Turning Red

Monday night during a rare quiet moment in our house, Jude and talked with Joe about where he wanted to go to school next year.  USN or MBA.  I think we knew his answer - MBA - but we wanted him to articulate it.  We also wanted him to acknowledge he had thought about how hard he is going to have to work to succeed at MBA.  I think we wanted his buy in.  At least I did. 

Like my longtime friend, John Rowland, said to me at Don Smith's memorial service early last fall, MBA is a competition every day.  Academically,  athletically, and socially.  He's right.  It seems to me, though, that boys grow strong in a cauldron of competition and emerge, as graduates, better prepared to succeed in college and in life.  That's my hope, anyway.

Joe told us he thinks MBA will require him to work hard every day and that he's ready for it.  I suggested he continue improving his study habits and discipline during his last few months at USN in preparation for seventh grade at MBA.  He agreed that might be a good idea.  

I think Jude and I wanted to know, from Joe, that he wants to go to MBA.  That he wants to be challenged.   That he's ready to be challenged.  In a way, that he's ready to grow up.  From a relatively care free preteen to an organized, driven, goal oriented middle school student.  A lot of work and not nearly as much play.  That's the deal.

The reality, of course, is middle school at USN likely would have been significantly harder than lower school has been.  That's just the nature of things at a top notch independent school.  Beginning in seventh grade, it's time to grind and start to build the study skills that will stand you in good stead in college and beyond.  Sure, he likely would have been doing those things in a familiar environment at USN, which will not be the case at MBA.  Still, Joe will have JP at MBA (and JP's friends) and a whole crew of boys learning on the fly just like he will be doing. 

I think it's going to be important to make a real effort to see that Joe stays connected, socially, with the boys in the crew.  He needs to do more with them than play sports.  Sadly, his best friend, Pike, decided not to apply to MBA, so he won't be there with him, at least not next year.  Jude and I need to see that he stays connected with his buddies from USN and Harding that are going to MBA next year from a social standpoint - hanging out, sleepovers, etc. - rather than just by playing basketball and soccer with them.  

I'll write more about USN and our time there as a family, I know, but not today.  By my count, we have had a 10 year run at USN which, by and large, has been productive and positive. 

For now, though, Joe is turning Red.

Joe and the Long Red Line

For the past week, I've fought the sinus infection I had avoided all winter.  I haven't been sleeping well, which made a busy week at work even tougher.  I haven't felt like or been myself.  

On top of that, I've been on pins and needles as I worried about whether Joe would be accepted to MBA.  We were set to receive word yesterday morning and my thoughts had been consumed with potential outcomes all week.  Friday night, I didn't sleep well, as I dreamt about Joe getting into MBA and my collapsing onto the ground after Jude gave me the news.  Weird, yet strangely vivid dream.  I checked e-mail around 4 a.m. and again around 6 a.m.  Nothing from MBA. 

Last Sunday, in church, I had a bit of an epiphany that provided me with a bit of peace.  I realized, as I sat alone in the pew in our usual spot that the whole thing was in God's hands, where it should be.  I needed to let it go.  There was a plan and I needed to let it unfold.  I tried - unsuccessfully at times - to remind myself of those things as the week passed by me.  Still, I worried.

Yesterday morning, I woke up early and followed my normal Saturday morning routine.  I drove to Dose for coffee and breakfast.  I checked e-mail after I arrived shortly after 7 a.m., then again several more times as I read Substack, the New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal.  Nothing, although I knew we likely wouldn't receive word until 8 a.m. or shortly thereafter.

At 8 a.m. on the dot, I checked e-mail.  Still nothing.  A minute or two later, my cell phone rang.  It was Jude.  "Oh, shit, I thought."  Before I answered, I checked e-mail again.  

There it was.  An e-mail from Greg Ferrell, admissions director at MBA.  At the top of the e-mail, there was one word.

YES.

Overcome with emotion, I got up and walked outside and answer the call from Jude.  Relief swept over me in waves as Jude and I shared the moment together.  I choked back tears as we talked bout how much this would mean to Joe and how proud of him we were.  In short, it was a parenting moment that I will never forget.

Why did it mean so much for Joe to be accepted to MBA?  That's a good question.

It's something he's worked so hard for.  He took the ISEE (Independent School Entrance Exam) review course and worked his ass off.  Throughout Saturdays in the all and winter, he spent Saturday afternoons with his tutor at the review class, working, learning, practicing, and testing.  Halfway through the review class, he changed tutors, which I think helped him tremendously.  He took a practice test, then took the real ISEE test.  Not easy.  

This is something Joe accomplished on his own merits.  Acceptance to MBA. 

What I mean by that is that three of Joe's teachers wrote recommendations.  His teachers love him because of the kind of student and person he has been over there past 6 + years at USN.  He's earned praise from his teacher because of how he has conducted himself at school every day.  

USN sent his transcript to MBA.  His grades at USN have been stellar, which is a result of the hard work he has put in academically, particularly the last few years.  He studied for the ISEE and worked hard to prepare for it.  

Joe's interview with Coach Cheevers at MBA went well, I am sure.  But, again, it's something he did himself.  He put on khaki's, a sweater, and sat down with Coach Cheevers, one-on-one, for 30 minutes for a conversation.  Joe knew what was at stake, that it was important.  He took care of business.  

Do I think it helped Joe that JP has done so well, to say the least, at MBA?  Would that help if it was a close all?  I think so but, still, I know people with sons at MBA who have younger brothers that were not accepted into school.  That was part of what worried me.  In the end, thought, Joe needed to do this on his own and he did.  

Joe had the courage to put himself out there.  To make it known that he wanted to be accepted to MBA and that he was willing to work for it, even though there were no guarantees he would achieve his goal.  That takes courage, in my view.  He set a goal and he achieved it.

I wanted Joe to achieve something that JP had achieved, too.  Why?  Because I wanted him to feel like he is just as good and just as accomplished as his big brother was in sixth grade.  I wanted him to know he could do something just as well as his big brother.  I didn't want him to feel like he came up short in comparison to JP because JP casts such a large shadow.

