A Saturday for the Ages

With boys, especially ones who love and play sports like ours do, so many of your Saturdays are jam packed with drives all over town, or to nearby towns, for games of some sort.  Soccer.  Basketball.  Baseball.  Cross country or track meets.  

And, of course, I love it.  Every single minute of it.  Watching my boys compete on an athletic field, hands down, is my greatest joy in life.  It pains me terribly to think about the void that will be left in the not too distant future when neither JP nor Joe are playing anything other than middle school or high school sports. In a way, we're halfway there, now that JP has narrowed his athletic focus to running.   

If you're lucky, as a parent, you have the rare Saturday where it all falls into place for your boys, or girls.  For me, yesterday was one of those. 

Rather than tour Notre Dame, JP decided to run in the Trinity-Valkyrie Invitational in Louisville, KY, where he set a PR (15:19) last year.  Gabe and Wynn decided at the last minute to run it and JP wanted to join them.  Jude and I thought it was the right decision, especially on the heels of his mildly disappointing race in Huntsville last weekend (15:20).  Late in the week, we hastily booked a hotel room and made plans, arranging for Jude to go with JP to Louisville, so I could take Joe to his soccer workout Friday night and his baseball tournament games in Murfreesboro on Saturday.

Yesterday morning, I got up early as I typically do, and drove up to Dose for coffee.  Joe slept in.  As I drank my coffee and tried to figure out if I could get live updates of the race in Louisville, I met the parents of one of JP's sophomore cross country teammates.  They were on the way to Dickson to watch their son (and the other boys who didn't race in Huntsville) race.  Very nice people.

I am superstitious, although I know I shouldn't be.  As I bounced around on the MileSplit (Kentucky) website and the link to the Trinity-Valkyrie Invitation, I couldn't find any live race results.  It felt similar to two years ago, when Joe and were at Dose for coffee and breakfast, as we tried to get live race results from NXR in Cary, NC.  That, of course, was a memorable day in JP's racing career, as MBA finished second and qualified for NXN in Portland, OR.  I was hoping, yesterday, to have a similar experience.

Turns out that I did, as JP ran 15:05:03 (12th overall in a very fast field).  The ever more elusive PR and ever so close to breaking 15:00:00.  It was a race JP needed, I think, to boost his confidence.  He raced extremely well in the fastest field he will see the entire season.  When I talked to him on the telephone immediately after the race, I could tell how excited, and relieved, he was.  

Later in the morning, I drove Joe over to Murfreesboro for his first tournament game of the fall with the Redbirds.  In what is another story for another day, Joe landed with the Redbirds after Brian Harris unceremoniously folded his tent and shut down Harris Baseball Club in July.  Not surprisingly, the messaging ng to HBC parents wasn't handled well by Brian, as a result of which 150 + boys were left scrambling to find baseball teams to play with in the middle of tryout season.  

When Joe and I arrived at the baseball complex in Murfreesboro, his coach asked him if he was ready to pitch.  "Sure," Joe said.  "Good, you're staring."  Kyle replied.  This will be interesting, I thought, as Joe hasn't thrown a bullpen in a while or otherwise worked on pitching.  No matter, because Joe is Joe.  Mentally tough.  Dependable.  Always ready to take the ball.

In four innings of solid work, Joe struck out stayed around the plate and stuck out six batters.  His control was good, as he only walked one batter.  He didn't throw particularly hard and two or three batters put good swings own the ball for extra base hits.  Still, he threw to contact, as he so often does, and he added nifty play on a ball hit back up the middle.  He gave up three runs, only one of which was earned.  

The only real mistake, other than a two out walk in the fourth inning, was an 0-2 fastball he left out over the plate to the second to last batter he faced.  He would have liked to have that pitch back, as the boy laced a line drive to center field to plate the third run.  Joe left with the score 2 - 3.  He was out of gas at 60 o so pitches.  The final was 2 - 7, as the next pitcher in for the Redbirds struggled.

In the second game, Joe played shortstop and batted second.  After a weak pop fly in foul territory to the first baseman in the first inning and a towering pop fly that he misjudged for an error, Joe settled in at shortstop.  In the last inning, down 1 - 2, Joe lined a ball to right center field for a base hit that advanced the leadoff hitter to third base.  He stole second, then was thrown out at home to end the game as he tried to score on a single to right filed.  I was proud of how Joe played, although there is room for improvement . . . for Joe and the whole team.  

Joe has gone from being the youngest player on his HBC teams to, suddenly, being one of oldest, most experienced players on his Redbirds' team.  It's time for him to lead.  

Jude rushed Joe straight from the second baseball game in Murfreesboro to Franklin for a Bucket Squad basketball game.  That didn't go was well, as his team lost a game they probably should have won.  I skipped the game but, according to Jude and JP, Joe didn't shoot much at all and wasn't a real factor in the game.  

Still, it was a great Saturday, for the boys and for Jude and me.

Sports on Earth

Saturday morning in Huntsville was hot, unfortunately.  That made it tougher on JP and the other runners in the Southern Showcase running the championship round at 9 a.m.  

The course and surrounding sports complex are impressive.  So much space.  Tennis courts,  soccer fields, and an expansive cross country course.  For spectators of the race, it's almost like a tight golf course, one where holes are side-by-side, in opposite directions.  Think Old Natchez Country Club in Franklin.  The result of the layout is that if you hustle, it's fairly easy to get to multiple vantage points on the course to see the runners.  So, that's what I did Saturday morning, so I could see JP and cheer him on as much as possible.

As I wrote earlier, it was a very fast field with runners from all over the southern and mid-eastern United States.  Schools from Pennsylvania and West Virginia sent teams, too.  It's a big race, probably the biggest of the season with over 280 runners.

JP started out fast and when I saw him early, he was in the second pack of runners, right behind the leaders.  For the first couple of miles, he ran with a tall kid from Columbus North HS (Indiana).  During the third mile, the other kid pulled away and JP was left in no man's land, running by himself, slightly ahead of what amounted to a fourth group that included Eli Wharton from Division Academy in Nashville.  He's a super kid that JP has gotten to know.  

JP held off Eli Wharton for 11th place, finishing at 15:20:81, six seconds off his PR.  It was a solid run but I think JP was mildly disappointed he hadn't run a little bit faster.  Cross county racing is a strange beast.  Eight seconds faster would have been a PR.  Eight seconds slower feels differently.  Still, 11th place out of 283 runners is something to be proud of, for sure.  I was proud of JP, of course.  

JP is going to run in Louisville, KY, on Saturday, with Gabe and Wynn.  Gabe ran a PR at 15:30, as did Wynn at 16:33.30.  JP was scheduled to go to visit Notre Dame with Jude but he wants to get another race in since the Chickasaw Trails Invitational was canceled.  I thinks it's the right decision because the way to get better at racing is to race more.  That's apparent to me.

I drove back after the race and met Joe and Jude at my office.  They had driven to Huntsville on Saturday morning to watch JP race.  We sat in my office, relaxed, and watched football on the flat screen I had put in a little more than a year ago.  We had an hour or so to kill before Joe's Saturday afternoon basketball game at TOA Courts in Cool Springs.  Joe's Bucket Squad was set to play some of his former teammates from the Stars' team he played on in the spring.  Page Middle School boys.

