Memories of Baseball (Vol. 1)

Recently, Thomas McDaniel and I had a telephone conversation, followed by an e-mail exchange, about how much we have enjoyed coaching our sons and their friends over the years.  Thomas in basketball with Pike, Joe, and their crew, and me in baseball, first with JP and, later Joe.  

The Bucket Squad and the Dodgers.  It was quite a run for both teams.  

I have been feeling especially nostalgic lately, as Pike, Joe, and their teammates have begun to wind down their time playing together on the Bucket Squad.  More and more, I have found myself missing my baseball coaching days tremendously.  Right about now, we would be in the middle of all-star baseball, playing every weekend at a quaint old ballpark in another small town.  Donelson.  Mt. Juliet.  Lawrenceburg.  Lewisburg.  I loved every one of those ballparks.  We'd be practicing two or three days a week, too.  All baseball, all the time. 

My friend, Audrey, sent me a photo of her son, Huck and Joe, with me, after the boys won an all-star tournament title in Donelson.  They played for Scott McRae, who died this winter, far too young.  I love the photo.  Huck and Joe are so happy and so innocent, as they point their championship rings toward the camera.  

I telephone Audrey after she sent me the photo to thank her for it.  I told her how much I had enjoyed coaching Huck.  One of my all-time favorites.  Emotional but, damn, he cared so much . . .  about how he played and how the team performed.  I'll take a kid who is emotional and cares every time, because that's coachable.  I can teach him how to dial it back but it's much more difficult to teach him to care and to compete.  

Audrey told me that on several occasions, she has overheard Huck telling his travel baseball teammates on the Redbirds, "Coach Phil would never let that happen."  Or, "here's how Coach Phil would do it."  

I mean, damn.  That made me so happy.  

All the practices in the spring, summer, and fall of years past.  All the baseball games.  All the e-mails to parents.  All the conversations with my assistant coaches.  It was all worth it.  Every single second I spent coaching baseball.  All of it.  It was all worth it.

I only wish I could do it again.  

Maybe it's the time of year or the fact that a couple of weeks ago, I watched so many of the boys I coached graduate from high school.  Maybe it's that JP is 18, a rising senior, and leaving on Monday for three weeks in Tasmania as part of an MBA exchange program.  Maybe it's because I turn 60 years old in less than a month.  

For whatever reason, I find myself longing for another baseball season to coach my sons and their friends.  One more season.  It's like an ache that won't go away.  It's palpable.  Lately, once a day something will remind me of one of my teams, one of my players, or call up a memory of a long ago baseball practice or game.  A win.  A loss.  A lesson learned, by a player or more often, by me.

Every boy I ever coached taught me something and enriched my life in some way.  Every single one.  And I'm grateful for the memories.  So grateful.

 

  

 

The Kid 2.0

A couple of weeks ago, Joe told me he wanted to run cross country this fall, as an 8th grader at MBA.

I was skeptical at first, for several reasons.  Joe didn't seem to enjoy cross country that much when he ran at USN as a 6th grader.  He didn't seem to be very interested in putting the work in to be in the kind of shape he needed to be in to race comfortably.  He also had some breathing issues when we ran that were a little bit concerning, although I was never sure if they were related to, perhaps, a touch of exercise induced asthma or not having the cardiovascular fitness that he needed to run two or three miles in the heat.  Mostly, I didn't think he really enjoyed it.  

I also didn't want Joe to run cross country simply to follow in JP's footsteps.  As I have told Joe repeatedly, it's important to me for him to strike his own path, not just at MBA but in life.  I want his experience at MBA to be his experience, not one he's trying to fashion after his big brother's experience at MBA.  I think that's really, really important.

I've always been hands off when it comes to running and my boys.  Obviously, running has been one of the mainstays of my life for 40 years.  It's my north star.  No matter what is going on in my life, I have running.  Work can be crazy, like it is now.  I can be stressed, like I am now.  I can be sad, as I have been at different times in my life, like when my mom was fighting Alzheimer's or when she died, and I still have running.  Running never leaves me.  It's my constant companion, always there, always waiting patiently for me to return.  In some ways, running is my best, my loyal friend.

I want my boys to have that kind of a lifelong relationship with running or, at the very least, with some type of a physical fitness related activity.  How do I help them find it?  I do that, I think, by letting the boys come to running and by me not taking running to the boys.  This is the way.