Joe has a lot of friends - boys he has played soccer and basketball with for several years - who had applied to MBA.  I didn't want him to have to feel rejected if they all were accepted to MBA and he wasn't.  That worried me a lot.  

In the end, I wanted it for Joe.  Because he wanted it.

After I got the news, I drove home from Dose.  Jude called the boys downstairs into our bedroom.  They straggled in, JP without a shirt on.  When Jude turned her cell phone around and showed Joe the e-mail, he broke into a big grin.  JP lifted his arms above his head, smiling, and shouted "YES!"  He grabbed Joe in a bear hug, as Jude and I watched, looking at each other and smiling.  A snapshot moment, for sure.

As a family, we'll help Joe make the best decision this week.  He has options and this is what I wanted for him.  USN - although it's been a rough year administratively - is a great school, as is MBA.  I think MBA is where Joe needs to be and, more importantly, where Joe wants to be, but we'll talk about it as a family.

Joe has several buddies who were accepted, too.  Max, Rex, Cole, Cullen, Austin.  He could walk into school, as a seventh grader, with a good core group of boys to run with, which would help him socially.  We'll see.

On top of the great news from MBA, on Thursday afternoon, we learned Joe had made the Stars' tournament basketball team this spring.  He attended tryouts last Friday and Sunday.  He'll be playing with his best friend, Pike, so this was big news, particularly since Joe was cut last year.  

Joe also learned from this baseball coach at USN that he'll play with the middle school varsity team.  This is big for him, as sixth graders don't often play with the seventh and eighth graders.  He's ready, though.

It's been a good week for Joe.  One of the best, actually.  He deserves every bit of it, too.

 

22 on February 22

As Joe so aptly pointed out, yesterday was a special day.  Anniversary number 22 for Jude and me fell on February 22. 

Notwithstanding the fact that the winter cold and sinus infection I had run from for months finally caught me thanks to Vic Anderson coughing all over me for eight hours during a mediation last Monday, we had a fun and eventful anniversary.

Joe's Stars basketball team played there final game of the season at 10 a.m. at David Lipscomb.  They played hard and played better but lost again.  The season has been, well, meh.  The boys on the team - and I include Joe - are not tournament or travel level basketball players.  Still, the parents pay the money, the boys get all the gear, and voila, and the boys plays more basketball at a higher level, which is what it's all about.  More basketball against better players.  Joe has enjoyed playing, for sure, and the Stars' organizational message is a positive one, which Jude and I like.  It's been a positive experience for him and I hope he makes the spring team.

I drove to the Green Hills YMCA and got a three mile run in on the treadmill, hoping that perhaps I could sweat out whatever is ailing me.  No such luck but, still, it was nice to get a run in because February has not been very productive on the running front.  

Meanwhile, JP and a friend, Milo, went to the Vanderbilt baseball game.  Vandy vs. Saint Mary's.  Vandy was down when they left in the 6th inning but rallied and won.

At 4 p.m., Joe played his Bucket Squad season finale at Hillsboro High School.  Thomas McDaniel moved the boys up to play against 7th graders for the last two games of the season in the WNSL basketball league.  Joe's and his teammates had been boat racing most of the 6th grade teams so it was nice to see them get some real competition, although there is a big size difference between 6th grader and 7th graders.

The Bucket Squad cruised to a victory, although they didn't play particularly well and turned the ball over too much.  The 7th graders they played against only had a couple of decent basketball players, as it turned out.  Joe played reasonably well and made several nice passes for baskets, particularly a couple of "Magic Johnson specials," long bounce passes through traffic for layups.  That pass has become his signature play.

Much like with the Dodgers, this may be the end of the line for the Bucket Squad, who have played together for six years in a variety of leagues and tournaments.  All of the boys are starting middle school next year and things will change, of course.  That's a shame but it's as it should be, I guess.  I'll miss the innocence, though, of these Saturday basketball games with Joe and his friends playing together.  They've grown so comfortable with each other and their roles on the team, sharing the ball, helping on defense, and competing as a unit.  It's been special.

We rushed home from Joe's second basketball game to pick up JP and head to the Predators - Avalanche game at 5 p.m.  By luck of the draw, we had all four of our group's tickets to the game.  While I wasn't feeling particularly well and my choice would have been to go to the Belmont - Indiana State basketball game, it was nice to go to the Predators' game as a family.  Better yet, we saw the Predators beat the Avalanche, 2 - 1, a rare victory in what has been a lost season.

It was a great atmosphere, almost like the old days, when the Predators were a threat to go deep into the playoffs every year.  The Avalanche outshot the Predators but Juise Saros stood on his head and sealed the victory by turning away a barrage of shots late in the third period with the crown on its feet, cheering loudly.  

Jude picked up Amerigo's for us - an anniversary dinner, if you will - and we watched the Lakers - Nuggets on television, ABC's Saturday prime time NBA game.  For the first time since arrive a couple of weeks ago in the most stunning trade in NBA history, Luca Doncic dominated and the Lakers snapped the Nuggets nine game winning streak much to the dismay of the Denver home crowd.  

As I enjoy my Sunday morning coffee in the lobby at oneCITY Nashville, outside Sump, I feel a sense of contentment and gratitude.  Jude and I have had a 22 year run - 27 county the years we dated - that I wouldn't trade for anything.  The best years of my life, for sure.  We're so lucky to have the boys we have, the life we have, and each other.  

Now, if I can just start to feel a little better.

Joe at 13

As of today, I have two teenage boys.  I can't believe it.

A few minutes go, I read my post from 13 years ago, the day Joe was born.  What I wrote, and the photos, brought back so many memories. 

At the hospital with Jude for a scheduled, last week check up and ultrasound.  

The telephone call from Roseanne Maikis as she read the ultra sound in another building, suggesting she was a little concerned about what she was seeing.  Roseann asking me if I thought Jude could get her game face on and have the C-section that afternoon, a couple of days early.  Passing the telephone to Jude so she could talk to Roseann.  

Going home and retuning with JP, not quite four, so he could see Jude before surgery.  Walking down the hall toward Jude's hospital room, holding hands with JP, as he got more and more nervous.  Looking up at me, he said, "Dad, I don't know about this."  JP smiling when, at last, he saw Jude in her hospital bed.