It was a great game.  Probably the best game I've seen this group play, coached by Thomas McDaniel.  Joe's team only had five players.  No subs.  They played hard defensively and shared the basketball as well as they every have.  What saved them was they got an early lead and hit a lot of 3's.  Somewhat, they withstood a spirited comeback attempt led by one of my all-time guys, Will, who hit multiple 3's in a real heat check game for him.  He played with Joe in the spring on his Stars' team.  A great kid who always seems a little sad.  I try to give him as much love as possible and to pump him up because I think he needs it.

Joe played a solid game defensively, making almost all of the right plays, as usual.  He turned the ball over a few times but not too many.  He had several nice assists, which is his game.  Really, a fun basketball game too watch as Joe's Bucket Squad held on for a 43-41 win.

One Saturday.  A lot of sports.

Season Opener (Again)

Last Friday evening, I drove to Decatur, AL, stayed in an Airbnb, then drove 30 minutes early Saturday morning to Oakville, AL, for JP's first cross country race of the season, the Chickasaw Trails Invitational.  

The weather didn't cooperate, however, and after a couple of lighting delays, the race was postponed.  The race organizers claimed the Lawrence Co. EMS made the decision but I have my doubts.  There's no reason that I can see that the organizers couldn't have waited an hour or two, if necessary, to see if the weather would clear off enough for the races to start.  But, that didn't happen, so I drove back home without getting to see JP race.  

Tonight, I find myself in Huntsville, AL, in another Airbnb, after driving down from Franklin after a long, crazy day at work.  Have race, will travel.  That's the life of a cross country parent.  And I love it.

Tomorrow, JP and his MBA teammates will race in the Southern Showcase.  It appears to be the biggest, most anticipated cross country race of the southern season.  There are teams from as far north as West Virginia and Pennsylvania and as far south as Miami, FL (Belen Jesuit HS, the strongest cross country program in the South year in and year out).  

MBA hasn't run in the Southern Showcase since JP has been running with the varsity.  I'm curious when they last ran here.  Before the season, JP and Gabe asked Coach Russ if the team could run in bigger races this year.  More competition.  More exposure.  They'll have both in spaces tomorrow because it's a really, really strong field.  I'm very curious to see how JP and Gabe stack up against the best of the best.  

I was nervous last Friday night.  Tonight, I'm a little more relaxed.  Really, I just want JP to run his best tomorrow.  I'm very excited for him to find out what it's like to race against some real horses.  

For now, though, time to watch a little Dodgers-Giants on my iPad and get in the rack.  Early start tomorrow.

Pre-race.

JP, Gabe, and Winn.  Classmates.

Coaches Roderick Russ and Tom Cirillo.

Gabe and JP after the warm up run, shortly before the 2025 Chickasaw Trails Invitational was postponed.

Co-Captain Jack McDaniel and his dad, Thomas.  

Team photo just before packing the tent up and heading up I65 North to Nashville.

Season Opener

After a summer of dedicated training, running and in the weight room, JP's first cross country race of the season is tomorrow morning in Oakville, Alabama.  For the third consecutive year, MBA will begin the season running in the Chickasaw Trails Invitational.  

JP's ready, I think.  I'm ready, too.  

After a busy day of work and the Williamson County Bar Luncheon, I will drive down early this evening to Decatur, Alabama, where I have an Airbnb for the night.  As near as I can tell, I will be about 30 minutes from the Oakville Indian Mounds Park.  The last couple of years I have stayed in a hotel in Decatur.  However, the selection of hotels isn't the greatest, so for this year, I thought it might be nice to stay in an Airbnb.  I prefer vacation homes to hotels any day of the week.

I am so proud of JP for how hard he has worked, really, from the beginning of June through the beginning of school a couple of weeks ago.  He's been so disciplined about his running, which is his way.  Set goals.  Follow the program.  Eat right.  Plenty of sleep.  Run.  He's driven.  Always has been.,

For the first time this summer, JP didn't play travel baseball.  It was a decision he made on his own and one that I supported.  JP's thought - and I agreed - was that he couldn't afford to miss three or four days of running for seven or eight weeks in June and July, while he was playing baseball on the weekends in Clarksville, Murfreesboro, Knoxville, etc.  Not if he wants to be ready for the cross country season and give himself the best opportunity to reach his running goals. 

When he decided last spring that he wanted to run in college, that changed things.  Again, it was something he pointed out.  I agreed with him.  As a result, his primary focus, athletically, necessarily became running.  A lot has to go right, for sure, and I realize that.  He needs to stay healthy.  He needs to perform at peak level in races.  He needs to continue to love running.  And he probably needs a little good fortune.

As always, the thing I am the most proud of when it comes to JP's running is his discipline, dedication, and courage.  Running take all of those things and he has them.  Life requires those things, too - and more - so I hope he can apply to life the lessons he has learned, and is learning, as a competitive runner.  If he can, he is going to give himself and edge that will start him down the path of independence and success.  

What I want tomorrow out of the race - what I always want - is for his hard work to be rewarded with a race day performance he feels good about and is proud of.  I want him to be happy.

Every run is a gift from God.  My run last night in the neighborhood at age 59 - three miles - was a gift.  JP's run tomorrow - his race - is also a gift.  I am grateful for these gifts, for him and for me, too.

This is JP's moment.   

Meet the Teachers on the Hill

Last night was Meet the Teachers Night at MBA, for Joe.  It's a hectic night, and a long night, as the parents rush from class to class to meet their son's seventh grade teachers, following their boys' daily class schedule.  

When I got home after work to check on the boys, I was tempted not to go.  I was tired and it had been a long day.  Jude was going, though, and I didn't want to leave her hanging, especially on a night when I was able to get home at a decent hour.  So, off I sent in the middle of a rare September early evening downpour.  

As so often happens when I attend an event at MBA, I was glad that I found the time, or made the time, to be there.  Across the board, Joe's teachers are an impressive group.  Experienced, driven, caring, involved, and available.  It's amazing, really, how high caliber the faculty is at MBA.  All top notch.  

From our first stop in Mr. Cooper's pre-algebra class to our last stop in Mr. McMurray's Roots of Modern America (History) class, I was delighted by what I heard from Joe's teachers.  We only got to spend 10 or 15 minutes with each teacher and, as the bell rang at the end of each class, I found myself wanting to stay longer and engage in a more involved, two-way conversation.  

What a really felt was an overwhelming sense of pride that my sons are student at MBA.  It's expensive and a bit of a stretch for Jude and me to send JP and Joe to school there.  My running joke that my lake house or my mountain house has gone to USN and MBA and, now, MBA, has more than a small element of truth to it.  Still, a night like last night reminds me that it's worth every penny we spend to send our sons to MBA.  Every penny.

With JP starting his fifth year at MBA - fifth year! - I'm more familiar with the school, the faculty, and the parents.  A couple of Joe's teachers - like Emmett Russell - already know me, which is nice.  In the halls, I saw other teachers and coaches I know, like Coach Dunlap, who asked me why I'd shaved my mustache.  I saw Roderick Russ, JP's cross country coach and one of my favorite people at MBA.  I feel so much more comfortable on the Hill than I did when JP first started there four years ago.