Slowly, I've come around to Joe running regularly again.  Slowly to him, that is.  Inside, when he told me he wanted to run cross country, my heart was jumping for joy.  Still, I am easing into it with him.  At his request, I sent JP with him to Team Nashville and Terry hooked him up with some running shoes.  I'm going to get him a watch, too, because he'd like to be able to monitor his pace and, more importantly, know how far he is running when goes on runs.

Yesterday, I worked from home.  Joe asked me if we could run in the morning. "Of course," I replied, and we did.  We ran up Belmont Blvd. to Belmont U., around the grassy area, back down past our house and over to Hearts in 12South.  Two miles for him and three miles for me, as I ran one mile before I picked up Joe at the house to get two miles in.  We sat at the bar at Hearts, talked about real estate, and had a nice breakfast, then walked home.  A perfect summer morning for me. 

Last night, he asked if I was going to run this morning.  "Sure," I said.  "Can I come with you?" he asked.  "Of course," I replied, again.  Of course he can run with me.  

We ran a bit of a different route, up to Belmont U. again but, this time, down and around to Portland Avenue and back home.  I dropped him off at the house, then I ran down to 8th & Roast, my current favorite coffee shop.  

In our run, I think a saw something today.  A glimpse, maybe, of little of that joy in Joe.  The joy of running.  Of feeling good.  Feeling strong.  Feeling confident.  That's what running can do for you.  That's what running will do for you if you commit yourself to it.  

Every run with one of my boys is a gift.  A true gift and something I never, ever take for granted.  

      

A Week in DC and Another Close One

Joe returned home Saturday evening from a week away.  He had been on a Wilson Grant trip, with 14 classmates, to Washington D.C.  It was a great experience for him - one that JP had in seventh grade, too - and one that we're grateful MBA provides through the Wilson Grant Program.  Joe got to spend time and become friends with some of his classmates that he didn't really know well, before the trip, which is kind of what it's all about.  

It was a trip packed with sightseeing with a historical emphasis.  One of the chaperones on the trip was Mr. McMurray, Joe's history teacher last year in a class that he thoroughly enjoyed.  It all worked out very well, actually.  Joe's favorite things to do were going to the Washington Nationals' game, where the boys took off their shirts in between innings and were shown on the Jumbotron, much to their delight.  He also was really taken with the Spy Museum, which I had never heard of.  An intern who is a graduate of MBA and working for Senator Hagerty gave them a tour of the Senate Chamber, which Joe enjoyed.

JP tried one final time to qualify for New Balance Nationals in Philadelphia by running the mile in a Toad track event at Green Hill High School in Mt. Juliet.  He ran hard, set a new PR at 4:20:12, but came up a little more than two seconds short of the 4:18 time he needed to qualify.  He was disappointed, of course, but seemed a little more philosophical about it than he was after the mile race at Lee University a couple of weeks ago.  

JP was in the second heat when, in reality, he should have been in the first and fastest heat.  Two of the other competitive runners in his heat didn't show up, so he led wire to wire and won his heat easily.  The problem, though, was that after the pacer left the track after two laps, it was harder to maintain the pace he needed to run a 4:18.  If he would have run in the first heat, chasing faster, collegiate runner, might have helped him run just a bit faster.  That's track, though, so we'll never know.

He ran the 800 a little more than an hour after the mile race, and clocked a respectable 1:57 +.  It was slower than the PR he ran in the 800 at Lee University (1:55:02) but still impressive, as he raced the 800 after having just raced the mile a little earlier.  My guess is he would have been close to sub-1:55 had he run only the 800.  

In the big picture, JP finished the track season strong, I think, setting PR's race after race.  Yes, it's tough to wonder what might have been had he not been hurt early and missed more than one month of training time.  But, again, that's track.  I'm proud of how hard he worked to get back and how he's performed since he got back.

Sunday afternoon, Joe played in a couple of tournament games in Donelson with his Bucket Squad basketball team.  Nash was in California, but Thomas McDaniel picked up three boys from the Stars' Gold team.  The boys won two games on Saturday to gain the top seed in their pool.  Through the grapevine, I heard that Pike had broken out of his Stars' shooting slump and was raining 3's during both games on Saturday.

Sunday, it was the same thing.  Pike looked like a different player, and not just because he was sporting a summer crew cut.  In game one, he hit 3 after 3 to the point that the other team's parents were talking about what a pure shooter he is.  Joe hit a 3 early then, later, hit a step back 3, which I didn't know he had in his bag.  A little James Harden.  He made some nifty passes, as well, and ran the offense with confidence.

