Saying Goodbye to Driver 8

I was at a Nashville Predators' game a little more than 20 months ago when I got a call from my friend, Doug Brown.  Thinking back now, it's like a bad dream.

"David Easterling has a glioblastoma," he said.  

The very moment I received that telephone call, I think, is when I realized that I was old.  

Young people's high school friends - hell, middle aged people's high school friends - don't get cancer or brain tumors.  At least, that's the way I felt at the time.  Suddenly, unequivocally, old.  

It was like a door had blown open in the middle of winter and a blast of cold, arctic air had hit me right in the face before I could get the door closed.  

I immediately called my friend Rohan, a vascular neurosurgeon at Vanderbilt.  Matter of factly but with a the utmost caring and kindness, because that's the kind of person and doctor he is, Rohan gave me the disheartening news.

"Your friend is going to die from this.  The average life expectancy is 14 to 16 months.  He may live longer - it happens - but he is not going to survive a glioblastoma."

20 months after that conversation, David died in his sleep on a Friday night while his closest high school friends gathered together for a muted celebration of our graduation 40 years ago. 

To say David fought the good fight, never acknowledging he wasn't going to beat the glioblastoma is an understatement.  But I don't want to write about that this morning.  I want to write about the David that I knew, 40 years ago, and the man he became.

The thing that initially struck me about David was his appearance.  His dark hair was always neatly parted on the side and he wore glasses.  Average height.  Average build.  Average looking, to be honest.  In those days, in high school, a conservative dresser.  He struck me as someone who dressed and acted like a high school aged boy from the 1950's.  

What I learned, though, is that underneath the conservative appearing exterior was a fiercely independent, confident person with a biting sense of humor, a love for music, and a relentless desire to succeed.  

To me, David was, first and foremost, a salesman, in all of the best ways.  What he sold varied greatly.  His love of R.E.M. and other music.  His love of Kentucky basketball, Green Bay Packers football, St. Louis Cardinals baseball.  Barrack Obama.  All of it and so much more.

David turned an ability to sell into an amazingly successful career  in Louisville, Kentucky.  He was a serial entrepreneur, staring multiple businesses.  When he sold his company in the last year, he created generational wealth for his family.  

Yesterday, I drove to Louisville, Kentucky, for a celebration of life at the country club he belonged to there.  Several of us from our high school class were there and we talked quietly with each other on a warm, late summer afternoon, remembering David and enjoying each other's company.  We listened when his wife, Mary, addressed the group and brought us all to tears.  David's children, Hayden and Emily, spoke movingly about their love for their father, as well.  

I drove back to Nashville late in the afternoon, lost in my thoughts.  

It's hard to lose one of your own, especially the first one.  

A Saturday to Remember

Yesterday, I woke up at 6 a.m. in a hotel in Decatur, AL, greeted by the first glimpse of legitimate fall weather.

I ended the day on the back deck with Jude in the dying twilight, sipping a Calumet Farms 15 (bourbon) over one big rock, reminiscing about a day with our boys that will go down in the books as one of my favorites.

I arrived in Decatur, AL Friday night after a long, frustrating day at work.  JP's MBA cross country was set to run in the inaugural race of the nascent cross country season, the Chickasaw Trails Invitational on Saturday morning.  Last year, the boys surprised everyone, including Coach Russ, by placing second out of 40 + teams.  I think the team's performance in that race caused everyone - coaches, parents, and runners - to reevaluate the team's potential in a season that, ultimately, ended in Portland, OR, at the NXN Nationals.  Suffice to say I love the Chickasaw Trails Invitational.

As I walked outside yesterday morning a little past 6 a.m. to begin loading my truck, it was still dark and the weather was brisk.  Overcast, with temperatures in the low high '50's or low '60's.  Fall!  Perfect running weather and quite the contrast to last year's weather at the same event, when it was hot and the course was as dusty as Bonnaroo at the Farm in June.  

The Oakville Indian Mounds Park is a 30 minute drive away, so I left right at 6:30 p.m.  I wanted to beat traffic, so my plan was to arrive well in advance of the first race of the morning at 8:25 a.m. (the girls' small school race).  JP's race - the boys' large school 5K - followed at 8:55 a.m.  I knew I had to leave almost immediately after JP's race to drive back and coach Joe's Dodgers' doubleheader in Nolensville at 1:00 and 3:00 p.m.