It's interesting.  Joe loves all of his teachers and I can see why.  That wasn't the case at USN.  He's being challenged academically.  It's early, of course, but he's working hard and doing well so far.  I'm proud of him.

My fervent hope is that Joe has just as positive and enriching of an experience at MBA as JP has had but that he does it his way.  Joe's experience will be different from JP's and that is it should be.  It's what I want, too.  

Two years with both boys on the Hill.  It's going to be fun.

The Dog Days Are Over

Another August is in the rear view mirror.  Thank goodness.  

The last week or so, the highs have been in the upper 80's or very low 90's, as opposed to the high 90's.  That's been a nice respite, to be sure.  The 10-day forecast shows high early in the week in the low 80's, which will be fabulous before the temperature spikes just a bit over the week into the high 80's again.  

Still, just knowing that September is officially here today, which means October is around the corner, makes me very happy.  Fall is so close I can smell it.

This weekend, it's been Joe and me on our own.  A stripped down version of Guy Town, with Jude and JP in Philadelphia visiting Penn and Villanova.  Official college visits for JP.  Wow.  Life comes at you fast, doesn't it?

I took Joe and his buddy, Sam, to the MBA football game Friday night.  It was an MBA blowout, so we left at half-time.  I grabbed the boys burgers at Burger Up after the football game.  They had a late dinner and played hockey upstairs.  No X-box, just roughhousing and playing hockey.  Old school by their choice, which was pretty cool.  

Saturday, Joe and I watched a lot of college football.  A lot.  Vols beat Syracuse.  Vanderbilt beat College of Charleston.  FSU upset Alabama as a 13 1/2 point underdog!  Ohio State beat No. 1 Texas and, in the process, made Arch Manning look pedestrian in his debut as a starter.  I made a made a high protein chicken and broccoli pasta dish in the crock pot, courtesy of the "It's Damn Good" guy on Instagram (my new culinary hero).  Tasty.

Joe and I went the Green Hills Y in the afternoon, so I could run on the treadmill and he could get some shots up.  I rebounded for him after my run and helped him with his shot.

Yesterday, Joe had a 3-on-3 basketball tournament at TOA Courts in Cool Springs.  Tough day for the home team, as the boys went 0-4.  The last game was the best game, as they lost by three to a team that had beaten them soundly in the first game.  Joe's guys made a great comeback at the end and Pike had two open 3-pointers to win it but they didn't go down.  Entertaining game to watch as I kept score at the scorer's table.

Joe didn't play particular well.  He's challenged, still, due to his height and lack of quickness, especially laterally.  It's showing up more on the basketball court as the boys hit middle school.  He's grown a little bit this summer and, hopefully, more growth is on the way.  On his team, none of the boys have hit puberty, yet, and others have, which makes it tough on all of them.  

I picked up dinner from Slice of Italy on Belcourt last night and we watched Miami beat Notre Dame in what was a pretty good football game.  I read for a while, then shut it down for the night.  

After I finish my coffee this morning at Dose, I'm going to grab Joe and get breakfast at Bongo Java, I think.  Again, old school.  

Jude and JP get home today at 1 p.m., so it will be interesting to talk to JP and see how his first college trip went.  His first cross country race of the season is this Saturday in Alabama, so it's a big week for him.

Bigger Not Better

While the transformation that has taken place at the Factory is amazing, I find myself missing the old days, especially at Honest Coffee Roasters.  It's more than tripled in size since the early days when I first became a regular, seven or eight years ago.  

Bigger not better, because Honest has the intimacy that made it special.  It feels impersonal.  The baristas turn over regularly, which leads me to believe it's likely not the best place to work any more.  It's a far cry from the days when Jacob Stillman was the manager.  He was such a kind hearted and earnest person, much like Troy at Burger Up, and everyone who worked at Honest followed his lead in how they treated each other and customers, especially regulars.  

In those days, I had a conversation with the barista while he or she made my coffee.  Anthony, Nick, Brad, Whitney, and many others.  Often times, I took the seat at the bar on the corner and watched them make coffee as I wrote in this space, read the New York Times online, or did a little work.  Honest was cozy, familiar, almost quaint.  Certainly, the space was quirky, with the giant drafting table and the roaster jammed into the shop.  Getting a seat meant it was a good day but that was two, if not three, renovations ago.  

The coffee is okay, although not nearly as good as it was in the early days.  Then, the baristas cared about making good coffee.  Now, it's more of an assembly line.  Take the order, make the coffee, call the name, all without making eye contact or engaging the customer in conversation.  That's Honest Coffee Roasters these days.  Bigger not better.

Cooler

52 degrees this morning.  I'm not going to suggest there is a hint of Fall in the air or that Fall is just around the corner because there is a week left in August.  Still, as I sit outside the Well, across from David Lipscomb, sipping my coffee and watching the David Lipscomb University students walk to their early classes, the cooler air lifts my spirits.  Maybe, just maybe, I have almost made it through another miserably hot late summer in Nashville.  If I can just get to September . . . 

As I was picking up donuts for a mediation first thing this morning, I got a call from a good lawyer friend.  He mediates a lot, as do I, obviously.  An older colleague of ours - and a good friend of mine - had a stroke a couple of weeks ago and I had not heard about, which was strange, as I'm pretty plugged in to the legal community, at least in my area of practice.  On second thought, I get it.  Everyone handles these type of things differently.  All of us, particularly in my field, have healthy egos, some more than others.  No one wants to be seen as weak or damaged, particularly not in line of work, where so much of it is about projecting confidence and reassuring clients at difficult points in their lives that things will be okay.

My friend is an amazing lawyer.  He has been a mentor not just to lawyers who work at his law firm downtown but to people like me.  In fact, he went out of his way, recently, to extend a kindness to me I will never forget.  He helped me out, professionally, at a time when I really needed his help.  He was there for me, professionally, and it meant everything.  I called him and thanked him one day for what he had done for me but I didn't find the time to write him.  I damn sure will now.

Life is fleeting and precious.  Mornings like this are to be savored.  Clear blue sky.  The first of the cool temperatures.  A hot cup of coffee.  College students talking and laughing.  Joe at breakfast with Dr. Daughtrey at MBA and JP with a 5k time trial today at Vaughns Gap.  A day of challenging and intellectually stimulating work ahead.  A law firm to run.  Clients to help.

It all goes by so fast, doesn't it.  

It's a damn short movie.  How'd we ever get here?

James McMurtry ("Just Us Kids")

It's All Happening

It's all happening.

- Penny Lane (Almost Famous)

Last week was rough at work for a variety of reasons.  Covered up, as usual.  The sudden and unexpected departure of my legal assistant who, as is turns out, didn't learn a thing about being honest, ethical, and professional that I spent a year and a half trying to teach her.  New people starting, which actually is a good thing.  Still, it adds to my responsibilities at the office.  