I left partway through the final game, which the Bucket Squad won by 5.  Joe played okay, although not as well as the first game.  He thought he was fouled on a 3-pointer early in the second half and complained to the referee in a way that I am not comfortable with.  Private school basketball, I call it, when a young player doesn't get a call, turns his hands over and palms up, whines and complains to the referee.  

A play or two later, a kid came over Joe's back to get a rebound and, again, Joe didn't get the call.  Why?  Because he complained so much about not getting the previous call.  That's how it works.  We talked about it afterwards and, hopefully, Joe will clean that up in the future.

It was a good tournament title for the Bucket Squad.  It reminded me of how much more free and loose the boys play when the coach is relaxed and not uptight.  I was proud of Joe and all his teammates.  

Bucket Squad.  Joe, Thomas McDaniel, Pike, Rex, Cole, Elliott, Aaron, and Chandler.

One Damn Second

Cross country and track are strange sports.  I love them both, although at a certain level they're designed to break your heart. 

At Lee University yesterday evening, JP ran in the fist of two heats of the mile.  It's not a distance he has raced often because, in high school meets, the 1,600 is a much more common race.  As far as races go, the mile is 9.334 meters longer than the 1,600.  Actually, that's something I didn't know until this weekend.

JP's goal was 4:19, which he felt was fast but doable.  His thought was that running a 4:19 would qualify him for New Balance Nationals in Philadelphia in late June.  

JP left the starting line running a fast pace and settle in behind the leaders, in third and, later, fourth place.  I was standing not he far side of the track, so I could encourage him at roughly the 200 meter mark of each lap.  He looked good and, by lap three, was doing a good job of staying connected with the lead pack of three runners.  

The same was true on the final lap, although JP appeared to tire ever so slightly in the last 100 meters.  A runner nipped him at the finish by less than .30 and took fourth place.  He finished in 4:20:52, so very close to running a sub-4:20, which was hi goal.

Afterwards, when he realized he had just missed a sub-4:20, JP was disconsolate.  I was on the infield with him and tried my best to console him.  He knew he had missed by a second, probably less, and there wasn't anything I could say that really mattered.  Not in the moment, anyway.  I hurt for him, terribly, because he was so disappointed.  

He's worked so hard to get back to where he was - and where he expected to be - before he was injured.  And he's made it, almost.  JP ran a PR in the mile yesterday, just as he did in the 800 the day before. That's something, for sure.  He continues to improve, to run faster.  Still, it wasn't quite good enough, at least not in his mind.   

Less than one damn second off.  So close.  

Before JP ran his cool down, he was talking to one of the McCallie runners, a senior.  The McCallie runner was talking about how tough the conditions were for the race.  Hotter and more humid than expected, with an annoying headwind on second 200 meters of each lap.  

"No one ran their best today," he said, somewhat philosophically.  "But, that's track."  

Truer words have never been spoken.

That's track.  Indeed.

JP and I talked about it later.  I reminded him of the importance of keeping things in perspective, in track and in life.  I also reminded him that God has a plan for him and for all of us.  This is just part of it.  I hope our conversation helped.  

Later, I picked up takeout burgers and we ate dinner together while we watched Game 7 of the Spurs - Thunder in the Western Conference Finals.  Honestly, those are the moments I will treasure when JP leaves for college in a little more than a year.  Holed up in an unfamiliar town after a baseball game or race, eating dinner together, and just hanging out.  The two of us.  

Sometimes, like now, it seems to me that JP's entire childhood has passed me by in a few seconds.  

Some Can Whistle (Again)

As I write this, I'm sitting on the front porch of a quaint house in downtown Cleveland, Tennessee, a city that strangely enough, I've never visited in my 50 + years of living in Tennessee.  

Why I am here?  That's a difficult question to answer, existentially. 

JP is running in a track meet at Lee University this weekend.  I was able to find an Airbnb a few short blocks away from campus and a five minute drive from the track.  It's a quite a nice, older neighborhood, tucked away away between downtown, historic Cleveland on one side and a series of strip malls on the other.  A bit of an oasis, it seems to me.  Some smaller, modest houses and a few larger, almost antebellum houses on Ocoee Street.  

It's strange to me that I've never been to Cleveland, particularly since I have several fraternity brothers from here, a few of whom I was quite close to during college.  Speaking of which, on a lark I decided to try to track down Greg Mooney, my little brother in the fraternity, as I drove into town late yesterday afternoon.  I was successful and on the eve of his older daughter's wedding, we had a nice chat on the phone.  

