Closing the Curtain on the Braves' Season

Damn, it always hurts when a baseball season ends.  

This afternoon was no different, as our 11 - 12 year old WNSL Braves lost, 10 - 3, to a Franklin team that was a little bit better than us.  Our boys needed to play a perfect game, really, to beat Franklin, and that just didn't happen today.  The Braves' postseason run ended in the semi-finals of the Cal Ripken State Tournament in Mt. Juliet, in an old school ballpark, straight out of the 1970's, that I really love.

God, I love coaching youth baseball.  Sometimes, like now, I think it's what I was put on the earth to do.  It's where I'm the happiest, always.  Every boy is a puzzle.  What do I need to do to reach him?  How do I motivate him?  How do I give him confidence playing this game I love - baseball - confidence that he can carry into life and all of the challenges life inevitably brings?

Baseball is life.  I believe that with every fiber of my being.

Resilience on the baseball field = resilience in life.  

What I can teach these boys in baseball translates to life.  It just does.  I know it.  I feel it.  Resilience.  Persistence.  Confidence.  Leadership.  Competitiveness.  Hard work.  Attention to detail.  Teamwork.  

All of it.

The Braves played two games today in 100 + degree heat.  A 10 - 0 win against White House and a 10 - 3 loss to Franklin.  The boys gave Scott, Mark, and me everything they had.  All of it.  As a coach, I can't ask for anything else.  

After the loss to Franklin, Scott gathered the boys in front of our dugout on the first base line to talk with them, post-game, for the last time this season.  It was emotional for me, as I looked down at their exhausted, tear-stained faces.  When I spoke, I thanked them.  For not quitting and for giving us everything they had.  

I felt really, really proud of how hard the boys played.  I also admired the boys, so much, for not quitting.  Franklin could have gonged them, with the bases loaded and a 10 - 1 lead, but our youngest players, JP Derrick, pitched us out of a bases loaded jam.  The Braves made Franklin play a full six innings to beat us.   And that's not nothing.

This group - the Braves - is special to me.  Coaches, players, and parents.  Very special, for a variety of reasons but mostly because they love baseball the way I do, and the way Joe does.  

Keaton, Joe, Daniel, Harper, Lucas, Huck, Henry, Big Mike, JP, Stephen, Ram, Trey, Bennett, Christian. 

My guys.  Every one of them.  

I'll write more later, I know.  But for now, I'm just grateful that my guys - my junior Dodgers - got to be a part of the Braves.  I'm grateful that I got to be on the field again, coaching these boys.

And you know what?  I might just put a group together in the fall, on the big field, in the prep league.  

We'll just have to see about that, won't we?

Dodgers forever.

   

My Kind of Smile

I had a mediation cancel today so I had a little more time this morning that I had anticipated.  Jude is scheduled to speak at an event at 8:30 a.m., so I dropped Joe off at Belmont basketball camp after a quick and much needed 3-mile run in the neighborhood.  

As Joe and I got ready to leave the house, I was more than a little nostalgic.  In all likelihood, this is Joe's last day of Belmont basketball camp.  Forever.  He's aged out at 12, although he mentioned that a few 13 year olds were scattered among the campers this week.  

JP and Joe always have had such great experiences at Belmont basketball camp in all the years they have attended, often times with friends.  Rick Byrd ran a great camp and so does Casey Alexander.  It's been special, so special for my boys to have the opportunity to interact with Belmont's basketball players during  camp week.  I think it makes them feel more connected to the basketball program each season when they know, personally, several of the players.  

As I've often said, we're sidewalk alumni of Belmont University, given that we live three or four blocks away from campus.  We've spent so much time on campus with the boys over the years.  It's convenient to be sure for Jude to walk over to the Curb Center to pick up Joe in the afternoons when camp is over.  It helps, of course, that we know several people in the athletic department and in the basketball program.  The feeling of connectedness we have with Belmont University has only increased over the years.  

After Joe and I parked and were walking in this morning, I stopped him to take a quick picture.  I am, of course, the family photographer.  He smiled at me, basketball shoes in hand, and I snapped the photo with my cell phone.  