I had a deposition all day yesterday, although we broke so I could participate in a Zoom hearing on a motion I filed in a different case.  It's a lot and next week is more of the same.  Mediations Monday and Tuesday, a hearing on Thursday with an attorney I detest, and so it goes.  When my day at work wound down, at last, I was exhausted.  Spent.

To my surprise and delight, one the ride home I got a telephone call from a teacher who taught the boys at Children's House (Montessori school) so many, many years ago.  I was on the board for several years and, later, served a board president.  The six or seven year run we had, with our boys, at Children's House were maybe the best years of my life.  Uncomplicated times.  I love those days with my whole heart.  I drive by Children's House almost every day and, every time, I smile as I pass by and recall our time there. 

It' been seven years, by my count, since Joe left Children's House.  After talking with her for a half hour, it's apparent that a lot has changed there, mostly due to the pandemic.  Much like what happened at University School, some longtime traditions that went on hiatus during the pandemic never returned.  At USN, it was Grandparents' Day and the Fourth Grade Operetta.  Similarly, at Children's House, annual events that brought alumni and grandparents to the school, to visit, are no longer, which is a shame.  The result, at both schools, I think, is a loss of community.  

Part of the problem is generational.  Younger teachers at both schools simply do not want to put in the extra time, after hours, to organize and attend an annual event for the school.  They see teaching as a job.  A means to an end and not a profession or a true calling.  Those type of attitudes among younger people are not endemic to teachers, not by any means.  I see it in my office, too.  I am completely comfortable generalizing when I say that younger people - probably 35 and younger - have little or no capacity to see the big picture and work within an organization for something greater than themselves.  It's complete self-absorption that prevents them from going above and beyond what is required. 

Do the bare minimum.  That seems to be the mantra of every person 35 and younger.  Life revolves around me.  That's the second mantra.

I digress.  It was so nice to talk to the boys' former teacher and to get caught up.  As I told her, every success JP and Joe have had is, in part, because of what they learned and who they became in those formative years at Children's House, ages 3 - 6.  Outside of Jude and me, the faculty and staff at Children's House, along with Carley Meade, were the two biggest influences on my boys' lives when they were younger.  

When I arrived home, still smiling after my long telephone conversation, I got a text from Maureen, our next-door-neighbor.  She asked if we could stop boy to say goodbye to Erin, who was leaving for college at Barnard College in New York City Saturday morning.  Wow.  I knew that day was coming and that, well, it was very close, but still.  I mean, wow. 

When we moved in next door, Erin was, probably eight or nine years old.  We've watched her grow up into an intelligent, interesting, precocious, and beautiful young lady.  Actually, she was all of those things from the very first day we met her.  Simply put, she's one of the most impressive young people, male of female, I've ever had in my life on a regular basis.  She is destined to be a rock star in life.  No question about it. She's so talented and smart.  

Erin gives new meaning to the term, well rounded, as she's a great student, an accomplished singer and actress, a burgeoning political activist who cares deeply about the world and her place in it.  Early on, not long after we moved into our house on Linden Avenue, I said she would be President one day.  I still believe that.  Erin is that singularly talented.  I'm so proud of her and excited for her, as she leaves for the New York City to begin life as college student.

My friends and neighbors, Scott and Liz Holly were out walking their dog as I visited with Erin in front of her house, so they got to tell Erin goodbye and good luck, as well.  It was nice to catch up with them for minute or two.  

I walked inside and, still in my jacket and tie from work, poured myself a bourbon.  With Jude and the boys gone to MBA's football opener against Pearl Cohn (a 17 - 14 win for the Big Red), the house was dark and quiet.  Perfect after the week I had at work.  I went upstairs to my office, sat in my favorite red chair in the corner by my desk, and sipped my bourbon in the dark.  No music.  No lights.  No distraction.  Just a few minutes of solitude that I desperately needed.

As I sat in the dark, unwinding, I got a text from JP.  He had just learned that he'd been elected co-captain of the cross country team this season.  Normally, captains are elected at camp and that hadn't happened a few weeks ago, so he had assumed there might not be captains this year.  As a result, this was an unexpected surprise and something that means a great deal to him.

It's an honor and on that is deserved from my vantage point.  JP has worked so hard this summer.  No baseball, no distractions, just running all summer long.  He's sacrificed.  He's been disciplined.  He's been dedicated.  That's who he is.  To see him recognized as a co-captain, as a junior, is very special.  

His co-captain?  Jack McDaniel, a senior and good friend.  Jack and JP went to Children's House together and were in the same class and best friends in those days.  Full circle?  I think so.

It's all happening.

End of Summer

So, as it turns out, summer isn't endless after all.  Not even for 13 and 17 year old boys.  I wonder if summer went by as quickly for Joe and JP as it did for me.  It's still hatefully hot as hell, of course, because it's mid-August in Nashville but today is the boy's last day of summer, as school starts at MBA on Monday.   

All in all, it's been a pretty good summer.  Busy enough for the boys that we couldn't slip away to Santa Rosa Beach, FL, for a family vacation, which is unfortunate.  JP's eight day trip to Boulder, CO, to train at altitude with Samuel Trumble and Joe's three weeks at Woodberry Forest Sports Camp dominated our summer calendar.  Jude had an annual work trip to D.C., too, that knocked out a week on the calendar.  Other, smaller events for the boys or us conspired to keep our family in Nashville for the summer.  

This morning, I was up early, as was JP.  Jude and Joe were sleeping in just bit.  JP is off to cross country practice this morning, putting the work in, as he's done all summer long.  I admire his dedication and discipline.  He's got big goals for the upcoming cross country season and I hope he reached them.  I really do.

After registration at MBA on Wednesday, Joe and his seventh grade class had a day trip to Long Mountain.  He didn't get home last night until almost 9:30 p.m. and he was exhausted after a day filled with team building activities and a long, long bus ride home.  Apparently, there was an accident on I-24 which closed it down at one point and his bus got caught in the ensuing traffic jam.  According to Joe, there was a lot of silliness on the bus.  Singing, joking around, standing up, and farting.  Sounds about right for a group fo seventh grade boys, doesn't it?

I feel like I've seen less of JP this summer, which is normal, I guess.  He's been more social or so it seems to me, which I think is tremendous.  He's been spending a lot of time on the golf course or at the driving range, just hitting golf balls, which I love.  I think golf is a sport that suits his personality and one that he can play for a lifetime.  He played 18 holes at Harpeth Hills yesterday, nine with Jack McDaniel and 18 with Winn Humphreys.  He's looking for a game today, too, after cross country practice. My goal is to get Joe into golf, as well.  

I ran three miles in the neighborhood last night, heat and humidity be damned.  It was nice to get a run in, outside, on one of my old school routes.  I ran by the old house on Elliott Avenue, which I almost hate to do because it's so hard to see our front yard missing the 80 year old maple tree missing after the bitch (yes, I said it) that bought the house from us cut it down for no reason.  It kills me that she did that.   

A lot of change at work.  Doug Smith started as an associate attorney yesterday.  I've needed help in a big way since Andrea left a year ago, so this hiring was long overdue.  Rachel leaves in two weeks, which is going to be tough for me, personally and professionally.  I've grown fond of her after a bit of a bumpy start, at times, and she's improved by leaps and bounds.  Somehow, I think our paths may cross again professionally, as often happens with staff in our office when they leave.  I think I'm going to close the deal today on a new hire to replace Rachel, so there's that.