The wait.  The interminable wait, sitting in a metal, folding chair while Jude was prepped for surgery in the operating room.  Walking in, at last, and making eye contact with Jude, and seeing the steely look of concentration on her face.  So determined.  So strong.  So ready.  Nothing on earth was going to come between her and the son she had carried for nine long months.  

Our miracle baby.  The second child we never thought we'd be lucky enough to have.  A brother for JP, who had gotten more and more excited as the big day approached.  My family.

Finally, Roseann calling to me, as I walked around the curtain to see my second son take his first breath.  Crying loudly, as Jude and I cried along with him.  God's gift to us and to JP.  

Joseph Dylan Newman.

I remember sitting with Joe in the recovery room for what seemed like an eternity, singing to him.  Elizabeth Mitchell's "So Glad I'm Here."  I changed the words around, as I sang the song over and over, almost like a mantra.

JP is glad you're here.  

JP is glad you're here.  

JP is glad you're here, here today!

Punk is glad you're here.

Punk is glad you're here.

Punk is glad you're here, here today!

And so forth and so on, I sang Elizabeth Mitchell to Joe and held him in the crook of my arm until it ached.  I was worried about Jude because I lost track of time.  It seemed like she had been in post-op forever.  Finally, they wheeled her in and she smiled wanly, then fell asleep.  Exhausted.  

Thus began the greatest 13 year stretch of my life.  A wife I loved, two boys I adored, and what seemed like all the time in the world together, as we watched them grow up.  When I look back on my life, that afternoon - February 20, 2012 - just might be the high point for me.  The moment I would love to relive over and over again.

I closed my eyes when we go home that night, and opened them up this morning, and like magic, Joe had turned 13 years old.  How?  

Time passes.

The days go slow but the years go fast.  

Truer words never have been spoken.  My boys are 16 (almost 17) and 13, both teenagers.  Incredible.  Just incredible.  

Joe is my happy, kind, music loving teenager.  We share an unbinding love of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, sports, and reading.  He's kindhearted, fiercely competitive, a bit naive about life (which I wonderful), and a fan of all things Star Wars and Marvel Comics.  

Joe and JP are alike in many of the important ways but very different, too, which is as it should be.  Joe loves his big brother and looks up to him, always.  Listening to the two of them talk, upstairs, before bedtime, fills me heart with joy.  Brothers forever.

On your 13th birthday Joe, know I love you.  I'm proud of you.  You completed our family.

Searching for Blue Mountain

Through the wonders of the Internet, this morning I confirmed that December 4, 1995, was one of the seminal nights of my life as a music fan.  That's according to a copy of a music industry newsletter - Pollstar - that I happened across online while I was trying to see if I could pinpoint when I saw Blue Mountain play, for the first an only time.  Among other things, back issues of Pollstar has complete listings of artist's shows on tour.  Who knew?

In December 1995, I was 29 years old.  I was two years out of law school and working in downtown Nashville at Manier, Herod, Hollabaugh & Smith.  My first job out of law school.  I was a serious runner, training all of the time and racing every weekend.  I'm still a runner, although not as serious.  I was more that a decade away from having JP and Joe.  

In law school, I started listening to the Jayhawks, then found my way to Uncle Tupelo and, later, the Bottle Rockets.  Out of Festus, Missouri, lead by singer/guitarist, Brian Henneman, I was and am a big fan.  This was before Americana was a recognized musical genre, I think, but it was the type of music that I found myself gravitating to over time.  

December 4, 1995 was a Monday, and I got tickets to see the Bottle Rockets play at 12th & Porter.  The Playroom was a relatively small, intimate music venue adjacent to the restaurant on the edge of downtown, located appropriately enough on the corner of 12th Avenue North and Porter Road.  The only surviving music venue today that is similar is 3rd and Lindsley.  I arrived early, as I often do for shows, and got a table right in front of the stage.  

The opening act was Blue Mountain, a band from Oxford, Mississippi, that I had never heard of until that night.  Three members, Cary Hudson (guitar/vocals), Laurie Stirratt (bass/background vocals), and Frank Couch (drums).  

To my surprise and delight, Blue Mountain was incredible.  Cary Hudson's kinetic energy, thrashing the guitar while he sang in a deep, Mississippi southern accent, almost burned down the Playroom.  It was a performance I will never forget.  So much of that night is a blur, lost to time and age and 30 years of memories filling my head.  Still, I remember being so excited, so delighted, to bear witness to a band on a perfect night, on the cusp of grasping something ethereal and usually unattainable.  The perfect show.

I immediately bought Dog Days, released earlier that year, probably from Tower Records on West End Avenue.  I wore that CD out in the ensuing days, weeks, months, and years.  It's probably one of my most played CD's.  Even now, if it I play it, I can anticipate the next song as the current song is ending.  That doesn't happen anymore, of course, because everyone listens to songs and no one listens to albums.

The Bottle Rockets were good, as I knew they would be.  What sticks out about their show is that at one point, during a song, Brian Henneman sat down in a chair at my table, right in front of the stage, while he was playing a guitar solo.  Perfect.    

I never saw Blue Mountain live again.  I regret that, particularly since the band broke up a few years later.  Cary Hudson and Laurie Stirratt divorced.  Still, having seen them the one time and the one time only somehow makes the how all the more special to me.  It lives on in my memory.  A top 5 show for me, all time.

I've often wanted to go to Oxford, Mississippi, and see one of Cary Hudson's solo shows.  Maybe say hello.  Maybe tell him about a magical, memorable night at 12th & Porter, in the Playroom, on December 4, 1994.

The Ghosts of Baristas Past

At some point, I'm going to stop getting coffee every morning before work.  But not today.

It's by far my favorite part of the day.  A latte and the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Substack, the New Yorker.  Writing in this space.  Occasionally, answering an e-mail or two or working on a document, although I prefer to have 30 minutes or so to myself, not to work.  

Dose.  Bongo Java.  Sump.  The Well (Music Row or David Lipscomb).  Honest Coffee Roasters.  Crema.  8th & Roast.  The Henry.  Portland Brew (R.I.P.).  Wolf and Scout's (R.I.P.). 

