior athlete - just like his dad, who played basketball in college - his fastball is in the low-80's and he has a wicked curve ball.  Impressive, particularly since he's a freshman.  

JP lead off yesterday and I missed his first at bat against Cyrus, a walk on five pitches.  JP stole second and third, too, but was stranded after Cyrus got the third out.  In the end, Cyrus gave up three runs in two innings, striking out four batters (three looking at curve balls).  He also hit a double his first time up.

JP didn't do anything noteworthy at the plate, although he got on base three times on an error and two walks.  That's leadoff hitter's job, I supposed, to get on base one way or the other.  I'd like to see him get his hitting back on track, though, like it was during the middle school season last year, when he was pulling the ball and hitting with power.  He played flawlessly at second base, making all of the routine plays.  

It's going to be a fun baseball season, I think, as we run into more players I coached in years past.  I miss those days terribly, of course, but time marches on, doesn't it?

Dodgers forever.

James McMurtry

Those who know me well, who have known me the longest, know that Tom Petty was my guy.  forever and always.

Those who know me best know that for 30 + years, James McMurtry has been my guy, too.  McMurtry hasn't found the fame that Tom Petty did - not even close and, really, who has.  He's not as prolific as Tom Petty. Again, who is?  Still, for more than three decades, he's dropped an album every four or five years and I've absolutely loved every one of them.  

From Too Long in the Wasteland (1989) to the most recent album, The Horses and the Hounds (2021), and all of the albums in between, it's been a helluva ride with great music playing the entire trip.

Why James McMurtry?  I've wondered that myself.  He's an incredible songwriter to begin with, and I love that, of course.  His ability to turn a phrase is reminiscent of John Hiatt (whom I spoke to at a wedding last weekend) and John Prine, two of my other favorites.  His songs are like short stories that rhyme, told in four to five minute vignettes.  Often times, McMurtry grabs me with the very first line of a song.  

McMurtry flies under the radar, too.  Something about that appeals to me.  He's never going to write a pop song and that makes him different from Tom Petty.  What he is going to do, though, is write beautiful, lyrical songs about people struggling to survive in a world that can be harsh and cruel.  Those aren't often happy and uplifting songs, either.  What they are though - to me, anyway - is real.  Very, very real.

Like so may of my other favorites, Lucinda Williams, Bob Dylan, Hiatt, Prine, etc. - McMurtry doesn't have a classically appealing singing voice.  What he sings about is much more important to me than how he sings it.  That's true for those other artists, as well.  I place the emphasis on songwriter when I use the phrase singer/songwriter.  Always have.    

I can't remember how I found McMurtry.  My friend, Todd Blankenbecler, got into him around the same time, right after college.  I'm a huge fan of McMurtry's father, Larry McMurtry, who wrote the Pulitzer Prize winner, Lonesome Dover (my 2nd all time favorite book) and many others.  I've always been fascinated by the talent in those two men, father and son, similar but different.  My guess is shortly after college, I learned that Larry McMurtry had a son who was a musician and I sought him out.  That's only a guess, though.

I saw McMurtry last Sunday night at 3rd & Lindsley, a small, old school Nashville music venue.  As another fan said to me that night at the show, "it's a good room."  There used to be a lot of good "rooms" where live music - rock and roll - was played in Nashville - 328 Performance Hall,  the Playroom at 12th and Porter, the Cannery, Mercy Lounge - they're all gone now, except for 3rd & Lindsley.  

I was first in line for the show when I arrived at 4:30 p.m. (doors opened at 5:30 p.m.).  I could hear McMurtry and the band playing inside during the sound check as I sat on the concrete bench in front of the entrance, reading The New Yorker.  I chatted up a few other fans while I waited, a couple of whom had been to Saturday night's show, as well.  I gave away my tickets to the Saturday night show because I had to attend a wedding in Knoxville.  

When the doors opened and I walked in ahead of everyone else, I felt like I was home.  Again.  Although I was surprised to see that most of the tables in front of the stage were reserved - that's a new 3rd & Lindsley policy that allows them to make a little extra money, which is cool - I still got a table near the stage, slightly elevated, with a perfect view.  