In passing, as we walked up the stairs outside the Curb Center, he said, "I've got a weird smile."

I paused and replied, "No you don't.  You've got a fantastic smile.  Why do you think that?"

"When we were getting our pictures taken at school for the annual, the teacher taking the pictures told me to use 'my real smile.'"  

"That's dumb," I said.  "You've got a great smile!"  

That's all we said about it but, still, after I walked him in to the gym, then left, our exchange was still on m mind.  I wondered if it was something that had been bothering him or if was something that just popped into his mind this morning.  I'm not sure.  

What strikes me, though, is how much a passing comment from an adult can stick in a child's mind.  It's a reminder, I think, that as adults, we have to be careful about what we say to children and how we say it.  That's especially true for parents and coaches, I think, because children look up to us so much and probably take what we say to heart.  It's a good reminder to me, as a dad and a baseball coach.

And Joe does have a fantastic smile.

The Fragility of Life

On Father's Day, a young man who had just graduated from MBA suddenly and tragically died.  He was a very bright young man - set to attend Davidson College this fall - with a long and wondrous life ahead of him.  And just like that, he was gone.

Sunday evening, while Jude, Joe, and I were watching television, JP asked if he could talk to me.  He was standing in the kitchen and I could tell something was bothering him.  We walked into the living room and, haltingly, he told me that there had been a rumor earlier in the day that the boy in question had died but that the head of school at MBA had just confirmed it. 

With tears welling in his eyes and a confused, broken look on his face, JP asked me, "how can this happen?"

More than a week later, I am still asking myself the same question.

I pulled JP into me and hugged him tightly, not letting go.  More than 15 years go on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, when JP was not yet one year old, I lifted him up and hugged him in much the same way as I cried on his shoulder moments after hearing that Benton's 17-year old daughter,  Elizabeth, had died.  

More than 16 years later, I still ask myself how that could have happened.

I was at a complete loss about how to comfort JP at a time when his heart was breaking.  For the young man who died.  For his twin sister.  For his younger brother, a classmate at MBA of JP's.  And for his parents. 

How can this happen?

I struggled to find the words - any words - to comfort my son when he needed it the most.  Everything I could think to say seemed trite, superficial, and tired.  For once, I didn't have something that seemed profound to tell my son as he faced the fact, again, that life can be cruel and hard sometimes.  I could only watch, helplessly, as the last remnants of his childhood slipped away into the ether.  

I suggested that JP consider talking to our priest, Father Hammond, and he did that after church on Sunday.  I had hoped that he might speak with the grief counselors at school and maybe he will at some point.  Other than that, Jude and I have been keeping a close eye on JP, checking in regularly to see how he's doing.  

Jude and JP attended the memorial service last week at Christ the King on Belmont Boulevard, near our house.  When a bus pulled up and 100 + boys from MBA somberly filed into the church, dressed in blazers and ties, Jude said it was hard for her to keep it together.  I can only imagine.  That afternoon and later that night, Jude and I talked about the young man's family and the unimaginable pain and sorrow that surrounded them.  I've had a hard time thinking of anything else the past few days.

At times like this, I try to find the lesson.  What does God want me to learn.  Again, find the lesson.  

I'm not saying that's the only way, or even the right way, to process grief or an unspeakable tragedy, like what happened at The Covenant School, but it's my way.  The only way I know how to try to make sense of what seems senseless to me.

Life - even and maybe especially for the young - is fragile.  Every day of life is singular and should be treated like the beautiful miracle that it is.  Ever day is a gift.  And we should be thankful for gifts, all of them.  Small and large.

Staying connected to our boys is, maybe, the most important thing Jude and I can do as parents.  How do they feel?  How are things at school?  How are things with their friends?  Are they happy?  Sad?  Confused?  Anxious? 

Life is fragile.  And beautiful.  

Old Friends are the Best Friends

For the first time in more than a decade, I missed Bonnaroo and, more importantly, four or five days in Paul Jennings' Clifftops cabin on Monteagle Mountain.  Over the years, I've come to count on my time on the Mountain in June as a time to relax, regroup, and recharge.  It's needed time away for me because I tend to be incredibly busy at work every spring.