For sure, this has been the morning coffee phase of my life.  It started, I guess, when JP was a baby and we began taking long weekend morning walks in the City Elite (stroller).  Until then - and this is slightly past age 40 - I had not been a coffee guy.  Not at all, which is strange, considering how much I love coffee now.  

Chad, a tattooed and facially pierced longtime barista at Bongo Java, took a liking to JP, and for some reason made me a Mood Elevator.  Double iced mocha with hazelnut (very light on the mocha) and an old school Bongo Java drink, off the menu by then.  And away I went down the rabbit hole of coffee, coffee shops, baristas, and all that comes with those things.  I drank a thousand Mood Elevators over the years, many while sitting at a table in Bongo Java with JP or Joe sleeping in the City Elite beside me while I read the New Yorker, surfed the internet, or wrote in this space.  

Other times, I finished a night run at Bongo Java, just before close, and Hunter made me a nightcap Mood Elevator.  I talked with him for a minute or two, then walked home to our first house in Elliott Avenue.  A more simple life for me in many ways and a more simple time.  Before my mom's diagnosis with Alzheimer's, before Carley got sick, before Jude's parents began to slow down ever so slightly.  

And, certainly, before I began to lose colleagues who had been important to me professionally, like Don Young, Mark Hartzog, Steve Cox, Don Smith, Gary Rubenstein, and so others.  And before we lost Dave to a brain tumor.  And before I had so many friends battling cancer, like Lance, Scott, Christa, Kelly, Reid, and Shannon.

So many baristas in so may coffee shops that I saw and interacted with regularly.  I called them my friends, although in truth, they were more like acquaintances with whom I shared a smile or a kind word almost every day.  At Bongo, Chad, AJ, EJ, Adam, Ayla, Chuck, Hunter, George, Megan, Rachel, Mitch, Josh, and many, many others whose names escape me now but who are referenced throughout the earlier days of this blog.  

At Honest Coffee Roasters, Anthony, Nick, and too many others to name.  All gone from my life, as working as a barista is by its nature a temporary, transient occupation, I think.  People do it as a certain point in their lives then move on, either working as a barista at a coffee shop somewhere else or moving into a different phase in their lives by beginning a career or starting a family.  

The strange part, though, is that I'm still here.  Getting coffee in the morning before work or on a Saturday/Sunday morning before a busy day of driving to practices and games for Joe.  The baristas change but my routine stays the same, at least for now.  The coffee shops for the most part stay the same, too, with the exception of those I have lost, like Portland Brew.  

Someday, perhaps soon, I'm going to change my routine and stop getting coffee every morning.  But not today. 

Super Bowl Sunday, Bongo Java, and Harris Baseball Club

Yesterday morning, while JP went out for a run, Joe and I went to Bongo Java for breakfast.  At some point, I'm going to write about this in more detail but as of late, there are good things happening at Bongo Java.  For one, Bob Bernstein hired a grill cook (a good one at that) and it's possible to order a full breakfast, which is tremendous.

Bongo Java is such an important part of the boys' early childhood - and, for that matter, my early fatherhood, too.  We spent so much time when the boys were young.  Memories everywhere whenever I walk in the door.  It's a beautiful thing for Bongo Java to get back in my rotation of coffee stops before work.

Joe and I sat upstairs on the small landing between the first and second floors - like the old days - where, as a family, we ate what seems like a thousand Sunday morning breakfasts at the big table.  Currently, there are too smaller tables upstairs but, still, it's nice that the upstairs is open for people.  It's quieter up there, a little out of the way, and kind of secluded.  It's almost a cloistered spot in what used to be, at times, a very busy coffee shop, filled with Belmont students and neighborhood people.

It was nice to have a quiet breakfast with Joe, just the two of us.  We talked about school, sports, and his MBA interview the day before.  He interviewed with Coach Cheevers and felt like it went well.  We also looked at a variety of crazy Super Bowl props (Eagles vs. Chiefs) on Fan Duel, betting $10 a piece on several of them.  Joe is such a good hang, always.

Later in the morning, we went to church at St. Patrick.  We sung two of my favorite hymns, inclusion The Summons.  Beautiful service at a place that means so much to my family and me.  We're still adjusting to Father Nick and miss Father Hammond terribly but that's to be expected.  After church, Jude drove Joe to Stars' basketball practice at BGA in Franklin.

JP asked me if I would go to the HBC baseball facility after church and throw him some soft toss for batting practice.  Of course, I agreed, and we drove over to the facility on Wilhagen Road shortly after 1 p.m.  JP saw the absolute auction sign in front of the building and had questions about what would happen to HBC in the future.  I suggested that there are a lot of moving parts, which is true, and deflected answering in any meaningful way.

JP and I had the facility to ourselves, as he unlocked the front door and turned on the lights.  We spent an hour or so there, in the quiet, getting work in.  He hit off the tee, then I soft tossed him baseballs from behind  a screen.  How many times, over the years, have we done that together?  Countless.  As I watched him hit liner after liner, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic.  The end is in sight for him, for baseball, I think.  Three more seasons in high school.  

On top of that, I've decided not to coach baseball for Joe's group this spring.  Several of the boys, including Joe, are playing travel baseball.  I'll be busy going to the boys' games, working, and teaching at NSL, so I don't see how I would have time to run two practices a week and play a doubleheader on Saturday or Sunday.  Also, I don't want to be making telephone calls and sending e-mails, begging for players to play like I did in the fall.  It appears that the WNSL Dodgers are indeed at the end of the line. All good things must come to an end, no doubt.

It was nice to have the time with Joe and JP, separately, on a quiet Sunday.  It also was nice to watch the Super Bowl together, as a family, Sunday evening.  The Eagles, shockingly, smoked the Chiefs, as Patrick Mahomes uncharacteristically had a bad game in a big game.

Now, off to work.  Busy, again, but if I can get through the first part of the week, I might find a little breathing room.

Southeast Showdown

Sunday morning, JP ran the 800, then the 2 mile, in the KYAC's Southeast Showdown at Norton Healthcare & Learning Center's indoor track facility in Louisville.  Although it's not in the best part of town, it's a beautiful facility with tracks indoor and out.  Really, really nice.