Jude joined me and we had dinner, which was cool, since we don't get many nights out.  The opener, Betty Sue, was fantastic.  She reminded me of Maria McKee, actually.  

McMurtry, of course, was fantastic.  I don't think I stopped smiling the entire show.  When he played an acoustic, no microphone version of Blackberry Winter, I was mesmerized.  His performance of that song along remind me of why live music is so special.  It's a memory I'll treasure forever, watching him walk around the stage, no band, playing the acoustic guitar and signing to the crowd, all of leaning forward slightly to take in every word of the song.

I'm so glad I got to see James McMurtry again.  Being at the show made me feel happy to be alive.  That's no small thing in this day and age.  

The Kid

This morning - a Wednesday - JP got up at 5:15 a.m. an ran six miles.  Absolutely on his own with no prompting from me.  This isn't unusual behavior for him, as he has been running one or two mornings a week and on weekends, too.

He was one of three or four freshman to make the junior varsity baseball team and the season is only just underway with practice every day and a scrimmage on Saturday morning, weather permitting.  His workload at school, of course, is demanding.  Homework every night and quizzed or tests every day.  Two today, in fact (Latin and Geometry).  

Still, he runs.  

It's an amazing thing, as a father, to be inspired by your 15 year old son.  

I've had a pretty good start to 2024 with my running, in part because I'm inspired by JP's running.  Yes, I've stayed relatively health so far this year but seeing him put the miles in motivates me to do the same.  

I wonder what motivates him to run in the cross country offseason, while he's playing baseball.  I know he keeps up with what other runners in the state are doing this spring through the MileSplit website.  I suspect he doesn't want to fall behind other cross country runners who are running track and, therefore, running almost every day.  I also think he wants to be ready to crank up the mileage this summer, in June and July, when he and his cross country teammates start running in the mornings at Vaughn's Gap.

Simply put, I think - no, I know - JP wants to be the best runner he can be.  I admire him for that, too, of course, because it takes dedication, discipline, and desire.  

I wonder if at some point his running will conflict with other sports.  Unless something changes, I have a hard time seeing JP playing basketball next season, as a sophomore, even if he could make the junior varsity team.  My guess is he will want to run in some indoor track meets after cross country season is over.  I also suspect he will find a way, next winter, to run regularly and get ready for baseball in the spring, too.  

I guess seeing me go out to run - really, for his entire life - may have had some small impact on him.  He has seen how important it is to me.  Still, what JP already has accomplished as a runner and his dedication to the sport is something completely different than anything I have ever done.  His ceiling as a runner, I think, is higher than mine ever was, by about a mile.  Way higher.  

JP's combination of talent, desire, desire, and competitiveness is very rare, especially in a boy his age.  It's early, I know, and a whole lot of things have to fall in the right directly for him to have the success as a runner in high school that I know he wants to have.  He's got stay healthy.  He's got to continue to love running and I think he will.

What I really hope, though, is that JP learns that the dedication he has to running - to putting in the work and being disciplined - is something he can apply to whatever he does in life, personally and professionally.  That's what I want him to learn most of all.  

The Kid.  

 

No. 12 for Joe

I woke up today the proud father of 12 and 15 year old boys.  Somehow, it all seems surreal.  How can I be so close to having two teenaged boys?  How does time pass so quickly?

My Joe.  The best little brother JP could ever ask for.  In Joe's eyes, JP can do no wrong.  As I've always said, JP is Joe's superhero.  

By way of illustration, Joe's advisory teacher at USN, John Kleiner - one of our family's favorite educators of all time - recently shared something Joe had written in class, in which he identified JP as someone he admired.  When asked why, Joe has written that "JP always seems to make the right decision."  High praise from a little brother, to be sure.

Lord, I miss the days when I strolled Joe around the neighborhood on Saturday and Sunday afternoons while he napped in the City Elite stroller.  Those times seem so carefree an innocent in my memory.  

Most weekend afternoons, I'd load Joe up in my truck and play Stars and Satellites, Trampled by Turtles 2012 album.  Joe would sing alone to the the second song, Alone, his favorite.  Even now, I can see him sitting in his car seat behind me, singing the words to himself as he began to doze off.  Next, I'd stop on Belmont Boulevard, unfold the City Elite, quickly transfer a sleeping Joe into it, and off we'd go for our afternoon walk.  