This year, though, after a week with Joe in Cooperstown, I didn't want to miss another one of JP's baseball tournaments this summer.  His 15U HBC team was scheduled to play in Knoxville this weekend and, possibly, in the Tri-Cities if we won a couple of games on Friday and Saturday.  Also, I was looking forward to some one-on-one time away with him, too.  

Maybe I can plan a trip to the Mountain later this summer.  I sure hope so.   

Friday morning, JP and I left Nashville for Knoxville and I made the familiar drive down I-40 East.  It's a drive I could make in my sleep, after attending college and law school at UT and having football season tickets for 26 years in total.  In recent years, I've rarely made the drive because we're so busy with the boys and all of their activities - life, really - that I don't have any reason to be in Knoxville, especially since I gave up my season tickets almost 10 years ago.

We stayed with Warren and Jennifer Sanger, two of my dear friends from what seems like a lifetime ago.  Warren (aka "Sarge") and I were fraternity brother.  He was my pledge trainer at a time in our lives when being a member of a fraternity meant everything to us.  It's laugh out loud funny now but there was a time, almost 40 years ago, when I was intimidated by Sarge.  He took his job as our pledge trainer seriously and when I made it through to initiation, it felt like I had accomplished something important.  Because life has a sense of humor, always, Sarge and I grew to become close friends, roommates when I was in law school in Knoxville, and in each other's weddings.  I drove to Knoxville a few months ago to see his oldest son, Josh, get married, an event I was honored to attend.

Sarge and I, and our wives,  sat together at Tennessee football games for more than two decades.  Four of us - all fraternity brothers - had tickets together in the North End Zone Section - Sarge (Jennifer), Todd (Kristin), Mike (Stacy,) and me.  In those days, my life in the fall revolved around Tennessee football.  Almost every weekend, I was drove to Knoxville to watch the Vols play or took a road trip to Auburn, Georgia, Tuscaloosa, etc.  On one or two fall weekends a year, I drove to Athens, GA, Tuscaloosa, AL, or Auburn, AL, to see the Vols play football.  

Time passed on, though, as it inevitably does, and our group broke apart.  Mike and Stacy moved to Bradenton, FL.  Sarge and Jennifer began sitting in her father's seats as his health deteriorated.  JP and Joe took up more and more of my time, too.  I didn't want to miss a weekend coaching one or both of them in baseball, or watching them play softball, while I was in Knoxville at a Tennessee football game.  After 26 years as a season ticket holder, I gave my tickets up a decade or so ago.

I drifted, as one does, away from my post-college group of close friends and away from Tennessee football.  We still saw each other occasionally or talked on the telephone.  Their were group texts during big games but it wasn't the same.  It never is.  Gradually, I lost interest in Tennessee football, and what had once been a very important part of my life took up residence on the periphery.  JP and Joe were my life, in Nashville, and that didn't allow for regular travel to Knoxville or anywhere else.  And I was completely fine with that.

What I was reminded of this weekend, though, is how important friendship is, deep friendship borne out of spending the formative years of your lives together.  The teenage years.  College.  After college, before marriage and, certainly, before children.  Still waters run deepest and friendship bonds like those are strong.  

JP and I had a great and memorable time together.  We at breakfast on Saturday morning at a place I found, the Plaid Apron, then drove over to campus for what became JP's first college visit.  We loaded up on merchandise at the UT Bookstore, the one place I told JP he had an unlimited budget.  To my delight, he bought a couple of baseball shirts and a UT hat, along with a pair of Christian Moore (UT second baseman) sunglasses, no doubt because the Vols are on a historical run in the College World Series and ranked #1 in the nation.  Maybe I'll turn him into a Vol fan yet.

We walked all over campus in stifling heat.  So much has changed since I last walked - really walked - around the Hill.  Really, that's a whole different post.  It was nostalgic, to be sure.  It was also surreal, touring a college campus with JP.  How did we get here?