We arrived in plenty of time for JP to warm up and for me to watch various other track and field events.  60 yard dash.  200 meter dash.  Pole vault.  It was all going on simultaneously, as the organizers made use of every square inch of space to efficiently run a large indoor track meet.  It was very different from the indoor track meet a few weeks ago at Vanderbilt.  Less crowded.  Bigger facility.  Better organized.  All events running on time.  

While I waited for JP to run in the second heat of the 800, I set up my camping chair in a quiet spot and read the New Yorker.  That's me, I guess.  The urbane track and field dad.  Give me the New Yorker and, really, I'm fine, anytime and anywhere.

JP finished second in his heat, clocking a 2:00:01, which was 10th overall.  The winner ran 1:55:95, so the top ten were bunched pretty close together.  I think JP would have liked to go under 2:00:00 because that seems to be the dividing line between the fast and really fast 800 runners.  He got squeezed, again, at the beginning of the race.  My thought, and probably his, is that if he would have fought to hold an inside position early, he likely could have run a 1:58:00.  Still, a good race overall and part of the learning process for him.

The 2 mile race was interesting, as it was one he hadn't run in competition before.  I was looking forward to seeing what and how he would run, from a strategy and performance standpoint.  He ran in the first of two heats.  

When the race started, there was some jostling near lanes three and four, where JP started out.  He shouldered a boy that tried to squeeze past him, holding his position in line, which was the right move.  I think that's the kind of aggressiveness he's looking for in the 800 and the mile moving forward.  

JP quickly moved into third place and stayed with the first group of four runners as they pulled away from the pack a few laps into the race.  16 laps total is a lot of laps but JP told me later that Coach Russ and suggested he break it down into 16 one lap races and try to hit his time for each lop, which is what he did.  It would have been difficult for me to keep with what lap the boys were running were I not standing across from the start/finish line with a clear view of the man changing the lap sign as the boys ran by him. 

Not quite halfway through the race, JP and two other runners pulled away from everyone else, as it became apparent it was going to be a three man race.  A young, African American runner led from the beginning and stayed in the lead, with JP running a comfortable third behind the second place runner, a senior from Beech HS.  I knew JP had a move left in him.  The only question was when he was going to make it.

At the beginning of lap 15, JP began to surge.  He passed the runner from Beech HS and as they ran down the far straightaway, I heard the announce say "JP Newman has moved into 2nd place . . . ".  My adrenaline surged as JP closed the gap with the leader on the far turn and approached the line.  He's going to get him, I thought.  The bell rang signaling the final lap and JP ran by me in 2nd place.  

Suddenly, as he ran through the near turn to begin the final lap, the Beech HS runner turned on the speed.  He started sprinting, passed JP, and began to run down the first place runner.  He caught him on the far turn and sprinted to the finish to win in a really strong race for him.  JP finished third at 9:41:80, four seconds behind the winner and less than two seconds behind the boy who led most of the race.

In retrospect, JP thought he probably broke too early and should have waited until the final lap, like the boys from Beech HS.  That would have made for a helluva race.  Still, you live and learn, right?  It was JP's first time running a 2 mile race and, really, it was fascinating to watch.  I was proud of him, of course.  I can't help but be excited about what is to come.

JP and his classmate, Gabe Guillamondegui.

JP and Jack Wallace, a senior at MBA who is running at Furman next year.

Louisville

On of my hidden talents is finding coffee shops.  Good ones.  

I'm in Quill's, in Louisville, KY.  It's a block behind the hotel JP and I are staying in.  We're in town for him to run in a high school indoor track meet later today.

Actually, I'm customer no. 1 in Quill's this morning, which is the way I like it.  I walked in at 7 a.m., just after they opened for Sunday.  It's still dark outside, as we're on Eastern Standard Time.  There's still some ice on the sidewalks from the last snow.  I love the early morning quietude of a coffee shop.  This morning, there is music playing in the background.  Baristas talking quietly, as I sit at a table in the corner, comfortably cloistered away with my laptop.  These are moments I wish I could stretch, so they would last longer.

Later this morning, JP is running the 800 and the 2 mile.  This isn't as big of an indoor meet as was at Vanderbilt a few weeks ago but it's a good, competitive field, I think.  It will be interested to see how JP does in the 2 mile, as it's his first time to run it in competition.  There are only two heats, so it's not a race that too many runners are running.  

Something tells me I will be spending a lot of early mornings in coffee shops over the next two and a half years.  JP is serious about running cross country and track in high school and beyond, so I suspect there are a lot of out of town races and meets on the horizon for me.  I love it.

It's so easy to forget about work when I am on the road.  Although we're less than three hours away from Nashville, it seems like we're worlds away.  Time slows down, even on an overnight trip like this one.  We had a nice meal at Ciao Ristorante last night with Tara and Gabe and I've got good coffee.  What else do I need?

  

Big Day for Big Joe

Joe takes the ISEE test today at MBA, so it's a big day for him.  That's the Independent Schools Entrance Exam that middle school children take before 7th grade.  ISEE results are a big part of what private schools look at when considering prospective 7th grade students.  Most of the kids, Joe included, take a review course the fall prior to taking the ISEE.

Taking the ISEE is a lot of pressure on Joe.  He knows what is at stake.  He desperately wants to follow his brother to MBA.  He has felt that way since the day JP walked onto campus three and half years ago.  In some ways, Joe has taken as much pride in JP's accomplishments at MBA as anyone.  He wants to follow in his footsteps there, while charting his own course, too.  I want that for him, too.  

Most of all, of course, I want Joe to be happy.  He's a once in a lifetime kid, touching and inspiring everyone with whom he comes into contact.  Adults love him because he's articulate, intelligent, inquisitive, and conversant in so many subjects.  Kids love him because he's kind, caring, funny, and above all, a leader.  Some boys have it.  Joe certainly does.  Almost every day, I marvel at how blessed I am to have the boys I have.  