For me, those days were heavenly.  I'll remember and treasure them always.  

After an hour and a half or so, Joe would begin to stir and oftentimes I was already in Bongo Java, seated at a table, reading or maybe writing for this blog.  One of my barista friends - EJ, George, A.C., Adam, Chuck, Hunter, etc. - the list goes on and on - would fill Joe's sippy cup up with milk.  He would smile up at me when I handed it to him, as he began to drink contentedly, looking around in wonder at the students working and talking quietly.  He would grab a handful of cheerios from me and all was right in the world.  

I remember one spring weekend afternoon in particular, not terribly long after Joe started walking.  We ended up in the courtyard of the apartment complex on Belmont Boulevard a block or two down from Bongo Java.  Joe was a wearing a light green onesie, as I recall, and as I sat on one of the concrete benches, he teetered in front of me, walking from my bench to the other bench and back again.  For some reason, I used my cell phone to video Joe that afternoon, which I too often failed to do.

That memory, though, is so vivid to me.  I wonder why some moments - snapshot moments, I've called them - stand out in one's mind so much more than others.  

On occasion, after a run, I'll walk down into that courtyard.  I can still see Joe, almost like a ghost, walking carefully from cement bench to cement bench.  Like a ghost.  

Jude and I are so blessed.  Joe is such a joy to be around.  Funny.  The best laugh.  Competitive.  Kind.  Caring.  Intelligent with an amazingly expansive vocabulary.  A voracious reader.  A lover of all sports, just like his brother and just like me.  A born leader.  

How I could strike the lottery and have two boys, Joe and JP, that are as close to perfect for our family as two boys could be is beyond me.  

Happy 12th birthday, Joe.  My love for you is endless.  

Farewell to the Wolf

As Joe and I were driving to his basketball game Saturday afternoon after a birthday lunch for his grandmother at M.L. Rose on Charlotte Avenue, I got a call from my old friend, Carl Spining.  It was an odd time for Carl P. to be calling - Saturday afternoon - so I wondered if anything was wrong.

I find myself at an age where a call from an old friend can be disquieting in the sense that I immediately hope everything is all right.

Sadly, my fear was well placed as Carl P. was calling to tell me that Richard Sebastian - the Wolf - died the previous night.  

I was stunned, as I hadn't even known he was sick.  In typical Richard fashion, he had kept his illness a secret since he was diagnosed in early January, less than two months ago.  Richard was relatively private about his personal life to almost everyone except his closest friends, I think. 

I've known Carl P. for 40 years.  We grew up in the same neighborhood and went to high school and college together, although he was a year behind me.  He was my closest friend in law school.  We started together law school at UT together in the fall of 1990 and were in the same section, so we had almost all of our classes together.  In fact, I drove Carl P. to the hospital when Erin went into labor with their oldest, Molly, while we were sitting in class during our second year of law school.  I was the first one in the hospital room - after her immediate family - to see Erin holding Molly after she was born.  I also was at Molly's wedding a few years ago, too.  Bookend experiences for me.

As we talked on Saturday, I could tell Carl P. was stunned by Richard's death.  They worked together at Ortale Kelley, an old school Nashville law firm, for almost three decades.  On top of that, they were extremely close, particularly in the years when Carl P.'s four children were younger.  

Those were different days to be sure, when everyone - attorneys and staff - worked at the office every day. There was a camaraderie and a closeness between attorneys at law firms that I don't think exists now in the same way, given that so many attorneys and staff work remotely at least part of the time.  The pandemic changed all that, to be sure, and what was a profession seems to have become more of a job.  

At any rate, Richard and Carl P. spent a lot of time together, at the office and away from the office.  I'm sure Carl P. was profoundly affected by Richard's death, which is understandable.  59 is too young for anyone to die.  

Why the Wolf?

That has been my name for Richard for many, many years.  I took it from Harvey Keitel's character in Pulp Fiction (1994), Winston Wolfe (aka the Wolf), a cleaner for the mafia.  In real life - to me, anyway - Richard was the Wolf.