I took JP to Litton's in Fountain City on the north side of Knoxville for what might have been our best lunch ever.  Although it was packed with a 25 minute wait, we lucked into two seats in a side room at the bar, all by ourselves.  We looked at all of the UT paraphernalia on the walls and watched the U.S. Open golf tournament on a television above the bar as we ate the best cheeseburgers I've had in, well, forever.

After JP's game at Knoxville Catholic on Saturday night - a tough 6-5 loss in which he pitched 3 scoreless innings in relief - we grabbed dinner with the team and went back to Sarge's house.  Jennifer was in bed but Sarge had waited up.  He and I had a bourbon or two and talked for a couple of hours.  We covered it all.  Friends.  Memories.  Our children and wives.  Politics.  World events.  We laughed, we argued good naturally, and we reconnected in a way that you can only do with old friends.  It was beautiful.  

All in all, it was a weekend I'll remember for a long time.  I got to spend one-on-one time with JP and watch him play baseball.  I got to show JP around UT's campus and reminisce with him about my time there.  I got to spend time with Sarge and Jennifer.  

What more could I ask for?

Threepeat in Donelson for the Braves

Three years ago, Joe joined the Scott McRae and the WNSL Braves for the June all-star tournaments.  Immediately, it was a good fit for Joe.  Great coaches in Scott and Mark Erdman, great teammates, and families with whom we fit in well.  That first June, everyone made Joe feel welcome, he contributed, and it was a great experience for him.  I have a photo of Joe, after the Braves won the Donelson Tuneup Tournament that year, smiling proudly and wearing his championship ring.

Our decision to return a day early from Cooperstown so Joe could play with the Braves' all-stars in this year's Donelson Tuneup Tournament paid off yesterday, as the boys won the tournament for the third season in a row.  Another championship ring for Joe to add to his collection.  

The boys played tough on Saturday, tying a good Mount Juliet team, 3 - 3, in a game they easily could have won.  Franklin beat them 6 - 4 in the second game of pool play, again in a game they could and maybe should have won.  Joe pitched well, played flawlessly at shortstop and second base, and got a couple of knocks in the game against Franklin.  For seeding purposes after pool play, however, the Braves ended up 5 out of 6 teams, which meant they played the 8 a.m. game on Sunday morning vs. East Nashville.

I unwound Saturday night, late, with a bourbon, as I fondly recalled the week Joe and I spent in Cooperstown and our travels to get there and to return home.  Joe's great company and a top notch traveling companion.  He slept throughout both legs of the flight home Saturday morning, Albany to Orlando, and Orlando to Nashville.  It was nice to he back in Nashville, although our turnaround at the house was slightly more than an hour before we were on the road to Donelson.

Sunday morning, the boys struggled early against East Nashville.  They were flat and got flatter as the game continued, as Scott aptly noted.  East Nashville ran out of pitching in the later innings, however, and the Braves put them away rather easily in the end.  

Next up, the younger of two Mount Juliet teams, who somehow wound up as the #1 seed.  That game was a laugher, as Joe and his teammates pounded the younger, and smaller, Grizzlies, and eased into the tournament finals with plenty of pitching left.  As it turned out, the tournament draw was favorable to the Braves because the older Mount Juliet team faced off against Franklin again.  Mount Juliet raced to an early lead and held on for an 11 - 7 win.  That set up the championship game, WNSL Braves vs. Mount Juliet Grizzlies.

Mount Juliet had three or four big boys, bigger than anyone on our team.  They saved one of their horses to pitch.  We did the same, however, as Harper took the mound to start the game.  I coached first base, as I had throughout the game.

Mount Juliet's crowd - and it's players in the dugout - were loud throughout the game.  Obnoxiously loud, if I am being honest.  Walk up music blaring.  A mother with a vuvuzela like horn that never stopped making noise.  The players in the dugout were razzing Harper on the mound while he pitched, so much so that their first base coach - a really good guy - apologized to me for their behavior.  Fortunately, our boys were unfazed by the Grizzlies' antics and just played baseball.  Damn good baseball.

