Joe Time

When Joe was at Children's House, I drove him to school each morning.  The way Jude and I worked the schedule, Joe and I had 45 minutes to an hour together every morning before I dropped him off.  We called it "Joe Time."  I miss those mornings terribly because for those few stolen minutes each morning, time seemed to slow down.  

We often went to Bongo Java for "second breakfast," as Joe called it.  We often played nerf football in the atrium inside the Curb Center by the entry to the basketball arena.  Students and faculty always smiled as they walked by us on their way to an early class, as I chased Joe on the way to scoring a touchdown and spiking the nerf football.  Other times, we played "Dude Perfect" and passed or punted the football to him from the top of the two story staircase at the front entrance into the student center.  

On Saturday, Joe and I drove to Clarksville for his last soccer tournament of the season.  For reasons I won't go into here, Joe played for the less experienced of the two 12U teams his soccer club sent to the tournament.  The 12U teams lost five of the six games they played, so it wasn't a banner weekend for the club.  However, Joe took advantage of the opportunity to play three reasonably solid games at goalie, although he didn't get a lot of action in the third game, a 4-1 in a 7 v. 7 game against a team that was undermanned.  

Admittedly, I know next to nothing about soccer, although I enjoy watching my sons compete at anything and everything.  Joe moved the ball well as goalie, which is what his coach wants him to do.  On several occasions, his defenders passed the ball back to him and he quickly moved it to the other side of the field.  In each game, Joe gave up one goal he probably would have liked to have back but, again, that's easy for me to see, as I have no idea what it feels like to play goalie in a competitive soccer game. 

The best part of the soccer tournament for me, though, was riding to Clarksville with Joe in my truck.  On Saturday morning, we listen to Tom Petty - the soundtrack from "She's the One," beginning to end - before moving into the Traveling Wilburys.  For Joe to love Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers the way I do is one of the true joys of my life.  On the way back to Nashville Saturday afternoon, we listened to more Tales from Lake Wobegone, by Garrison Keillor, from Prairie Home Companion.  Joe loves Tales from Lake Wobegone and I, of course, love that he loves it.  

After a brief stopover at the house on Saturday afternoon, I drove Joe over to Grassland for a Braves' baseball game vs. the Padres, probably the best team in the league.  It was a really good game, the kind of game you hope to see 12-year olds playing.  Good competition, good defense, good pitching, and timely. hitting.  Joe finished off a 5-2 victory on the mound and, although he didn't pitch great, he battled and let his defense - particularly Hamilton at shortstop behind him - make plays, and they did.  

There was a moment that I'll remember, when Joe was battling a good hitter who had worked the count full, at 3-2.  Joe threw a fastball that the kid fouled off directly into the umpire's nut sack - or the restricted area, as Joe calls it.  The umpired groaned and fell to the ground, as silence enveloped the crowd another coach and I ran in to check on him.  All of the men in the crowd knew exactly how the umpire felt.  I know I did.  After a few minutes, we helped him up and he insisted on continuing behind the plate.  A gamer.

I was curious what Joe would do after a delay like that.  3-2 count against a good hitter.  Would he throw a ball and walk him?  Would he give up a hit?  Nope.  Joe dialed up another fast ball and stuck the batter out.  That told me something about Joe's sense of resolve, his competitiveness, and his ability to focus and concentrate when he needed to do so.  It was a glimpse, I hope, of things to come for Joe, on and off the baseball field.  Grace under fire.  

In the last inning, Joe's control wasn't as good and he got into a jam.  He was bothered a bit by the Padres' players chirping at him during his pitched, which is bush league, in my view.  Still, he worked out of the jam and didn't give up any runs.  After he closed out the game, he stomped off the mound, angry and glaring.  He was pissed at the Padres' players and bench jockeys, so that give us something to work on, for sure.  I love the competitiveness, though.  Absolutely love it.

Joe's WNSL tournament starts, and ends, this week, so the Saturday night win over the Padres likely was Joe's last WNSL game ever.  My last WNSL baseball game to coach, or help coach, too.  I've got a lot to say about that, and I will, just not this morning.  Suffice to say there's nothing I like better than to be on the baseball field with one of my sons and his teammates.  It's quite literally heaven on earth for me.