JP ran the second heat of the 800 last night.  He finished 5th, I think, in a fast race, clocking a 1:55:02.  That's another PR for JP by more than a second almost a sub-1:55.  JP was pleased, I think, as he's beginning to feel like himself on the track again, which is nice.  H runs the mile tonight, in about an hour and a half.  I hope he has another good race.

To close out May and "Larry McMurtry Month" - self-designated - I just finished "Some Can Whistle" (1989), a sequel to "All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers" (1972).  Both of the novels are semi-autobiographical, particularly "Some Can Whistle," as the protagonist is a novelist and, later, a television producer, Danny Deck.  Neither are particularly uplifting - actually, they're kind of bleak - but Larry McMurtry is one of my favorite writers and, as always, these two novels are well written a resonate with me.

What's really strange, though, is I had a fairly vivid recollection of reading "All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers," and Danny Deck as a young man is a character who always stayed with me.  The scene at the end, when he drowned the manuscript of his second novel in the Rio Grand, was a memorable one, and something I had never forgotten.

When I picked out "Some Can Whistle" from the bookcase in my office upstairs at home, I assumed it was a book I had purchased sone ago but never read.  It wasn't until I opened it and turned a few pages that I saw I had finished reading it - the first time - on February 4, 1993, more than 33 years ago.  I would have been in my last year of all school in Knoxville when I originally read it.

What's really strange and, honestly, a little troubling, is that I had absolutely no independent recollection reading "Some Can Whistle" the first time.  When I re-read it, nothing at all was familiar to me.  Not the story, the characters, the plot, or the ending.  Nothing.  Still, I wouldn't have dated it and put my name in it in February of 1993 if I hadn't read it.  Weird.

Maybe it hit me differently now because I am older and Danny Deck in "Some Can Whistle" is closer to my age.  Danny Deck in "All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers" was closer to my age, then, when I read it for the first time.  

It reminded me, too, that I read fiction not necessarily to remember what I have read, because often times that fades.  I can't recall the details of "Cold Mountain" (Charles Frazier) or "American Pastoral" (Phillip Roth), although I loved both of those books.  I read fiction because I enjoy it - in the moment - and simply for the love of reading.  That's the takeaway for me, I think.  

Now, it's off to the track to watch JP run.

Going to State!

I've not written about too much but track season has not been what I hoped it would be for J.P.  The injury that kept him from running for six weeks derailed his season before it got started.  Although he cross-trained his ass off while he couldn't run - elliptical, stationary bike, weight lifting, swimming - it turns out that you can't get in prime running shape without . . . running.  

Since he's been released to return to running, he's been running on alternate days for the most part.  He's not doing too much distance, weekly or on any given run.  He's still cross-training, too.  

When I saw JP run in the Scott Hartman Invitational, I knew it would be a longer road back than I had hoped.  He didn't have the sustained, top level speed and stamina that he normally would have.  Late in the race, runners passed him, which is not something that ever happened before.  To me, it was like watching a sports car drive that didn't have a fifth gear or a bird try to fly with a damaged wing.  

It was incredibly painful for me to watch runners pass JP at the end of races - at MBA and Harpeth Hall for the Metro Championships - when he ran out of gas.  I was emotional and my heart hurt for him as I watched him struggle.  Runners, from his school and other schools, passed him late in the 3,200, 1,600, and 800.  JP's was still posting respectable times in these races, particularly compared to an average high school runner.  What is hard for him, though, is that he's never been an average high school runner.  He's always been outstanding.

When he ran in the 3,200 last Monday in the Region Track Meet, the hope was that he would qualify for State.  He ran with his teammate, Gabe, the entire race.  On the last of eight laps, however, Gabe outkicked him and won the race, as JP finished in second place.  Again, the fifth gear was missing.  The next night, after West and East Tennessee ran their Region Track Meets, we learned that JP had finished in 9th place in his division, one spot short of qualifying for State in the 3,200.  Still, JP's 9:29:38 was a PR for him in the 3,200.  

He was very, very disappointed.  Again, my heart hurt for him.  It was small consolation, really, that the runner who grabbed the eighth and final spot beat him by seven or eight seconds.  That's an eternity, really, in a race like the 3,200.  On Friday, he still had the 1,600, followed by the 800.  I was hoping for a miracle of sorts.  And that just what I got.

JP and Gabe quickly moved to the front of the pack in the 1,600, with their friend, Clark S. close behind.  The three of them ran together for the first couple of laps before it became clear that the race was between JP and Gabe.  JP actually took the lead, briefly, in the third lap.  When the boys hit the first turn on the final lap, though, Gabe surged ahead and stayed ahead.  JP just didn't have the last lap speed to stay with Gabe, who crossed the finish line more than five yards ahead of JP.  