Richard was the managing partner at Ortale Kelley for almost 20 years, succeeding Bill Ortale at a relatively young age.  Running a law firm is no easy task, particularly since so many of the attorneys have egos and strong opinions on almost everything, especially money and how it's divided among partners.  Every law firm is organized differently, of course, but it's very unusual for one person to be a managing partner for more than a few years.  Richard was in that position for nearly two decades, which is very, very rare. 

Always quietly and always behind the scenes, Richard got things done.  He just did.  Inside Ortale Kelley and in the Nashville legal community, as well.  If you needed something, you called Richard Sebastian.  Always discreet.  Always able to keep a secret.  Richard always "knew a guy," just the guy you needed to talk to if you had problem.  

If you had procedural or legal question in a complicated piece of litigation, Richard was your guy.  If you needed a transmission pulled from your car and a new one installed, Richard was your guy.  If you had a complicated real estate transaction with multiple players that needed to be closed, Richard was your guy.  If you needed to dispose of a body or launder money, Richard was your guy. 

I'm kidding about the last part.  Sort of.  

If you needed help - and this isn't a joke - with anything at all, you called Richard.  My guess is that no single lawyer in the last 30 years helped more people, including lawyers, than Richard Sebastian.   

Richard was loyal to his friends - inside and outside of Ortale Kelley - and he always was willing to help you or your client.  No questions.  He was everyone's consigliere and because of that, he probably died keeping more secrets than anyone in Nashville.   

Years ago, a divorce client of mine was in a bind because he had committed to buying a couple of condominiums in a new development in the Gulch.  The economy had turned, he was getting divorced, and money suddenly was very, very tight.  He desperately needed out of the deals and called me after he had gotten a letter from a young lawyer at Ortale Kelly threatening legal action to enforce the contracts if the deals didn't close as planned.

I called Richard, of course, and he told me he'd look into it and get back to me.  Within a day, Richard called me back.  He had talked to the developer - someone he knew well, of course - and intervened on my client's behalf.  Richard told me to write him a letter explaining, in detail, my client's financial difficulties and circumstances, which I did.  He talked to the developer again.  And, just like that, my client was off the hook and I looked like a hero because I had saved him three of four hundred thousand dollars.  

I didn't do anything other than know who to call.  Richard did all of the work.  Gladly and without expecting anything in return.  Why?  Because he was my friend. 

The Wolf. 

Richard and I stayed in touch over the years and, occasionally, our paths crossed.  He might refer a client to me or ask for help on someone's behalf.  He had relationships like that with lawyers and people all over the city.  

If I had to venture a guess, not many lawyers outside of Ortale Kelley and the Nashville real estate community are lucky enough to have known Richard Sebastian the way I did.  That's their loss.  

Richard Sebastian was a legend.  It's very hard to believe he's gone.  I'll miss knowing he's out there, a phone call away, nodding his head and smiling when I call him to check in or ask for a favor.  

Long live the Wolf.  

The End of the Line

MBA's freshman basketball season came to an ignominious but not unexpected end Monday night in a first round tournament loss to JPII, a team they defeated last week.  Three wins on the season and a whole lot of losses.  Most of the games weren't even close.  A season much like last season and, for sure, a season to forget.

This group of boys simply doesn't play basketball well together.  Yes, they're limited size-wise and athletically, too, but in the last two seasons they haven't played well as a team.  

Other teams jumped on them in the first quarter, and first half, all season long, which means they were rarely ready to play at tipoff.  Every game, it was the same thing, and yesterday was no different, with MBA quickly falling behind in the first quarter and trailing by 15 at the half, 20 - 35.

What was the most disturbing and frustrating yesterday to me, as a parent, was the lack of effort on defense and on the boards.  I saw players lose their man at the top of the key, then turn and watch as he drove unimpeded to the basket.  I saw a player turn the ball over in the front court in the second half, when MBA was trying to rally, then loaf up court behind the play as a JPII player converted the turnover into a layup at the other end of the court.    

The lack of effort and lack of toughness was dispiriting.

MBA lost almost every 50-50 ball all game long.  I saw one of our post players fail to block a kid out - on a damn free throw - and give up a layup.  

On offense, turnover after turnover after turnover.  It amazes me that kids that ostensibly play so much basketball appear to know so little about how to actually play basketball.  Team basketball.  Situational basketball.    