As the sign in Mark's office says - and has said for almost 30 years - Change is inevitable.  Growth is optional.  Don't I know it.

I've got a mediation today.  One of my own cases.  I would be shocked if it settled.  We'll see.  

Then, it's on to the final weekend of summer.  Jude and Joe are going to USN's middle school musical, so it will JP and me, tougher, unless he has plans.  Life with two teenagers!

Seth Mattews, an old softball teammate, friend, and former client walked into the office this week.  What a treat to see him.  

From Joe Time to Joe on the Hill

Today is the day childhood officially ended for Joe.  I'm nostalgic and a little sad, for sure.  

I helped him tie his maroon J.Crew tie in front of the mirror in our bathroom.  It's a little long but it will work.  He put on a navy jacket and just like that, Joe was wearing a coat and tie for the first time in his life.  If that doesn't signal the end of childhood, I don't know what does.  The boy who doesn't own a pair of blue jeans put on a coat and tie today.

Joe played Avett Brothers, It's the Beaches, on Alexa, and sat down on one of the barstools in the kitchen to catch his breath.  I wonder what he was thinking in that quiet, contemplative moment.  Was her nervous?  Excited?  A little of both, probably.  

I wonder if he realizes he's at the beginning of something.  A new stage in his life.  One that will fly by, although it won't seem like it at times, particularly when he's doing homework and studying for tests nights after night.  The grind is coming but good times, too.  Plenty of good times and memories to be made.

The front doorbell rang and when I went to the door, there was Henry, Joe's big brother.  In a longstanding tradition at MBA, he was at our house to drive Joe to registration, his first official day of school at MBA.  

It was a moment I'll remember, to be sure, to see Henry, a confident, poised senior in a golf shirt a shorts, standing next to Joe, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, wearing a coat and tie.  

The awkwardness at dressing up will go away, of course.  JP throws on a coat and tie for Honor's Council meetings multiple times a week to the point that it's like putting on shorts and a t-shirt.  That's part of the point, I guess.  To teach young men to dress and act like gentleman.  

Gentleman.  Scholar.  Athlete.

I hope Joe loves MBA as much as JP does and I hope his experience there is similarly rewarding.  I have to remind myself, regularly, that Joe is not JP.  His path at MBA, and in life, is going be different from JP's path, and I know that.  Jude and I have been very intentional about reminding Joe that his experience at MBA will be his own.  We expect him to have the same work ethic as JP but we don't expect the same results.  

Only yesterday, or so it seems, Joe and I had "Joe Time" every morning.  After Jude took JP to University School, Joe and I had about an hour together every morning.  Sometimes, we watched Daniel Tiger on PBS.  Other times, we went to Bongo Java for "second breakfast."  Most of the time, though, we went to Belmont and played on campus.  We played football in the atrium of the Curb Center, while students smiled at laughed as they walked by us, Joe chasing me into our makeshift end zone.  Those days were the best.

Joe Time.

After we hung out together, I dropped him off at Children's House, a oasis in our family's life.  It was a simple, beautiful time in our lives.  

I know I'll write more about Joe's transition to MBA in the weeks and months to come.  But for today, he's there.  On the Hill.  The beginning.

Peace

Sunday morning, I woke up, showered, and drove a couple of minutes over to the 8 a.m. service at All Saints Chapel. It's one of my favorite churches.  It was the last Eucharistic Service of the weekend for the Episcopal Laymen's Conference, which explained why there was a relatively large contingent of churchgoers on a random, late summer Sunday morning, mostly men.  

This conference is a big deal for the Episcopal Church in Tennessee.  The bishops from two of the three dioceses were present.  Phoebe Alison Roaf, the bishop from the West Tennessee Diocese, gave the sermon.  She was tremendous.  As I listened, raptly, to her, I was reminded of recently retired Father Dexter Brewer from Christ the King.  

What I felt as I sat in the beautiful church on this mountain that means so much to me was an overwhelming sense of peace.  For that one hour and change on Sunday morning in mid-August 2025, I was where I was supposed to be.  Where I was meant to be.  It felt right, somehow.  

After church I had breakfast at the Blue Chair.  As I walked in, I immediately noticed things looked different.  I learned that longtime owner Jimmy Wilson had sold majority interest in the Blue Chair to a restaurant owner out of Tullahoma.  I peaked into the bar and saw it has been renovated.  Flat screen televisions are on the walls, now, and an actual long bar has been installed.  Progress, I guess, although I hope nothing is lost when the new owner renovates the restaurant side.

I worked for a while Sunday afternoon, then went for a trail run on the Lake Dimmick Trail.  Every run I get on the trail is special because it's one of my favorite trail runs.  Actually, it's probably my favorite trail run.  Although the temperature was in the low '80's, it was quite humid.  Still, I ran under a canopy of trees the entire way, so it wasn't too bad.  My musical accompaniment was the Drive-by Truckers second to last album, American Band (2016).  Great album.  

After my run, I worked some more, then had a bourbon on the back deck while I read a new book I picked up by Garrison Keillor, Boom Town (2022).  He's amazing, of course, a modern day Mark Twain in so many ways.  Reading about Lake Wobegon, I can almost hear Garrison speaking the words to me, like an extended version of his storytelling in the old day son Prairie Home Companion.  

Later, I picked up diner at Shenanigan's and watched part of Magnolia, on Rachel's (Oglesby) recommendation.  Weird movie, in a Robert Altman kind of way.

Now, I'm finishing my coffee, sitting outside at Stirling's Coffee House, on a wicker couch.  It's the same place I sat on Friday morning, as I wrote in this space.

Four days and nights on the Mountain (one night, technically, in a yurt).  I've never needed it more and I don't think I've ever enjoyed it more.

I worked, read a lot, listen to music, slept in a yurt, saw Drive-by Truckers in a cave, ran, hiked Abbo's Alley, drank an excellent red wine, sipped by favorite bourbon, contemplated life, attended church at All Saints Chapel, watched a movie, ate well and probably too much, saw a lot of deer, and watched a hummingbird on the back deck just a couple of feet away from me.  

Most of all, I unwound, relaxed, and recharged.

Strange Days

I'm feeling contemplative, philosophical even, as I sit in the living room of the Florida Avenue house I am quickly growing to love, as I sip a glass of red wine and listen to my favorite R.E.M. song, Gardening at Night.  

Since the death of my high school classmate, David Easterling, last fall I can't listen to R.E.M. without thinking of him.  He was on R.E.M. early, before anyone else in our group.  If fact, I named this Spotify playlist "Dave's Driver 8," in his honor.  

Sometimes, when I stop to think about it, it's unfathomable how different life is now compared to 25 years ago, when I was 34.  At age 34, I would have laughed in your fact if you had told me what life would be like when I was 59.  We take so many things for granted, today, that it's easy to forget how different, and in many ways, easier, or lives are today than in the past. 