My plan worked to perfection and I was parked and walking into the park more than an hour before the first race.  There are two sections of the park where schools and parents set up tents for the runners.  Some have quite the setup with two or three large tents, bench seating camping chairs, etc.  Others, like MBA and McCallie, have more utilitarian setups.  One small tent, a tarp on the ground, and no camping chairs.  The Big Red needs to up its tent game, in my view, but JP apparently prefers the more spartan setup.  

I paced the grounds nervously before the race, as I always do.  I walked by the USN tent and many others before I found the MBA tent on the side near the starting line.  I dropped of a Yeti cooler full of Gatorade and bottled water on ice.  The boys were laying around, relaxing, before the girls' small school race, all with AirPods in as they listened to music.  The coaches and a few of the parents were milling about, as well.  One of JP's teammates nudged him and he looked up, saw me, and stood up.  I fist bumped him, asked how he felt, and told him to have fun and run his race.  I fist bumped his other varsity teammates and left to walk around some more.  

Before races, I don't hang around the MBA tent.  I want to give JP the space he needs to get mentally and emotionally ready to race.  I think he needs that time and space.  I also don't want my nervous energy rubbing off on him or any of his teammates.  Other parents do it differently, which is fine.  That's just my way.

After the girls' small school race started, the boys' large school teams began staking out their positions on the starting line, getting loose, and meeting with their coaches for the final time before the race.  As the minutes ticked down to race time, my nervous energy hit a high point.  It was hard to sit still.  That's one of the many cool things about a cross country race, actually - the nervous energy and adrenaline are palpable before the race starts.  The runners feel it.  The coaches feel it.  The parents feel it.  It's heavy in the air.

I decided to hang with Coach Russ during the race and to run with him to various points along the course to cheer on the boys.  He knows the course much better than I do, obviously, and I figured I could help him encourage the boys as they ran by us.  

Before the starter fired his pistol, Coach Russ and I headed for the one mile mark.  We had to cross a narrow bridge, which was bottlenecked with other spectators who had the same idea, but we made it to the other side in plenty of time to stake out our spot.  At the one mile mark, Jack Bowen from McCallie - an outstanding runner - was comfortably in the lead.  To my relief, JP was running with Jack Wallace in the top 15, with Gabe close behind them.  JP looked good.  Strong.  Determined.

Coach Russ and I hustled through the woods to get to the two mile mark.  When the leaders rounded the corner, Jack Bowen was still in the lead, but Jack and JP had moved into the top six or seven.  Wow!  

Next, Coach Russ and I ran, literally ran, to the last run by the finish line, arriving just before the lead group.  Jack Bowen had fallen into second place as he rounded the turn where I stood.  About 10 second behind him, I saw Jack Wallace make the turn, then I saw JP.  He was ten yards or so behind Jack, in fourth place.  Fourth place!  I cheered for him as he turned the corner right in front of me.  I could tell he was spent, although his form was good.   

He ran the 100 yards or so down the home stretch, amidst the cheers from spectators, and finished the 5K course in 15:29:35, a PR!  Fourth place out of 227 runners.  The fastest among sophomores or juniors.  To put it succinctly, JP ran one helluva race.  It was a fantastic start to the season for him.  

Jack Wallace finished the race in 15:18:23, also a PR.  I believe he broke the MBA school record, too.  In fact, all of the varsity runners ran PR's, which is remarkable.  The boys finished in third place overall, behind McCallie (first place) and Vestavia Hills (second place).  

I found JP shortly after the race, hugged him, and talked with him.  I was right.  He was hurting the last half mile, maybe the most he's hurt during a race.  I think that's one of the things that makes him a special runner, though.  The willingness to run through the pain and to push his body to the limit.  That's what he did in his first 2-mile race at USN's River Campus in 100 + degree heat - when the beast was born - and it's what he continues to do now, three years later.  

He was pleased and I was pleased for him.  As a father, what I want to see for both of my boys is for hard work to be rewarded.  JP worked his ass off all summer long.  Running, running, and running.  He was ready for the race on Saturday.  His hard work paid off.  

JP and Gabe after the race.  

JP and Jack Wallace, after placing fourth and third out of 227 runners.

One last photo before the team cool down run.

After the race was over, I walked with JP back to the MBA tent.  He was relaxed.  Relieved.  I was just happy, for him and the team.  I talked to his coaches and few of the parents, then congratulated the rest of the team.  As the boys left for their cool down run, I slipped away and walked to my truck as the boys' JV race was about to start.  I needed to get on the road and to Nolensville, so I could coach Joe's WNSL Dodgers against Nolensville in their first doubleheader of the fall baseball season.  