The Braves jumped to an early 2 - 0 lead after Joe and Lucas - a huge addition for Saturday afternoon's game - got on base with hits and were driven home in short order.  We scored two more runs as Daniel and Bennett scored from third on passed balls.  I knew we were in good shape with the Grizzlies' head coach started screaming at a his players.  That's never a good thing to do if you want 11 and 12 year old baseball players to stay in the game, mentally and emotionally.  

Harper pitched three shutout innings but began to tire after getting a couple of outs in the top of the fourth inning.  The Grizzlies knocked him for three runs to slice the Braves lead in half, 6 - 3.  He had thrown, roughly, 75 pitches.  Scott walked to the mound, joined by the Braves' infielders, and quickly gave the ball to Joe.  Perhaps I should say that Joe demanded the baseball because that's what happened.

Runners on first and second, Joe on the mound, the smallest of any of the pitchers for either team in the championship game.  He had the biggest, er, heart though, and he went to work.  Joe throws strikes and throws to contact, just like JP, and the first batter got base hit to center field.  Stephen made the play of the tournament - maybe the play of his life - and charged the ball, then threw a perfect one bounce strike to Daniel to nail the runner in a close play at home.  As the runner slid, Daniel gather the ball in and tagged him, hard, right in the face.  Out at home!  

As the umpire told me afterwards, "that's just a damn baseball play."  It sure was.  

A word about Daniel McRae.  In many ways, he reminds me of Matthew Moore at 11 or 12.  Both are great defensive catchers.  Daniel may have a little more lively of an arm but it's close.  He threw out four or five runners trying to steal during the tournament.  Daniel is more athletic and has more speed.  Both are good hitters, although Matthew was slightly more consistent at that age.  Both leaders.  I'm proud to coach Daniel.

Joe was humming in the fifth inning and quickly dispatched the Grizzlies.  He got a base hit in the bottom of the fifth, then stole second and third base.  The play at third base was close and the Grizzlies' coaches complained but he umpires ruled Joe safe after a brief conference.  Joe and Lucas scored when Daniel ripped a two strike single past the shortstop with the infield in.  8 - 3, Braves, heading into the bottom of the sixth inning.

The Grizzlies players were really worked up during their last at bat, yelling and screaming at Joe as he pitched.  With two outs, they got really, really loud.  Standing next to Scott in front of our dugout, I shook my head, smiled, and said, "they're doing the wrong thing to the wrong guy.  All Joe is going to do is throw harder."  

And that's exactly what he did, strike two looking on a fastball.  Then, as the yelling from the Grizzles' dugout reached a crescendo, Joe fired a fastball right down Main Street.  Strike three, swinging!  The batter never had a chance. 

Fired up, Joe stalked off the mound toward our first base dugout.  No excessive celebrating.  No fist pumping.  No pointing at the Mount Juliet dugout.  Just a whole helluva lot of confidence in that walk.  Lucas, running in from shortstop, got to Joe first, and lifted him into the air.  The other Braves arrived and quickly surrounded Joe, pounding each other in jubilation.  

Threepeat in Donelson.  

I am so proud of Joe.  Heart and soul of this team and, really, any team he plays on in any sport.  Goalie in soccer and team captain.  Point guard in basketball.  Baseball in his hands on the mound with game on the line in baseball.  The ultimate glue guy.

As I drove home, listening to Tom Petty and Mudcrutch ("Lover of the Bayou"), the western part of the sky began to clear during the last rain shower of the day.  The sunset was beautiful.  I admired it as I approached the Wedgewood exit on I65 South.  My day was made perfect when I saw a spectacular rainbow in the sky.  My sign of good luck and one of my favorite things in the world.  

What a day to be a father! 

A Night to Remember in Cooperstown

Last night's HBC game on Field 20 in Cooperstown Dreams Park was one I will remember for eternity.  

I'm a realist when it comes to my boys' athletic abilities.  Always have been and always will be.  I'm honest, but encouraging, with them, because I think it's important to shoot straight.  If I can't honestly assess where JP or Joe is in a particular sport and tell them what they need to work on, who can?