For better or worse, almost everything I need I can hold in the palm of my hand when my iPhone is in it.  I can call anyone in the world.  I can surf the internet.  I can look at photographs I've taken over the past 15 years.  I can find the answer to, quite literally, any question that pops in my head.  I can send messages or photographs to my family, friends, and clients. 

Not only can I pay for anything I buy with my iPhone, courtesy of the Covid-19 pandemic, I can order virtually anything and, often times, it will arrive within hours, courtesy of Amazon.  I have refused to cross the rubicon and order food from my iPhone but I might be the last remaining holdout.  

Right now, I'm typing on a laptop that's connected to the internet in a house I booked online, person-to-person, through Airbnb.  I'm listening to music that I'm streaming from Spotify on my iPhone, which is connected by Bluetooth to a portable speaker across the room.  Quite literally, I have a jukebox in my hand, one I pay a monthly subscription for (Spotify) yet, somehow, it pays artists next to nothing when their songs are played by people like me.  

Earlier, I was reading a Walter Mosley book on my iPad.  I purchased it, online from Amazon, and magical dowloaded to the Kindle App on my iPad.  It's in my Kindle library, along with close to 150 other titles.  Oh, and by the way, I turn the pages of the Walter Mosley book, which doesn't exist in any physical form, my moving my fingertips across the screen of my iPad.  

Don't forget, too, that I can place a bet on almost any game, sporting event, or proposition by using the FanDuel App on, what else, my iPhone.  

I could go on and on and on.

I mean, really, what in the hell would 34 year old Phil Newman think about all of this?!?

And don't get me started on AI, which its own thing.  

Strange days indeed.

Contentment

I'm sitting in a Yurt in Pelham, Tennessee, sipping a bourbon on a big rock - Calumet Farm 15, of course - listening to Drive-By Truckers and about to read a little Garrison Keillor (Boom Town, A Lake Wobegon Novel).  In a little while, I'll walk up a lighted trail through the woods to the Caverns, so I can watch Deer Tick, followed by Drive-By Truckers.  In a cave.

My friend and former client, Todd Mayo, owns the Caverns.  After I texted him to thank him for getting me tickets, he called and asked if I wanted to stand in the Pit, up close, where he will be.  Of course I do.  

I don't think I've been content, and happier, than I am at this exact moment in a very, very long time.  

Sometimes I think that you grind through life, through all of the ups and downs, all of the mundanity, in search of those moments like this one that are so precious, so few and far between.  The pearls of a lifetime.  The perfect yet fleeting moments that are so hard to find and even harder to hold onto.  So few in number but so incredibly significant.  

I was so comfortable working from the house on Florida Avenue in Sewanee yesterday and today.  I almost didn't make the 25 minute drive down the Mountain to the Caverns.  Seeing the Truckers in the Caverns was my whole reason for coming up here when I reached out to Todd about tickets months ago and booked a night in a Yurt, in The Yurt Village.  I'm so damn glad I'm here.  

I don't want this moment, this very one, to ever end.  

I'm so blessed.  The best family.  A wife and sons I love with my whole heart.  In-laws that are like my own parents.  Friends.  A job that provides for my family and challenges me intellectually.  The respect of my colleagues and peers.  Clients that depend on me.  Books to read.  The ability to run.  Relatively good health, all things considered at 59.  God is so good.  

This is what contentment feels like.  So elusive but so very special when you find it, even if it's just for a stolen moment or two.

   

Back on the Mountain

The Mountain restores my soul.

It sounds overly dramatic and maybe it is.  Still, as I sit outside on the porch at Stirling's Coffee House at 8 a.m., temperature in the high 60's, sipping my coffee, it's absolutely the way I feel.  In spite of the fact that I have a full day of remote work ahead of me back at the house on Florida Avenue, I feel relaxed.  At peace, as I listen to a couple of women sitting around the corner, talking quietly and drinking coffee.  Thanks to the open service window, I can hear the Sewanee students working in the kitchen at Stirling's, talking and laughing. 

It's so peaceful, here, watching the birds and gazing out at the trees surrounding the porch at Stirling's.  Sewanee is just now waking up, it seems, on a sleepy, late summer day on campus.  Fall semester doesn't start for a couple of weeks, so campus is relatively deserted, at least compared to what it will look like when all of the students arrive.  I love it up here this time of year.  Actually, I love it up here every time of year. 

A pleasant, early morning breeze tickles my skin, reminding me, perhaps, that fall is within sight, so though still quite a distance away.  It doesn't feel like early August this morning, which is part of the reason I am here.  The bells are ringing at All Saints' Chapel for reasons unbeknownst to me.  Maybe they're welcoming me back . . . home.  I could sit here forever.

I worked all afternoon yesterday at the house, as it rained outside.  For no apparent reason, I listen to Springsteens' "Born to Run" (1975).  Poetry set to music.  A little after 5 p.m., I went for a run, past the football field, the baseball field, the equestrian complex, and back to the house.  I didn't feel great and the run was a struggle but I got it done.  That seems to be the pattern for me this year as it relates to running.  Get the three miles in, a little slower than in the past, but get it in.

The house on Florida Avenue is very short walk away from the football field and the Fowler Center, which the boys would love.  I hadn't realized that when I arrived yesterday because I drove from the other end of Florida Avenue.  It's also the same short walk to the trailhead for Abbo's Alley, which Jude would love.  It's one of her favorite, easy nature walks.  It runs right through the heart of campus.  I might even walk it later.  

After a glass or two of a fabulous red wine that I hadn't run across in a while - Hamel Family Wines - I drove a few through Sewanee Village to Judith Tavern for a late dinner.  I read the New Yorker on my iPad while I ate, which was a perfect way for me to unwind.  When I got back to the house, I finished reading "Think Twice" on my iPad.  It's the latest Harlen Coben plot driven thriller from the Myron Bolitor series.  One of my old favorites.  

And, I guess, that's what this weekend is about for me.  A chance to unwind.  To recharge my batteries.  To regain my sense of perspective about work, about family, about . . . life.  I need to get re-centered.  I plan to go to church on Sunday at All Saints' Chapel so, hopefully, that will help.  Losing Lance Jennings knocked off my equilibrium.  I knew he was going to die but when it happened, suddenly, it jilted my sensibilities in a way.  For what I hope will be a short time, I lost my sense of perspective.  

To quote John Mellencamp's album (1980), "Nothin' Matters and What if it Did?"  That's kind of the way I've felt the last couple of weeks.  

Now, I'm watching a middle aged couple across from me who have set up shop, waiting for their coffee.  They've pulled two circular tables together, opened up their laptops, and are engrossed in a conversation about . . . what?  Funding and operating a non-profit, maybe?  Him, stickers on his laptop, baseball cap, beard, and tattoos, wearing flip-flops.  Her, hiking boots, but off denim shorts, and a Carley Meade style bottle of water, undoubtedly filled from her tap at home.  

People at Sewanee are interesting.  Students, professors, locals, visitors.  They just are.  

It's almost 9 a.m. now.  Time to get up, make the two minute drive back to the house, and get to work.  After all, I'm an Attorney in Residence, at least for yesterday and today.  

Tomorrow and Sunday are for me.