The drive back was uneventful, as I decompressed after the race and looked forward to coaching Joe and his teammates on the baseball diamond.  Strangely, of all of the baseball fields I've coached or watched the boys play on throughout Middle Tennessee over the years, I had never been to the Nolensville baseball fields.  The night before, I had texted the Nolensville coach, confirmed the address for the ballpark, and texted it to the parents.  

When I arrived shortly after noon, I noticed our field was locked with signs up to keep players off the infield.  A younger team had slipped into left field and was warming up on the grass.  I telephoned Nolensville's coach and confirmed I was in the right place.  As my Dodgers trickled in, I handed out jerseys and hats.  Dodger Blue, just like the old days.  They looked damn good on my boys, too!

The weather was stunning.  Blue skies.  Cooler temperatures, but not too cool.  Fall baseball weather.  A perfect Saturday!  

What a gift of a day for me.  Watching JP run, and run well, in a cross country meet in Danville, AL, then coaching Joe and my guys a doubleheader in Nolensville.  Top 10 day, for sure, and one I will remember for a long time.  I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude for the life I have and for the sense of contentment I felt all day long.  I was, just . . . happy, which was so nice on the heels of a Black Friday.

That's why I always say, "the sun always comes out after the rain."  And it does.  Every single time, in a faith restoring way.

Joe's Dodgers fell behind early, as Bennett struggled a bit on the mound.  Batting in the two hole, I gave Joe the bunt sign.  I had suggested he bunt it down the third base line.  Instead, he bunted it toward first base.  Not a bad bunt but the pitcher easily threw him out.  As it turned out, he couldn't handle the pitch well enough to get a bunt down toward third base.  I told him to pull the bat back next time.  It's all about learning.  That's the best part, I think.

When Bennett ran out of gas, I brought Joe to pitch, my though being to save Harper and Keaton, my strongest pitchers, for the the second game.  I needed Joe to put out the fire, as he came in with the bases loaded.  He struggled with his control and walked in a run, then gave up a hit that allowed a second run to score.  At that point, the boys were down 4 or 5 - 1.  

Joe pitched better the next inning, as he seemed to find his rhythm.  Pitching on the big field - 90 feet away from home plate - is not joke.  It's different, to be sure, from pitching on the smaller baseball field.  In the top of the last inning, Nolensville ran out out of pitching and Joe's Dodgers scored several runs.  Joe shut Nolensville down in the bottom of the last inning, striking out the first two batters, and retiring the last batter when Harper made a solid play on a ground ball to third base.  The final was an 8 - 5 win for the Dodgers.

Game 2 was uneventful.  Keaton, a crafty lefty, pitched as well as I've ever seen him pitch.  Harper, another of my big boys, relieved Keaton and retired the side in the last inning.  Another Dodgers' victory, 7 - 2, and a doubleheader sweep.  Quite the debut for the Dodgers, although the Nolensville team, in truth, was not very good.  Still, their players were older than ours, and my boys played very well defensively.  The hitting will come around.

Late in the second game, Paul caught a fly ball in left field, and our fans erupted in cheers for him.  I walked out of the first base dugout, clapping and cheering for him.  Paul's a great boy.  Small, a little timid, but he loves baseball.  I've taken a special interest in him, as I often do with a player or two that I think needs it.  I'm determined for him to have a good experience this fall playing baseball and so far, he is.  

Really, that one play was what coaching baseball is all about for me.  Not the wins and not necessarily how Joe plays - although that is important - but watching a more inexperienced player make a play and see him congratulated and cheered by his teammates.  Way to go Paul!

I drove home after the game.  While Joe took a shower, I sat down on our back deck and had a bourbon.  One rock.  Jude and I talked quietly as the sun set on one of my favorite Saturdays ever.  

Sometimes it feels so good to be alive.

Down

"Some days are diamonds.  Some days are rocks."

Tom Petty was right about that.  Today was a rock, for sure.  

I don't get down very often, thankfully.  It's just not my personality because I enjoy life, and people, so much.  When I do get down, though, it's a darkness more than night.  Very intense.  