What was encouraging, though, is that JP's 4:19:17 was  PR for him in the 1,600.  Not the 4:18 he was hoping for but still damn fast and still a PR.  The question, though, was would it be fast enough to qualify him for State?

A few minutes later, JP walked up to me on the infield at MBA with a huge smile on his face.  "I'm in," he said.  "Qualified eighth."  

"Are you sure?" I asked.  "Yes, Coach Russ said I'm in," he replied.  My heart soared as I hugged him.  My heart soared higher, if that was even possible, as I watched teammates walk up and congratulate him.  Coach Perry walked up to me and gave me a hug, too, then told me how proud he was of JP.  "He's such a great kid," he said, which meant a lot.  He knows how hard JP has worked to get back to some semblance of his running self. 

How did I feel?  Relieved for JP, of course.  Proud.  Mostly just incredibly happy for him.  His hard work had paid off.  At last.

An hour and a half later, JP ran the 800.  Surprisingly, he stayed right with the leader, Ryder O., for the first lap, which they ran in a blistering 55 seconds.  As they started the second lap, Ryder hit the gas an pulled away, finishing just over 1:51, which is a smoking fast 800.  JP ran through the tap, which we had talked about leading up to the race, and finished second in 1:56:78, just slightly off his PR of 1:56:52 from last year.

For the night, JP ran two PR's and almost had a third.  He's not there but he's getting there, I think.  It looked like he raced with joy again, with a little more confidence.  He  ran free, especially in the 800.  No pressure.  He just . . . ran.  I hope that continues next week at State.  I think it will.

  

 

Old Friends in the Bluegrass State

As I sit her in a coffee shop in Shelbyville, Kentucky (Sixth & Main Coffee House) on Sunday morning, I am struck by how deep old friendships can be.  

After we lost one of our own, David Easterling, a little over a year and a half ago, our group committed to trying to be more intentional about getting together and seeing each other, as a group or two or three at a time.  To tighten the circle, if you will.  In some ways, it has worked and in some ways, it has not worked, at least in my view.  

JP and I had a delightful visit with Neil Lynch and his wife, Cindy, in Columbus a year ago December, when we visited Ohio State and watched Tennessee get trounced in the college football playoff.  I went to a Braves' game last fall with Doug Brown and stayed overnight with T.B., which was great.  My family and I just missed Greg Westfall when we stayed at his  house in the mountains outside Brevard, North Carolina, when were on spring break a couple of months ago.

Doug, ever the organizer, put together a trip to Louisville, Kentucky, and surrounding areas, in part because Louisville is relatively easy for all of us to get to.  Plus, Mary Easterling, David's wife, lives here and it gave him a chance to visit with her.  In attendance from Thursday - Sunday were Chris Reber (Fort Wayne, Indiana), Jay Miller (San Francisco), Neil Lynch (Columbus, Ohio), Mike Matteson (Nashville), Steve Buzzell (Nashville), Mike Corley (Sarasota, Florida), and Greg Westfall (Hilton Head, South Carolina).  Those are some of my oldest friends dating back to junior high school at Northside.

It would have been easy, very easy, for me not to make the effort to drive up to Louisville, because I was not going to miss JP running the 1,600 and the 800 in the Region track meet on Friday, especially after he just missed qualifying for the State meet in the 3,200 on Monday night.  Since the 800 was not scheduled until 8:20 p.m., my choices were to drive up after he ran, which would put me arriving well after midnight due to the time change or leave at 4:30 or 5 a.m. Saturday morning, so I could arrive in time for the 9:30 a.m. departure for the bourbon trail tour.  

I chose the latter, as I did not want to miss a chance to see my guys, even if it was only for 24 hours.  You know what?  I am really glad I did, because it was so good to see everyone and it was great fun.

Doug rented an Airbnb - nine or 10 bedrooms - on the outskirts of Shelbyville, Kentucky.  It has a swimming pool, unused by us, a gaming barn (pool table, ping pong table, darts, golf simulator, etc.), and an entertainment room, complete with a karaoke machine.  

Aided by Chat GPT, Jay designed a round robin pool tournament over two days, which matched all of us up with different partners.  Chat GPT kept up a running commentary after each game, which was hilarious.  After winning my first two games - including one in which I unscrewed my cue stick and used to top half to make a difficult shot late in the game - I played poorly in the semi-finals and lost.  Neil won the tournament, quietly, because of course he did.