Away

Today, I am driving to Sewanee, where I have booked a house on campus for a long weekend.  I missed my trip to Bonnaroo for the second year in a row, which usually is my getaway.  I realized I need this time away, desperately, so I am going to take it.  I am burned out and generally down, and I think a change of scenery will help.  I hope it will, anyway.

Work is chaotic.  My assistant, Rachel,. is leaving the end of the month to move to Minneapolis.  That's going to be a huge loss.  Once again, I spend a year or more training someone only to have them leave, as a result of which someone else gets the benefit of the time I put in with them.  C'est la vie.  

To her credit, Rachel has handled her departure well by giving me three months notice that she really, really wanted to get out of Nashville.  I am not sure she is running to something as much as running away from something but it is not my decision to a make, obviously.  Plus, she's 30, single, so there is no time like now to try something different.  I am proud of her, very much so, for taking a chance.  I want it to go well for her and, most importantly, I want her to have a happy and fulfilling life.  

I have a new associate starting next week.  I need the help, of course, but training someone will slow me down for sure.  That's just part of it, though.  I also enjoy the mentoring part of practicing law, too.  A lot, actually.  My concern, of course, is getting a new legal assistant hired, and having her start, at the same time a new associate is starting.  I am not sure how I am going to pull that off.  

My plan is not to take today and tomorrow off from work.  Rather, I am going to work from Sewanee.  I already was going to be at the Caverns, in Pelham, Tennessee, just down the road from Sewanee, on Friday night.  I have tickets to see Deer Tick and Drive By Truckers play Friday night, which I am incredibly excited about.  My friend and former client, Todd Mayo, owns the Caverns, and he set me up with tickets several months ago when the show was announced.  

So, my plan is to work, read, run on the Mountain Goat Trail, have coffee at Stirling's on campus, eat dinner at Judith one night, hopefully, and breathe in the Monteagle Mountain air.  Perhaps I will have a bourbon or glass of wine, too.  What I really want is a little quietude and some time alone.  A few days . . . away. 

The Simple Things

I live in a world where Jude and I work extremely hard, in often stressful jobs, so we can send our boys to the best schools; play too expensive travel sports; get lessons and private coaching; travel; and got out to eat or pick up take out food (too much).  We're not rich, not by a long shot, but I guess we're comfortable.

Still, what is amazing, and fun, is that often time, it's the simple things that bring us the most joy.

Recently, for no particular reason, Joe and I started playing Fruit Ninja on my iPad again.  It's a simple - there's that word again - game that's been around forever.  You hold the iPad and fruit flies up from the bottom of the screen.  With your finger actions a Samurai sword of sorts, you slice the fruit.  What you cannot do is mistakenly slice a bomb when it flies up, because if you do, it's game over. 

We've played this game in the past but suddenly, at the end of the last real summer of Joe's childhood, he and I started playing it again.  Sure enough, Jude soon joined us, as did JP.  The past week or so, many nights at bedtime, all four of us lay on our bed, taking turns playing Fruit Ninja.  It's silly and it's simple.  

And it's beautiful.  

All of us compete for the high score.  Joe and I compete against each other left handed.  In fact, he broke my all time scoring record, last night, playing left handed.  Bragging rights for the night!  

In a way, it reminds me of the halcyon days early in the pandemic when Jude and I competed against JP and Joe, in a variety of events, in the Family Olympics.  Jude kept score on the white board in our den, the one she uses, now, to detail all of the scheduled family activities each week.  Connect Four, Around the World, etc.

Even better, on Saturday morning after a rare night as empty nesters, Jude and I were laying in bed, talking.  We started laughing about how she and I used to play a pinball game on my iPad in the old house, before (we thought) JP was born.  I knew the pinball game had a Wild West, cowboy theme.  I looked for it in Apple's App Store and, sure enough, there it was!  I downloaded it on to my current iPad and we were off to the races.  

Jude quickly outscored me.  I seemed to remember she was better at the pinball game then me.  By Sunday, Joe was playing it, and JP, too!  All of us competing against each other.  All of us laying in our bed together, playing pinball.  

And, by the way, I have the current high score at 3,000,000 +.  

One Too Many

Where to begin?

My longtime friend, Lance Jennings, died this week of pancreatic cancer.  I'm absolutely gutted.  This one really, really hurts.  I went to visitation yesterday morning in Murfreesboro and spoke briefly to his wife, Pam.  Tears in my eyes, I told her how sorry I was, that I had been praying for Lance and their family, and that I would continue to do so.  I hugged her, then left with the heaviest of hearts.

Lance and his company, ICS, have handled all of our IT (Information Technology) work at the office for more than 25 years.  As a result, Lance has been part of the fabric of my professional life.  An important part, really, because in this day and age, our server, computers, network, etc. are critically important parts of our office.  I might go weeks without seeing or talking to Lance until there was a problem.  Like magic, he would materialize at the office with a solution as soon as I called.  Smiling.  Always smiling.

20 + years ago, when my partners and I bought the building that houses our law practice, Lance (and ICS) wired it, purchased all of our equipment, set up our server and network, and installed our desktops and docking stations for those of us using laptops.  It was a huge - and very important - project for Mark, Chas, and me, and Lance was there with us, in the trenches, every step of the way.  

Over the years, he was our Winston Wolf (Harvey Keitel's character in Pulp Fiction).  Whenever we had a computer-related problem at the office, I made a telephone call, and Lance was on-site within hours.  Quickly, he found a solution or a workaround that kept our office running, sometimes until he could find a permanent solution.  

Once I was at the office over a weekend, working, probably getting ready for a trial.  While walking to get coffee at Frothy Monkey behind our office in downtown Franklin, I set my backpack down in the alley while I made a quick telephone call.  Somehow, with my back turned, a car clipped my backpack and smashed my laptop to the point it was inoperable.  Later, when I realized what hap happened, I was panic stricken.  How could I work the rest of weekend?

I called Lance and very quickly, he had a solution.  On a Saturday evening, he drove from Murfreesboro to our office, brought me a loaner laptop, connected it to our network, and I was off to the races.  Smiling.  Always smiling.  Who does that?  

A friend, that's who.  A dear friend who cares about you and your professional success.  A friend who wants to relieve stress in your life and make things easier for you.  A friend who wants to make you smile.  

I could probably recount at least 10 more stories just like that one, more if I polled the office.  But that's not what I am going to miss with Lance's passing.

What I am going to miss, most of all, is his friendship.  For me, Lance was one of those rare people in my life who, when I interacted with him at work, I always ended up smiling, happier, and in a better mood that I was before I saw him.  For example, if I was walking down the hall in the office after a difficult client meeting, lost in thought, and I ran into Lance, working on site, I immediately started smiling.  Just like that, whatever I was worrying about was gone, as Lance and I fell into our comfortable routine of joking with each other, talking politics, etc.  Smiling, both of us, the entire time.  Always smiling.  

I think that's what I will miss the most.  Those unplanned, unexpected interludes during a hectic and often stressful workday, when I turn around and, like magic, Lance is there.  Smiling.  Always smiling.  