I'm not sure when things turned on me because I was fine this morning.  An early meeting over coffee went well, I thought.  As I was leaving, I had a happenstance meeting with a nice lady who had blocked me in so she could unload some items into the shop she owns at the Factory.  I offered to help and we struck up a pleasant conversation.  She's a huge Tennessee sports fan and went to college in Knoxville, as I did.  We shared a few stories before I got I my truck for the 5 minute drive to my office.  It was one of those chance encounters that makes life interesting.  I hope her shop does well.  

As usual, there was a lot going on at work for me and not enough hours in the day to get to everything.  Getaway days are always stressful.  Knowing I would be leaving at the end of the day for Decatur, AL, for JP's first cross country meet of the season tomorrow only made me more aware of the need to get things done.  I've got to get some help not work, and soon.  It's hard to do that, though, when I'm so busy doing the actual work.  It's just a lot.  

I'm down, too, because of the death, illness, and misfortune that seems to have settled in and around my friends and acquaintances.  It's a long list and one that continued to grow longer every day.  The memorial service and funeral for my friend, David, is next weekend in Louisville, KY, and that's on my mind, I know.  On top of that, this week I learned of two more friends who are dealing with serious illnesses and, in one case, a bleak future, at best.  It's hard to understand how these type of things can continue to happen to good people.  And why they're happening now.  It make a person wonder.

The Brentwood High School Class of 1984 Turns 40

In May 1984, I graduated from Brentwood High School.  

As the second graduating class from a brand new high school - one that was created in a storm of controversy amidst nascent local politics in Williamson County and a burgeoning rivalry between Brentwood and Franklin communities - ours was a small and close knit group.  The 150 or so of us that walked across the stage to receive our diploma had been there from the beginning.  

We selected the school colors (blue and gold).  We selected the school mascot (Bruin).  Our parents laid the sod for the football field a week or two before school started.  My mom and her friends used a stencil to paint paw prints down Murray Lane leading to Brentwood High School as they sat in the back of a pick-up truck, feet dangling, and drank frozen banana daffodils and pina coladas.  

Our mothers started and staffed a bookstore that sold t-shirts, sweatshirts and other Bruin paraphernalia.  It was the first bookstore of its kind in the Williamson County School system.  Our moms also volunteered in the office, assisting with clerical duties and keeping attendance.  It wasn't unusual on any given day to see my mom at the school or Patti Sparks, Jan Baker, Barbara Depp, or so many others.  

Brentwood High School in those halcyon years of the mid-1980's was a community school.  Full stop.  For that reason and others, there was a pervasive sense of pride among the students and the parents.  We really cared about Brentwood High School and in the class of '84, we cared about each other.  Sure, there were smaller groups of people that hung together but, truly, as Aristotle said, "the whole was greater than than the sum of its parts."

The crew that I rolled with was special - Doug, Jay, David, Neil, Reber, Dean, Jabba, Jeroutek, Sid, Westfall, Darryl, Matteson, Buzzell, Rip, Corley, and Roger - all good students, all well rounded, and all good guys.  If I am leaving anyone out, it's unintentional.  Today, this is a highly successful group and includes several early retirees.  

This weekend, some of us gathered together to celebrate, I guess, what we were, collectively, 40 years ago, and what we sill are, today.  

Friday night, we met at the Skylight Bar at the Factory.  Early on in the reunion planning process, I suggested to Doug that the Factory would be the perfect venue for a laid back, Friday night event before a bigger party on Saturday night.  As luck would have it, I was right.  Full marks, though, to Doug because he planned the entire reunion without much help from anyone else, including me.  I simply suggested the Factory and the Skylight Bar, gave him a FaceTime tour one morning, and connected him with the manager of the bar.  After that, Doug was off and running.

I arrived at the Factory between 6 and 7 p.m., shortly after receiving a text from my old and dear friend, Steve Ryan.  On a whim, I had called Steve Wednesday night, told him about the reunion, and suggested he attend Friday night's event.  

For our group, Steve was the biggest casualty of the zoning controversy surrounding the creation of Brentwood High School.  Although he lived in the Grassland community and had gone to school with many of us since kindergarten, he wasn't allowed to attend Brentwood High School in the fall of 1982 because he was zoned to Franklin High School.  Steve fit perfectly with out group - academically and socially - but we lost him to local politics that we didn't understand at the time.

Steve was one of my mom's early favorites.  Tall - at least 6'3" - fair complected with bright red hair, Steve was always quiet and a bit awkward, but extremely kindhearted.  He looks exactly the same today as he did in college at UT in the mid-1980's, when we last saw each other regularly.  Reconnecting with Steve was one of the highlights of my weekend.  I am going to make a real effort to rekindle our friendship by reaching out more regularly in the future.  