The one bright spot was that, again the team rallied late and actually cut JPII's lead to five points late in the third quarter.  They had the ball and only a 3-pointer that rimmed out prevented them from cutting the lead to two points.  JPII pulled away in the fourth quarter, though, and was the better team - last night, anyway - and won, 51 - 64.

I want to be clear as I close - these are good boys.  Good students, good citizens, and smart academically.  I thoroughly enjoyed my limited interactions with every one of them.  Great parents, too.  For some reason or reasons, though, this group of boys doesn't fit together to form a cohesive basketball team.  This was a bit of a lost season for all of them, I think, and maybe, in the end, they were ready for it to be over.  

 

Once a Coach, Always a Coach

As usual, our weekend consisted of running transportation for the boys to various sports activities.  

And running, for me.  6 miles on Saturday and 4 miles on Sunday.  It's been a good, fairly consistent start to the year for me and I'm very happy about that.  I've felt good and strong on almost all of my runs, which is fantastic.  It's such a blessing - and one I do not take for granted - to go outside and just . . . run.

Saturday, JP met one of his cross-country teammates at MBA mid-morning to go for a run.  After I dropped him off, I picked up Joe and we drove to Christ the King to get some shots up, outside, before Joe's 11 a.m. game at J.T. Moore.  Then, I drove him to the game.  His Bucket Squad team lost a tough game to a decent team, one they likely would have beaten had Nash and Preston been there.  

I drove JP back to MBA after Joe's game to play squash.  Squash?  One of his classmates, Charlie, has been playing and challenged JP to a game.  As I understand it, JP lost all three games but every game was closer than the one before it.  

It reminded me of my abbreviated squash career - on the squash courts at Vanderbilt - over a couple of weekends 20 + years ago.  I triumphed in a Battle of the Sexes match - not unlike Billie Jean King vs. Bobby Riggs - defeating Carrie Plummer, talking trash the entire time.  John Scala - his name is a blast from the past - beat me in a couple of close games.  My quads and hamstrings were so sore the next day that it hurt to sit on the toilet.  I'm not even kidding.  

Yesterday, I took Joe to a birthday party while Jude and JP went to church at St. Patrick.  After grabbing a quick coffee from Steadfast Coffee in Germantown, I grabbed Joe early from the birthday party and drove him to a Braves' baseball practice at D-BAT.  When we got home, I went for a run, then drove JP to baseball while Jude drove Joe to basketball.  

Weekend sports' chauffeurs.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

The best part of may weekend, though, other than the two runs, was helping at Joe's baseball workout at D-BAT.  My friend, Scott McRae, who is coaching this spring, has 23 or 24 boys on the roster.  Enough for two teams.  He's going to need some help coaching and I'm happy to provide it whenever possible.  

Yesterday, Scott didn't have any help, so he asked me if I would throw short toss to half of the boys in one of the batting cages while he worked with the other half on pitching and fielding.  It felt so damn good to be sitting on a stool behind the screen, throwing soft toss to boy after boy.  Most of them I knew and had coached but some I didn't.  

Throwing batting practice or soft toss, for that matter, is so special to me.  It's a change to get one-on-one time with a boy and make a real connection with him.  I can drop a word or two of encouragement and really make a difference in how he sees himself as a baseball player or, maybe, as a person.  In short, it's a chance to make a difference in a boy's life with a brief, meaningful interaction.  I can learn so much about a boy's personality and his competitive makeup by throwing batting practice in the cage.  It's the best.

On top of that, Joe was absolutely raking yesterday.  I think the weekly practices with his HBC team are paying off.  It was awesome to throw soft toss to him and to have a front row seat as he hit ball after ball hard and with authority.  Joe's getting a seriousness about him when it comes to putting the work in and I'm very happy to see that.  School work, sports, and helping around the house.  It's a sign of maturity for him, I think.

After the longest of long weeks at work, particularly Thursday and Friday, I desperately needed the weekend respite with my family.  Hanging with the boys, and Jude, rejuvenates me and reminds me why I go to the office every day and pound the rock, so to speak.

I'm so blessed as a father and as a man.

JP, with Jane and Jim, after a recent basketball game.