This morning, though, I'm a little nostalgic, I must admit.  It seems to me that for the most part, childhood ends after 6th grade for kids these days.  Middle school - real middle school - begins in 7th grade.  Really, it's like two years of pre-high school.  5th and 6th grade are like two years of post-elementary school.  Those are maybe the best two years for a boy, 5th and 6th grade.  Preteen.  Still a boy.  Hopefully, naive to a point.  No cell phone.  No social media.  Innocent.  

No major tests at school.  No dances to worry about inviting girls to or getting invited to.  For a 6th grader - at least for my 6th grader - life revolves around playing sports, watching sports, watching The Office, reading, playing Madden '25 or NHL '25 on the Xbox with your big brother, and St. Patrick Catholic Church on Sundays.

Yes, that precious human commodity, innocence, is starting to fade away for Joe.  He can't help but hear about school shootings, like the unspeakable tragedy at Covenant and just this week, Antioch High School.  Athletic limitations.  Friends changing schools.  Girls.  All of it on the horizon, drifting inexorable toward him, but thankfully, not here quite yet.

There's still time.  A little bit of it, anyway.  

Good luck today, Joe.  

Time to Take a Breath

In December, I knew January and February were going to be rough at work.  The proverbial calm before the storm, mostly because my calendar was packed with mediations - my cases and cases I was set to mediate for others, court appearances, depositions, and meetings with current clients.  On top of that, of course, I teach a class at Nashville School of Law on Wednesday nights.  

As it turned out, I've been so busy it's been hard to schedule potential clients for consultations on my calendar.  Last weekend, I met with a potential client on Saturday morning at a coffee shop.  Then, on Sunday morning, I met with a client at the office for three hours to prepare for a hearing Tuesday morning.  I spent Sunday evening preparing for a mediation, also on Tuesday.

As I sit here this morning with coffee at The Henry, three weeks into January, I've stumbled upon an unexpected moment to take a breath.  Today was set aside to prepare for a deposition I was taking all day on Friday.  The deposition canceled yesterday, which freed up today and tomorrow.  The trick, of course, is not to shift into neutral at work - which is kind of what I did yesterday - but to grind to get the office work done that has been waiting on me.  Orders drafted, marital dissolution agreements drafted, mediation statements drafted.  On top of that, I've got various administrative duties to tend to.  Employee evaluations, decisions to be made on new furniture, maintenance not building, etc.

There's never enough time in the work day, you know?  Never.

I'm grateful for the work, though.  On most days, I'm grateful for what I do.  I feel like I'm helping people most of the time, which feeds my soul (to quote the late and Hon. Barbara Haynes, Jude's one time and all time mentor).  Twice yesterday, I had the opportunity to give advice to younger attorneys, solicited and unsolicited.  It's important to me to mentor young attorneys when I have the opportunity because I want to pass along what I learned from those that came before me - some of whom are gone - Steve Cox, Don Smith, etc.

Before class last night, I talked to Mark Fishburn, who was a criminal court judge for almost 25 years.  We struck up a brief conversation about the practice of law and, well, life, and how fast it all goes by.  I am glad we talked because, as it turns out, last night was his last class of the year.  It was nice to share a moment with him.  I wonder if Mark will teach at NSL next year?  He's 74, so who knows.  I hope so.  I wonder if I will teach next year at NSL, for that matter.    

When you think about it, it's a pretty short ride.  It just is. 

I love this photo.  Bill Depp, my mom, and Ben Sparks.  My mom is so happy.  At Calhouns on the River, in Knoxville, I believe.  30 years ago or so, I think.

Too Many Goodbyes

As I've written before, there are multiple people in my life who are battling serious illnesses.  Six at last count.  Some of them won't make it, which breaks my heart.  I don't know if this is just a bad run or if it's a product of my age (58).  Was 2024 a rough year - an outlier - or is this the new normal?

Sunday, I said goodbye to a longtime lawyer friend of mine.  Gary Rubenstein.  Rube, to his friends.  I've known Rube forever.

We played softball against each other for 30 + years in the Nashville Bar Association Softball League.  Rube loves the league and, of course, so do I.  Each of us has won tournament titles, although not in few years.  Rube was a stalwart for the Independents in the mid-1990's, when I played for Manier, Herod.  The Independents were our biggest rivals and the team we finally beat to get over the hump and win our first tournament championship.  I still have a team photograph taken immediately after the final game, a 12 - 1 victory for Manier, Herod.  

As I recall, Rube played third base in those days.  He always - always - wore grey baseball pants, no matter the heat in late July and early August.  He also sported a wispy, reddish blonde mustache long after it went out of style.  He still has the mustache and, in fact, it appears he kept it long enough for it to come back into style.  

He was a singles hitter and someone, for some reason, that I could never seem to get out.  I always joked that he and Jerry Patterson - neither of whom are overly athletic - were two guys I could never solve as a pitcher.  Year after year, they singled me to death at East Park and, later, at Cleveland Street Park. 

Over the years, Rube and I shared beers together every summer at the softball field.  We also shared our love of baseball.  Red Sox for him, Dodgers for me.  And we shared stories.  So many stories, borne out of a love of practicing law and a love of the NBA Softball League.  Rube is a dear friend of mine and a lawyer for whom I have a tremendous amount of respect.  Always.

At 71, Rube was the second oldest player in the league this summer, after Pete Ezell.  Rube and I connected, as always, at the end of season tournament at Cleveland Street Park in late July.  He was there, in fact, when I was hit in the face with a line drive and left the field, blood everywhere, roaring in pain and anger, unsure if I had broken teeth (I didn't), a broken jaw (I didn't), or needed stitches (I did).  

What I didn't learn until I visited him at home on Sunday is that while I was storming around outside of left field, trying to determine how badly injured I was, Rube was instrumental in preventing a brawl from breaking out on the field as my teammates confronted the other team.  Rube the peacemaker.  That's just who he is.

In August, a couple of weeks after the NBA softball tournament, Rube was playing golf and began to have excruciating low back pain.  It quickly got so bad that he couldn't walk and barely could  move.  Sadly, he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer after a tumor was discovered pressing on his spine.  Just devastating news for Rube, his family, and his friends.  