Kristin, the bar manager, kindly roped off a large area of space for us and arranged for a mobile bar and two dedicated bartenders.  We had plenty of room to mingle, which is what I did the entire evening.  It was hard to spend too long with any one person or group because I constantly saw someone else I wanted to talk to nearby.  The whole night was a blur, not unlike a wedding reception.  So many people to talk to and over before you know it.

A highlight for me was talking with Ms. Rau, my French teacher in my junior and senior years at Brentwood High School.  Somehow, she had convinced herself, supposedly, that I was mad at her - 40 years later, mind you - for kicking Neil, Angie, and me off the annual staff our senior year when we got caught skipping school during lunch when we were supposed to be selling ads for the annual.  Laughing, I told her I had always knows that we got exactly what we deserved.  Seeing her was special.

Chris Reber's mother, Martha, was there, as was Christie Remaly's mother.  Talking to them and many of my friends reminded me how much I miss my mom.  She was so popular among my classmates.  We built the senior float at our house under the carport.  In those days and later, when I was in college, it wasn't unusual for friends of mine to stop by to see my mom when I was at work or away at school.  Everyone loved Jane.

Saturday morning, I got the text from Doug that I knew, in my heart, was coming.  David Easterling died late Friday night.  A day or two earlier, when I learned the hospice nurse had indicated he didn't have long to live, I had a strong feeling that David would die while we were all together and he did.  I am going to write about David in more detail later but suffice to say our reunion celebration was muted for obvious reasons.

Doug, Jay, Neil, Mike, and I arrived at Mike's house early, so we could share a bourbon, toast David, and tell a few stories before the party started.  It felt strange and a little surreal, to say the least, to be at our 40th high school reunion having just lost someone who was an integral part of our group.

Mike's house is amazing, particularly the back yard.  Swimming pool, fire pit, covered outdoor kitchen, and three televisions all showing different college football games on the first Saturday of the college football season.  His wife, Cathy, was the consummate host, as she always is, and those of us in attendance had a drink or two, talked, laughed, and reminisced about our youth and times long since past.

Debbie Billings graciously shared her photo album, which was full of photos from high school and our early years of college at UT.  She also had preserved some photos digitally, which she set up on her iPad to play on Mike's living room televisions throughout the evening.  Watching the photos on television from more than 40 years ago was like traveling back in time to visit our younger, mostly innocent selves.  Wow.

It was a night to remember.  For me, nothing wild or crazy, but an opportunity to reconnect with old friends.  

A smaller group of us will convene in Louisville, Kentucky, weekend after next to say goodbye to David at his memorial service.  

40 years.  Gone in a flash.

Joe's First 2-Mile Race

Thursday evening at USN's river campus, in the sweltering 100 degree heat, Joe ran in his first 2 mile cross country meet.  

Most of the 6th graders ran in the 1 1/2 mile race, earlier, but Coach Syd asked Joe and two of his teammates to run in the 2 mile race against the 7th and 8th graders.  Once you run up, so to speak, that's where you stay for the season.  Jude and I let Joe make the decision and he felt running in the 2 mile races this season would make him a better runner in the long run. 

The upside is that with a season of racing the 2 mile distance, he'll be more ready to for the  2 mile races as a 7th and 8th grader at MBA or USN.  The downside is that he will get his ass whipped in races by 8th graders this season, which may be tough for him because he's so competitive.  Still, I'm proud of him for taking the more challenging route.  It would have been easier, much easier, to run the 1 1/2 mile races this season.  

Thursday's race was a tough one, in large part due to the stifling heat.  On top of that, USN changed the cross country course, which I don't understand.  Truth be told, I don't understand much of what the USN administration and athletic department does these days.  That's a story of its own, however.

Unfortunately, Joe had been battling a summer cold for a few days leading up to the race.  That, combined with the heat, made it a tough go for him.  He got out pretty fast and ended up running the first mile in 6:30.  I could tell he was struggling, though.  He ran the second mile in 7:00 or so, 30 seconds slower for the first mile.

After the race, I could tell he was a little disappointed, because he had finished behind both of his 6th grade teammates.  I was proud of him and I told him so.  His first race in the heat, with a cold.  It was impressive.

More to come, for sure, and we'll see how it goes.