As I mentioned, I arrived in time to depart by shuttle - shout out to our driver, Holly Wells - for a guided tour of Bourbon Trace.  Now, my idea of fun is not to sample bourbon at 10:15 a.m., but the tours were relatively interesting.  The early highlight was Doug being cut off during the tasting at the second stop on the tour, Four Roses.  Somehow, he was already reasonably drunk but, mostly, just acted silly.  

Holly quickly figured out that our group, with the exception of Jay, was less interested in touring actual bourbon making facilities than have a drink or two.  Once that was established, we had a fantastic time sitting outside in Adirondack chairs at one stop whose name escapes me, talking and drinking mint juleps - my drink of choice for no apparent reason - beers, etc.  At our next stop, we sat outside on the covered patio, talked more, then ordered four giant pizzas to take home for an early dinner.  After we realized that Holly loved a lot our "our music" from the 80's in spite of our age difference, she played the Cars, exclusively, on the 30 minute drive home.  Tremendous!  

We ate an early dinner, finished the pool tournament, listened to music, and joked around with each other, like we've been doing for 45 years.  It was damn near a perfect late afternoon and early evening. 

As the sun set, and day turned to night, we settled in for the evening and, well, just sat and talked.  We reminisced about the way things were and shared memories - a lot of memories - of times gone by and friends we have lost, by death or because they had drifted out of our lives.  We gave each other a lot of grief in the comfortable, playful way old friends do, and we had serious talks about our families and lives, too.

A highlight of the evening was when I telephoned Tommy Campsey to confirm the details of a story Doug had told about Campsey, on patrol, catching him making out with Anita G. in a dead end in our subdivision in the early 80's.  Tommy also regaled us with stories about policing in Brentwood in the late 70's and 80's, including a blow-by-blow recounting of the time he arrested George Jones for drunken driving on I-65 after receiving an anonymous tip.  It was priceless!

Maybe the biggest highlight was when I was able to reach Rip Pewett, who is on a two-month trip to New Zealand.  For sure, he's had his ups and downs the last few years, so it was a special moment for all of us to talk with him. 

I ended the evening with a couple of bourbons (O.H. Ingram River Aged) on the back patio, sitting in front of a fire that Neil and Matteson built in the outdoor fireplace.  I convinced Doug to have a serious conversation for 30 minutes, much to everyone's delight.  I kept him on the clock and in spite of his heightened state of inebriation, he managed, for the most part, to talk seriously for a half hour before he began asking someone, anyone, to get on his shoulders.  

For me, it was a needed respite from my incredibly busy personal and professional life.  A chance to reconnect with the friends who have known me the longest.  In many way, none of us have changed that much - or so it seems to me - in terms of our personalities.  Everyone is pretty much the same, in the way, as they were 40 + years ago.  

In the river of life, as you travel downstream, floating comfortably or, sometimes, paddling like hell, it's nice to to stop at an island every now and then, and spend some time with old friends.  Time to reflect, to recharge, to remember, to laugh, to live.  

That's exactly what we did, in a large, somewhat secluded house in a dead end in a neighborhood outside Shelbyville, Kentucky.  

It was perfect.

Another One Bites the Dust

Late in the week, word leaked out on social media that 12South Taproom was closing the end May after a 20 year run.

I mean, damn.  One of the last OG's in 12South, soon to be gone in puff of smoke after some heartless developer razes the building and erects an ugly building housing 12 condominiums or apartments in its place.  The 12South I knew and fell in love with ceased a long time ago but at least there were remnants - Portland Brew and the Taproom - that were reminders of what the neighborhood was like before tourists and bridesmaids took it over.  No more.

When the Taproom originally opened on June 6, 2006, owner Will Stuff was married to Christy Shuff.  She owned and operated Rumor's Wine Bar, which was a couple of doors down the Taproom.  They later divorced, Rumor's relocated to the Gulch (due, of course, to the construction of an early residential/retail development), then quite closed a few years later.  

Originally, the Taproom was a gourmet market with a small bar that served craft beers and filled customers' growlers.  (Growlers!  That's actually was a thing back in the day.). There was a hand-painted, blue sign outside on the front of the building - 12South Taproom - and picnic tables on the front patio.  In later years, Will renovated and covered the front patio and hosted trivia and live music there every week.

The Taproom found its footing when it pivoted away from the gourmet market concept, expanded the kitchen, and began serving food.  The menu always was eclectic - burritos, sandwiches, and entrees - and craft beer selection was the best in town in the heyday of the craft beer renaissance.  