Although Rube had chemotherapy treatments, I think it was as a way to, perhaps, buy him more time.  The disease was terminal.  He wasn't going to survive it.  What I hate the most is that he has had such a rough ride since late summer.  Multiple trips to the hospital in an ambulance.  Extended stays at the hospital at or near the holidays.  Intense pain.  Constant discomfort.  It's been rough. 

Rube's wife, Deb, has been by his side every step of the way.  Her strength, dedication, and loyalty has been awe inspiring.  Deb has been his rock.  My admiration and respect for Deb is boundless.

Late last week, Deb texted me to tell me that Rube had fallen, which resulted in another trip to the emergency room in an ambulance.  The doctors discovered the tumors had spread up and down his spine.  Rube was done with treatment and was going to be placed on hospice care at home.  Although he had been seeing only family and his closest friends from law school, Rube had decided to start seeing people if they wanted to stop by.

To say goodbye.

And that's what I did.  On Sunday afternoon, I stopped by Rube's house in Crocket Springs, adjacent to the neighborhood I grew up in - Brenthaven - and spent a hour and a half or so with him.  I hugged Deb, also a dear, dear friend of mine.  I met Rube's sister, who was in town from Michigan.  I briefly held his hand in the slightly awkward way that men do at a time like this.  Without embarrassment or insecurity.  With only love.

We told stories - we both love to talk and laugh - about practicing law and about the NBA Softball League.  Rube was there at the beginning, when there was no softball league, just a softball game at the Nashville Bar Association summer picnic at Crockett Springs Country Club, near his house.  We laughed, a lot.  When I said goodbye, something passed between us, or at least it seemed to me that it did.  

Before I left, I shoveled the ice and snow off the front sidewalk while Deb watched.  I was so happy to do it, too, because it made me feel like in a very small way, I was helping.  Doing something tangible.  I drove home and listened to music, alone with my thoughts and memories.  

I'm losing another lion.  

Postscript.  Gary Rubenstein died at home last Saturday, February 1, 2025.  His wife, Deb, sent me a text message Sunday.  Rube's daughter, Rachel, flew home from California and he died less than 30 minutes after she arrived at the house.  As Deb said, "Rube was waiting to tell her goodbye."  Yes, he was.

Tuesday afternoon, I went to visitation at Williamson Memorial Gardens.  Waiting in line for a word with Deb and Rachel, I saw so many lawyers I haven't seen in, well, forever.  Mac Robinson, Jr.  Joe Wheeler.  So many others.  Lawyers I played softball against, back in the day, in the NBA Softball League that is so important to Gary and to me.  So many of them retired from the league but Gary and I kept playing, summer after summer.  

The NBA Softball League, for me, won't be the same without Gary playing in it.  It just won't.  

Goodbye, Rube.    

Snow Daze

Earlier in the week, we began hearing about a snowstorm that was going to hit the Deep South toward the end of the work week.  Dallas, Atlanta, Memphis, and so forth and so.  "Sure," I thought.  "I'll believe it when I see it," given that I had been running in shirtsleeves a week to ten days ago.  

By Thursday, Nashville was in wholesale "snow panic" mode, as it became apparent that the weather forecasters actually might have gotten this one right.  At work, I suggested our receptionist take Friday off and leave Thursday night for a wedding in Memphis, to make sure she arrived safely and on time.  When I stopped by the grocery store on the way home, there was literally almost nothing left to buy.  No produce.  Very little meat.  And, of course, the grocery store was packed with people scurrying around like ants. 

This, my friends, is Nashville with snow in the forecast.  Every single time.  It never changes.  

USN and MBA canceled school Thursday evening, for Friday, much to the boys' delight.  Forget that they just returned to school after 2 + weeks off for Christmas Vacation.  Few things in a child's life are as exciting as getting an expected day off of school due to snow.  

It was snowing when I got up Friday morning with the temperature hovering around 32 degrees.  Perfect for a good, wet, snowman and snowball packing snow, which is what we got in Nashville.  Small flakes at first, then bigger flakes, as it snowed most of the day.  

I scrambled to find coffee Friday morning.  No Portland Brew anymore, which always was open during the snow, even when every other coffee shop was closed.  Dose was closed.  Fortunately (and surprisingly), Bongo Java was open until noon with a full kitchen.  I got my coffee and scrambled eggs and settled in to read the New York Times.  It felt, almost, like the old days at Bongo Java, as people from the neighborhood wandered in with their children, in the beginning of a snow daze that would last through the weekend.  

At one point, as I sat contentedly at my table sipping my coffee, I heard Tom Petty's "American Girl" playing in the background, over the hum of quiet conversations at nearby tables.  Watching the snow falling outside and knowing my family was comfortably ensconced at home a couple of blocks away, I felt . . . content.  

A Friday morning snow, ahead of a weekend with Jude and the boys.

Contentment is precious.  Hard to find and harder to hold onto when it finds you.

JP, Joe, and I went for a run in the snow later Friday afternoon, snowflakes falling on us as we ran.  JP ran almost three miles with Joe and me, then continued on to get five miles or so in, while Joe and I turned for home.  Runs in the snow, for me, are always memorable, because they're so rare.  Runs in the snow are even more memorable when I can share them with one or both of my boys.  

After our run, JP, Joe, and I walked up to Belmont U. to watch the women's basketball team play University of Illinois (Chicago).  Predictably, with the snow falling outside, there were few few fans at the game.  We ran into our friend and neighbor, Connie, who sat with us.  She and I had a delightful conversation during the game.  I learned that she met her late husband, Mike, by placing a classified ad in personal section of the Tennessean in the early 1990's.  An amazing story with the makings of a romantic comedy.  Who new?  

By yesterday, the roads had cleared for the most part as the temperature rose.  The boys and I had breakfast at the Henry in 12South, as Bongo Java was open but didn't have any kitchen workers to make breakfast.  We downloaded Madden '25 and NHL '25 on the Xbox - gifts from Uncle James - and the boys played video games for a while and read, too.  We watched the first round of the NFL playoffs and ate chicken noodle soup that Jude cooked in the crock pot last night.

For a couple of days, things slowed down.  No school.  No basketball games.  No basketball practices or baseball workouts.  

Today, it's back to it.  Donuts for church.  Church.  Basketball practice for Joe.  Baseball practice for Joe.  JP will get back in the books for school, I am sure.  I need to do some work later, because my week at work is crazy.