On this HBC 12U Cooperstown team, Joe is one of the youngest and smallest players on the team.  He's competitive and a gamer, no doubt, but he needs to get bigger and stronger.  His hitting needs work, to be sure, and that's what it's going to take for him to get where he needs to be offensively.  A lot of reps and a lot of work.  On this roster of 12, he's probably number 10.  That's just the reality and it's just for now, not always.  Where he goes from here, in baseball, is largely up to him and will be dependent on the work he is willing to put into getting stronger and better.

In yesterday's early game against a team from Arizona, Joe started and played left field.  He didn't have any fly balls hit his way, although he fielded every base hit cleanly and hit the cutoff man with the throw every time.  In a 17-8 loss, that's something.  

At the plate, he continued to struggle.  He got on base on an error by the third baseman on a ball he didn't hit particularly well, scored the first run for HBC.  Joe's last at bat was even less memorable.  He struck out looking on a low and outside pitch when he absolutely knew the umpire was calling low strikes.  The tough part, too, was in the last at bat he was facing a kid who wasn't big but threw harder than anyone he has seen all season.  Really hard.  Joe's front foot was tapping as the kid began his motion, an indication that Joe was scared and leaning out rather than in, which is no way to hit a baseball.  Now, he wasn't the only one, but there it is.  

Joe left the early game a little defeated, I know.  He was down because he so wants to contribute to this team in some way other than being a good and supportive teammate.  I felt for him and wondered, albeit briefly, if I had made the right decision to include him on this team.  My conclusion was that even though he's struggled, the overall experience of being here, in Cooperstown, with the boys was good for him.  Also, I think playing with and against higher calibre players may motivate him to put in the work he needs to get better.

I preach to the players I coach, all the time, that baseball is like life.  There is always another at bat, another pitch, another game.  In life, until the very end, there's always another day.  

In the nightcap against an overmatched team from North Carolina, Joe started again in left field.  Sill no fly balls and only a couple of balls hit his way.  HBC jumped out to an early lead.  Joe's first at bat wasn't a good one, as he struck out swinging against a pitcher that wasn't throwing very hard.  He walked the next time up, which is fine, although I was dying for him to hit the ball.

Thankfully, on a beautiful spring evening in Cooperstown under the lights, Joe's night changed with one at bat.  With HBC enjoying a huge lead, Joe singled sharply to left center in his third at bat, plating a run.  It was nice to hear the parents cheering for him, as they realize, I'm sure, that he's been struggling a bit.  His fourth and final at bat was a good one, too,  He singled deep down the left field line, again with the bases loaded, plating yet another run.  On the night, 2-3 with 2 RBI's.  Not too bad for the Kid 2.0.

What happened next was what I'll remember, though.  Coach Brian brought Joe in to pitch the last inning. There was no danger, or course, with a 21-4 lead.  As Joe was warming up, a couple of the dads murmured, "Damn, he throws pretty hard."  "He's a pitcher," I said.

Then, for reasons known only to him, Joe tried to pitch from the windup, in a game, for the first time ever. As I saw him clearly going to the windup, I thought, "what in the hell is he doing?!?"

Sure enough, he threw a fastball and drilled the boys he was pitching to right in the left shoulder.  As the boy ran slowly down the base line, I could see he had tears in my eyes.  Maybe it makes me a bad person, but I smiled with pride that Joe, significantly smaller than the batter, threw hard enough to hit him and make him cry.  

Joe threw a first pitch strike to the next batter.  Then, on the second pitch, also a fastball down the middle, the batter hit a ground ball shot right back at Joe.  With confidence, Joe made nifty play to field the ball, spun and threw a seed to the shortstop, Tucker, for the force at second base.  Tucker whipped the ball to first base and the boys had rolled an unlikely 1-6-3 double play.  The dads clapped and nodded their heads approvingly.  

I laughed.  That's Joe.

Joe threw two fastballs for strikes to the next batter, both of them swinging.  Then, on the third pitch, also a strike, the batter grounded out to Cavari at third base.  Ballgame.

Afterwards, it was special to see the other HBC players congratulating Joe on his pitching.  Joe looked bigger, if that makes sense, likely because for the first time he felt like he had contributed to the team's success.  Coach Brian was ebullient after the game, recounting the players' nicknames for Joe.   

Broadway Joe.  Joecephus.  And so on.  