After JP was born in 2008, on weekend afternoons I often strolled him up from our old house on Elliott Avenue to the taproom.  While he slept contentedly in the City Elite stroller, I read the New Yorker, worked the crossword puzzle, or talked to the bartender, Sweeney.  He was the son of a lawyer and former judge I knew in passing, and once hit two or three home runs off me at East Park, playing for his dad's law firm softball team.

Things were so different then.  As I recall, the Taproom had followed the lead of many other restaurants and stopped allowing smoking, inside or out.  There was a mild backlash, I think, as the smokers stayed away.  Those Saturday and Sunday afternoons in the Taproom with JP were quiet, peaceful, and memorable, especially when he woke up and I gave him his milk and snack.  

For a while, I arranged for special guests to meet me there while JP napped.  Matteson drove up from Franklin one Saturday afternoon.  Another time, Rip Pewett drove over and had a beer or two with me while JP napped.  Those were the days, for sure.  I remember trying to convince Jude that JP and I had been to get ice cream after his nap, which worked until she saw a photo of him sitting on the bar with the beer taps behind him.

Side note:  Right on time, two women from a bachelorette party just strolled in for coffee at 8th and Roast.

The Taproom was a place where business meetings happened at lunch, couples on first dates when to dinner, parents took kids for a family dinner, and youth baseball or soccer teams had after game get togethers.  Just last year, I took my law league softball team there for beers after the end of season tournament.  

Over the years, our family got takeout from the Taproom a thousand teams.  The Salmon BLT, and early favorite of mine, became one of JP's go to meal, too.  We always ordered the hummus and pita, too.

The Taproom was (I am already speaking of it in the past tense) a neighborhood anchor for 12South, a reminder of what the neighborhood used to be like before it became crowded with weekend tourists shopping in high end boutique clothing stores.  No more.

Because I've not drank beer much at all the past several years, the Taproom hasn't been a regular stop for me, not like it was in the early years.  Still, it was comforting knowing it was there and we've always enjoyed the food.  

I'm going to get by the Taproom, maybe as soon as this weekend, and get a beer for old times sake.  

The Spring of My Discontent

Sometimes, when I don't write as often, I think it's because I'm unhappy or discontented.  Other times, it's because I'm busy.  Or, maybe, I'm taking the wonder of life for granted.  I guess it could be some combination of all three.

Although I've run at least three miles or walked at least 30 minutes or more almost every day this month, I've had a difficult time getting any traction with my running this year.  I had planned to run long more often or, at least, to run more mileage.  Rather, I've found myself running three miles on most days that I run with a longer run on fairly rare occasions at Shelby Bottoms.  Twice I've bonked while trying to run my 5-mile loop around Elmington Park and back.  My mile pace has been good during my runs but the distance hasn't been there.  Maybe I'm getting old.

As I've written before, it's been a bit of lost spring athletic season for the boys.  JP's injury has slowed him down, literally, on the track.  After missing the early track meets, he's been slower than he wanted or expected in the 800 and 1,600 at the meets in which he has run.  Fortunately, he's been running pain-free, which is what we want.  As his mileage has picked up, I think he's feeling more comfortable running.  Hopefully, his times will pick up a bit at the MBA Senior Day track meet this afternoon and at the Regional Meet next week.  I would love for him to qualify individually for an event or two at the State Meet but I think that's going to be a tall task for him.

Joe's school baseball season was, well, meh.  He wasn't able to get any significant playing time on the infield.  He began batting higher in the order late in the season, as he began hitting better.  Maybe he can carry that over to the travel baseball season.  Joe pitched a couple of games and did relatively well, although I'd like him to throw harder.  Still, no windup or curve ball.  I'm going to try to get him with a good hitting/pitching coach as school winds down.

Basketball has been a mixed bag, too.  Last Sunday, for example, the Stars Gold played at Lebanon High School.  Joe's squad rallied late, as they tend to do, but lost a close game to Chapel Hill.  The Bucket Squad closed the game, as Joe, Cole ("Zeebo"), and Pike played most of the last 10 minutes of the game.  Joe hit a big 3-pointer late but missed the front end of a 1-and-1, which hurt.  I was surprised, as was he, because he's been knocking down free throws as of late.  

Joe doesn't move particularly well laterally, so he's had a tough time staying in front of the man he guards, at times.  His ball handling limitations have been apparent, too, as his team has begun to play against quicker and more athletic players.  He can correct that somewhat, I think, if he works at it.  His 3-point shot is still inconsistent, although he can improve there, too.  He needs to become a knockdown 3-point shooter if he's going to continue to play in the coming years.  