We're all emerging from the snow daze, slowly but inevitably.  

At least, until it snows again.

KYA Indoor Classic 2025

Yesterday was a normal Saturday for us.  Indoor track meet at Vanderbilt University for JP, followed by back to back basketball games in two different places for Joe, then back to Vanderbilt to watch JP race again.  Go, go, go.

It's also the kind of Saturday I will miss with my whole heart when it's all over and these boys are grown and gone.  I don't know what Jude and I will do with ourselves when that happens.  I shudder to think how I will deal with the emptiness of my weekends.  It's all going by so fast.  

Jude and I divided and conquered, so I missed Joe's first basketball game (WNSL) at the old Cohn High School, on the west side, in a gym I love.  I don't think I missed much, as Joe's Bucket Squad rolled their opponent by 30 + and Joe didn't play particularly well.  Apparently, he took several shots but couldn't hit anything.  As I told him, I like the aggressiveness on offense - whether he's making or missing his shots - especially in a recreational league game.

Meanwhile, JP ran in the second heat of the 800 at the KYA Indoor Classic.  Tracy drove up from Franklin to watch him race, which was nice.  I enjoyed talking with her while we waited through 11 HS girls' heats of the 800.  Fortunately, in the HS boys' 800, it was fastest to slowest, so JP's group ran immediately after the first heat.  

As I am learning, indoor track is different.  T'he track itself is shorter than outside tracks.  Vanderbilt's for example, is 200 meters.  As a result the 800 is roughly two and half laps, the mile is almost five laps, and so forth.

JP got boxed out in the beginning of the race and started from the back of the pack, as is customary for him.  As is also customary for him, toward the beginning of the second lap, he moved to the outside and began passing runners.  His finishing kick is strong, something I think he takes pride in, although it's possible he relies on it a little too much as opposed to starting closer to the front of the pack.  What do I know about racing, though?  Not much.  

He continued to close toward the end of the second lap and by the beginning of the abbreviated third lap, he was in good position in the front group.  He finished strong in fourth place in his heat, running a 1:59:54.  In my view, anything under 2:00:00 is fast.  He ran slightly a similar time as the anchor leg of the 4 x 800 at the state championships last spring, so I was pleased with his race yesterday and I shtik he was, too.  He placed 14th overall.

I drove Joe to his second basketball game - a Stars' game - at David Lipscomb, or "John David Lipscomb," as Joe used to call it in his younger days.  I used to laugh and laugh every time he said that.  Joe's Stars' tame lost a close game, by three points.  

The difference, really, was that Joe's team had a three point lead and the ball with 16 seconds left in the first half with Joe on the bench.  One of their guards foolishly and needlessly telegraphed a pass at the top of the key, turned the ball over, and a boy on the other team hit a three pointer at the buzzer.  Tie game at halftime, when the Stars had a chance to be up by five or six points.

Although he only had one bucket and missed a bunny in the second half from the left baseline, I was very proud of Joe's game.  He handled the ball well, running the point.  No turnovers, which was huge.  He also played good, solid defense, and had several deflections and three or four straight steals.  He distributed the ball, made the right plays, and had a couple of nifty passes that would have been assist but for a teammate missing an easy shot.  

He played the game the right way, which is what Joe does.  As I've said before, he's a glue guy.  Not the most athletic.  Not the quickest, not by far, but almost always the smartest basketball player on his team.  I loved his game.

After a brief stop at home, Jude, Joe, and I made the quick drive back to Vanderbilt to watch JP run in the 1 mile race.  He ran in the third heat.  As it turned out, his MBA classmate and cross country teammate, Gabe, was moved up from the fourth heat to the third heat, which I knew would make for an interesting race.  

For some reason, JP and Gabe were seeded lower in the heat and started in a staggered position in the outside lanes, slightly ahead of the larger group in the inside six lanes.  To me, this is a disadvantage, as the they have to break to the inside toward the end of the first lap when the racers can leave their lanes.  

Sure enough, JP and Gabe ended up being boxed out, behind the leaders, at the end of the first lap.  It was a quick pace, so I wasn't sure how much ground they would be able to make up.  The answer, of course, is all of it, as JP and Gabe began moving up on the outside during the second lap, both running smoothly.  Like last year during the same race, I thought, this is going to be interesting.  And it was.

A little bit about Gabe.  He's a phenomenal runner, to start, but I think he struggled a bit in cross county to find himself until the last three races of the boys' sophomore season.  He looked extremely comfortable finishing the race at the state championship and at NXR in Cary, NC.  He set a PR when the boys ran in the final cross country race of the season in Huntsville at Running Lanes, early last month.  He excels in track and has a lot more experience than JP does in more traditional races, like the 1 mile, 2 mile, etc.  

The point is that for the next two years, Gabe and JP are going to push each other, which will make both of them better runners. 

By the end of the third lap yesterday, JP and Gabe were running in the first group with the leaders.  As the boys passed by me on the last lap, Gabe was in the lead and looked great, with JP in second place. It looked to me like Gabe was going to win the race and he nearly did.

JP passed Gabe part way through the final lap and started to pull away slightly,  Then, on the final stretch, just like last year with Sullivan Smith (Father Ryan HS), Gabe began sprinting and pulled even with JP near the finish line.  JP seemed to feel Gabe before he saw him - I think he remembered last year's race - and he sped up slightly and just held Gabe off at the finish line, winning literally by an eyelash.  JP finished first in the heat in 4:31:52 (12th overall), a PR, and Gabe finished second in the heat in 4:31:63 (13th overall), roughly a tenth of a second behind JP.  It was a fantastic race.  

I'm proud of JP and Gabe.  JP ran a solid race, particularly since he had raced the 800 earlier in the day.  It was the same with Gabe, given that he ran a blistering 2 mile race on Friday night.  I think there's a bright future for both of these boys.

The best part, for me, was that several of the boys' cross country teammates, and Coach Cirillo, came to Vanderbilt to watch JP and Gabe race in the 1 mile.  To seem them support their teammates was special.  I annoyed them all and snapped a group photo afterwards.