Lance was very private about his illness.  The last time I talked with him on the telephone was shortly after his diagnosis.  After that, when I called, he didn't answer, so I texted him.  He almost always immediately responded to text messages with one of his own.  And that was fine.  As I told him, he didn't owe me anything.  He needed to handle his illness the way he needed to handle.  I just wanted him to know I was thinking about him and praying for him, every day.  And he knew that.  

Not too long after his diagnosis and beginning of treatment, he texted me a photograph of him parachuting.  A tandem jump.  "I did a thing," the message said.  In the photo, Lance was smiling, which is how I will remember him.  Smiling.  Always smiling.

A couple of months ago, I was working at the office on a Saturday morning.  I was in the front conference room when I heard the back door of the office open and close.  Weird, I thought, because I was the only only in the office.  I walked down the hall and opened up the back door.  There, parked behind the office, was Lance in his Tesla.  I knocked on the driver's side window, which startled him, I think.

Lance got out of the car and came back inside to sit down in my office.  For the last time, we sat and talked, probably for 45 minutes or so.  Unlike most of our conversations, this one, at times, was more serious.  We talked candidly about his illness.  We talked about his family and mine.  He loved his family and absolutely hated the pain his illness caused them, especially his wife, Pam.  We talked about life.  We smiled and laughed, too, although not as much as we normally would when we are together.   

Most of all, we said goodbye to each other.  I knew it was the last time I would see him.  He knew it, too, although we left it unspoken.  When he got up to leave, I hugged him and told him I loved him.  It was the kind of poignant, intimate moment with my friend I'll treasure for the rest of may life.  I was saying goodbye to my friend.

Seeing Lance that day in my office was a blessing for me.  A gift from God.  I believe that.  I got to tell guy friend thank you, that I loved him, that I was praying for him.  I got to tell him goodbye.  

Life is so damn hard and unfair sometimes.  Lance left behind Pam, a wife he loved, four children, and by my count, 11 grandchildren.  He was only 55 years old.  This one hurts so badly.  

Godspeed, Lance.  I will miss you, my friend.        

Forever Young

Ryne Sandberg died this week, too young, at age 65.  Prostate cancer.  So sad and so hard to believe.

Hall of Fame MLB player (2005).  10 time MLB All-Star, 9 time Gold Glove winner at second base, and 8 time Silver Slugger award winner.  Without question, one of the best second baseman of all time.  A stellar defensive second baseman with surprising power at the late.  He won an MVP award in 1984.  

Always a quiet, unassuming player, Sandberg was the consummate Chicago Cub during his 15 season with the club (1982 - 1987).  In 1984, the year he won the MVP he led the Cubs to the playoffs for the first time since 1945, he hit .314 with 200 hits, 19 home runs, 84 RBI, 19 triples, and 32 stolen bases.  At the time, it was one of the best offensive seasons ever for a second baseman.

For me, Ryne Sandberg was forever young.  I feel like I lost part of my youth with his dying.  Why?  I'll explain.

In the late 1970's and early 1980's, Because there was no internet, no smart phones, and no MLB Network, a true baseball fan like me got all of his baseball news from the box scores int he Tennessean or the Nashville Banner, my weekly issue of The Sporting News or, to a lesser extent, Sports Illustrated.  There was very little baseball on television other than the Game of the Week.  For highlights, there was This Week in Baseball.  

I'm not sure when we got cable television in our house, but I'm guessing it was 1979 or 1980.  Suddenly, I could watch the Atlanta Braves on TBS, the New York Mets on WOR, or the Chicago Cubs on WGN.  For a baseball nut like me, this was heaven on earth.  Best of all, the Cubs played only day games, so every day in the summer, I could watch them early and mid-afternoons.  It was perfect.

Ryne Sandberg arrived in Chicago from the Phillies in 1982 in one of the most lopsided MLB trades of all time.  Ryne Sandberg and Larry Bowa for Ivan DeJesus.  Sandberg was young, tall, ruggedly handsome, and quickly became a superstar for the Cubs.  Batting second in the lineup, behind center fielder Bobby Dernier, he became part of "the Daily Double," a moniker invented by the Cubs' iconic announcer, Harry Caray.

Everything came together in the spring and summer of 1984, as the Cubs streaked to the division title it the National League East.  They finished 96 - 65 and I swear, it seems like I watched everyone of their games on television.  The Dodgers were still my team but I fell in love with that Cubs' squad in large part because I was able to watch them every day on WGN.  

So many of the Cubs' players, like Ryne Sandberg were young.  I was, too, as I turned 18 years old that summer.  Everything was so new.  Baseball games on cable television every day?!?  The Cubs on the way to their first division title in 39 years.  It was all so exciting. 

Anything was possible.  For the Cubs and, of course, for me.

In many ways, it was an endless summer, the last one for me.  I was working the night shift at Wal-Mart, partly because it allowed me to sleep in and wake up in time to watch the Cubs' home games on television.  17 years old and working the night shift?  Why not? 

Everything changed, of course, as my friends started to drift off to college at the end of the summer.  Neil to Vanderbilt.  Jay to University of Virginia.  Doug to Auburn.  Me, and so many other, to the University of Tennessee in Knoxville.  I didn't know it then but things would never be as simple, as innocent, as they were in the summer of 1984. 

It seems like every time I watched a Cubs' game that summer that Ryne Sandberg was getting an extra base hit in a key situation.  A home run or a triple.  Or turning a key double play, as Harry Caray shouted "Cubs Win!  Cubs Win!" It was, to be sure, a magical summer for the Cubs.  

As summer ended, I packed for college.  My mom and my next door neighbor, Warren Gilley, moved me to Knoxville.  He was like a second father to me, gone so many years now.  Later, he told me buy mom cried all the way back to Cookeville after they dropped me off and helped me unload my belongings into my room on the ground floor of Reese Hall.  

As I began going to classes on the Hill and adjusted to life on my own for the first time, the Cubs kept winning.  They clinched the division and played the San Diego Padres in the first round of the National League Playoffs.  No doubt, this was the year the Cubs were going to break the curse and win their first World Series title since 1908.  It was going to happen.

The Cubs took a 2 - 0 lead in the best of five game series.  I still remember, like yesterday, that someone in Reese Hall made a sign out of making tape in their dorm room window after the second game of the division series.  

"GO CUBS!  WIN ONE MORE!"

As any Cubs' fan knows, the Padres swept the Cubs in the last three games of the division series, then lost in the World Series to Kirk Gibson and the Detroit Tiger, in five games.  

The guys in the dorm room left that damn sign up all year long.  By winter time, the making tape had faded but it was still there, sadly.  As I trudge through the Presidential Courtyard on my way to class in the bitter cold, I would look up and see the sign, a reminder of what could have been.  A reminder of what should have been.  

For me, Ryne Sandberg always has remained frozen in time. 24 years old in the summer of 1984.  He had his whole life ahead of him.  I had my whole life ahead of me.  Nothing could stop him, or me.  Certainly not age or illness.  Ryne Sandberg and I were going to live forever.  

Now, so many years later, I've learned that nothing lasts forever.  

I'm older, obviously.  My mom has been gone more than five years.  I've lost friends and colleagues, too.  

And this week, I lost a part of my youth, and innocence - maybe the last part - when Ryne Sandberg died at age 65.  

Farewell, Ryno.