It was a big night for Joe.  He needed it and I'm so glad he go it.  A few of the boys decided to stay at their parents' hotel after the game but Joe wanted to stay in the barracks with Coach Brian, Coach James, and. the guys.  It was then, at that moment, when I was sure Joe was right where he needed to be.

In Cooperstown in early June, playing baseball, and living his life.  

Reflections from Canadarago Lake

I'm sitting on the back deck of the house I've rented for the week in Richfield Springs, NY, just outside of . . . wait for it . . . Cooperstown!  Joe is with a group of boys this week who are at camp and playing baseball at the Cooperstown Dreams Park.  It's a once in a lifetime deal for Joe and, if I'm being honest, for me, too, as I've never been to the Baseball Hall of Fame.  

The view of Lake Canadadago is gorgeous and as I sip my Sierra Nevada Hazy IPA and listen to the Grateful Dead, a pontoon boat is trolling across the lake in front of me.  If this isn't living, I'm not sure what it. 

My beer is all the more satisfying because in the first game this week, Joe's HBC team broke a 4-4 tie and scored the winning run on a walk-off single by JD in the bottom of the 6th inning.  It was great to watch the boys celebrating the 5-4 victory on the field, as the parents yelled and clapped from our viewing area down the left field foul line.  

One of the Texas boys - a real stud - hit two solo shots, the first of which traveled over the left filed fence more than 250 feet.  It was the longest home run I have seen a 12 year old hit this season.  HBC was up 4-2 in the top of the 6th, with one out and one on, when a different Texas boy hit a game tying home run, also to left field.  Undeterred, our boys quickly put together a one out rally in the bottom of the sixth inning and, just like that, it was game over.  

Riley pitched 5 1/3 innings, striking out nine.  Very, very impressive outing.  

Joe didn't play today, which is to be expected.  He's one of the younger - and smaller - boys on this team and he's not going to get a lot of playing time.  I want him here for the experience, though, and he understands the deal.  He'll start tomorrow, as I understand it, but I'm fine either way.  I just want him to have a great week with the boys and enjoy his time at camp.  

Last week, on Wednesday night, Jude and I attended the 2024 MBA awards ceremony.  The school had e-mailed us asking that we attend, as JP was to receive an award of some sort.  I never take these sorts of things for granted because I know how fortunate Jude and I are to have the boys we have.  Believers.  Competitive.  Kind.  Intelligent.  Hard working.  I could go on and on.  We're blessed, to be sure.

As we sat with Jude's parents, outside, under the trees at MBA, we were pleasantly surprised when JP received a Geometry Medal.  It's a long night, of course, so I couldn't help wondering if there was anything else in store for JP.  As it turns out, there was.

JP received a Three Sport Athlete Award, although the plague he got listed all four of his sports - cross country, basketball, baseball, and track.  JP was proud that he played four sports, as he should have been.  More impressive, however, is that he earned all A's while playing four sports, no small feat at MBA, particularly since he took two or three honors courses.  

What stunned us, though I guess it shouldn't have, was when JP received the Donald Ross Outstanding Freshman Award.  He was one of three students nominated by the faculty and his classmates voted on the award, which makes it all the more meaningful to me.  As Mr. Daughtry, the head of school, read a litany of accolades written by JP's advisor, Elijah Reynolds, it was hard for me to keep it together.  

It's strange.  You raise your children and although you make mistakes along the way - we all do, as parents - you hope you've imparted on them the best parts of what you know and what you experienced when you were young.  Does it take?  Do they get it?  Were they listening?  I don't think you ever really know until nights like Wednesday night, when you see your child get rewarded for all of the hard work.  

All you can ask for as a parent, I think, is that your child learn the value of hard work.  Work hard.  Get better.  Cause and effect.  It's pretty simple, really.

My boys, JP and Joe, are the crown jewels of life with which God has blessed me.  There is no other explanation for it.  Not one that I can see, anyway.  For reasons I will never understand, God has blessed me with two wonderful, high functioning, achieving sons and allowed me accompany them on their journey to adulthood.  It's the greatest gift I could ever receive, without question.