Work is, well, work.  Draining.  Busy as hell with clients and office stuff.  On the one hand, my practice is thriving.  Happy clients for the most part.  Good reviews.  New clients coming in and I'm able to be selective, as I refer cases out I don't want to handle for one reason or another.  On the other hand, it's a lot.  That's just the nature of the beast.

Speaking of work, time to get going.

The Sports Machine

Friday, JP ran in the Metro Championships at Harpeth Hall.  

The 1,600 was his first event.  For almost the entirety of the race, JP ran toward the back of the lead pack in sixth place.  He finished in 14:23, a PR for the 1,600.

In a stirring finish, JP's teammate and friend, Gabe, ran down the leader, Ryder Ortner, and won the 1,600 by .100 of a second.  He finished in 4:15:73, also a PR for the 1,600.  Running in fourth place, he passed the third and second place runners in the last 150 meters, caught Ryder, and beat him win a lean at the finish line.

Less than 30 minutes later, JP ran the 800.  He held his pace longer than he had been able to the last couple of races, but fell in the last 100 meters.  Still, he ran a 2:00:13, barely missing breaking 2:00.  I though he finished just under 2:00 but apparently not.  My guess is he was looking at a 1:58 before he faded at the end.

As JP regain his running fitness after being injured, what's missing, I think, is the finishing kick.  He doesn't have the ability - not quite yet - to out kick other runners at the end of the 1,600 or the 800.  In the 1,600, that meant he ran in sixth place, stayed in sixth place, and finished in sixth place.  In the 800, that meant he fell off at the end, was passed by a couple of runners, and didn't break 2:00.

Here's the thing, though.  For him to be able to set a PR in the 1,600 and run, basically, a 2:00 800 with as little running as he has been able to do until very recently is impressive.  While he has been cross-training religiously on the elliptical, stationary bike, and with weights, the only way to get faster at running is to run and run a lot.  He doesn't have the mileage base right now to slip it into 5th gear when he needs to during a race.  I think it's coming, though, and when it does, he's going to be a problem for other runners to deal with.

Saturday morning, Joe played two basketball games with his Stars' team at Maplewood High School.  Both were close losses, the second game in sudden death, double overtime.

In game one in the main gym, the Stars fell behind, early, in what looked like was going to be a blowout to a bigger and more athletic team.  However, in what is becoming this team's hallmark, they rallied in the second half, tied the score, and lost a close one.  Joe played a lot and well down the stretch, going 4-5 from the line and hitting a key 3-pointer.  He just missed another 3-pointer late that would have given him double figure points for the game.

In game 2 in the practice gym upstairs, the Stars again fell behind early but rallied late.  Losing a game in sudden death double overtime is brutal.  This one hurt Joe more than others because he didn't play particular well down the stretch.  

Late in the game, he foolishly fouled a kid from behind on a put back after a rebound, resulting in a 3-point play that tied the game.  Then, in overtime, when the Stars had the ball under their own goal with 7 seconds left, Joe caught the inbounds pass at the top of the key and clearly shuffled his feet before passing the ball to the wing.  Travel.  That one really hurt, as his team had the ball with a chance to win it.

In the second overtime, Joe brought the ball up the course after the Stars won the tip.  At the top of the key, Joe walked into a 3-pointer that he missed badly.  The other team rebounded the ball, drove up court, set up the offense, then scored the winning bucket when a kid drove the lane, jump stopped, and hit the bucket.

A great game was marred when the other team's best player suffered what appeared to be a torn ACL on a drive into the lane in the second half.  It was hard to watch, as he writhed in pain on the floor.  Tough kid. almost Amish looking with long hair tied up behind his head.  A guard, Joe and his teammates couldn't stay in front of him.  I don't think the game would have ended up in over time had he not gotten hurt. 

While Joe's 3-pointer in the second overtime was ill advised given that his team had a decided size advantage, I give him credit for having the courage to take the shot with the game on the line.  That's Joe.  

Yesterday, Joe played a lot of minutes.  He played hard, made most of the right plays, and only had one turnover that I can recall.  He hit key free throws in game one.  That's Joe, too.  

I'll be curious to see how much he plays today in his game at Glencliff. 

A busy weekend of sports.  

A Final Goodbye to the Dodgers

Most of my Dodgers are seniors this year and counting down the days to graduation.  It's unbelievable.  

How did those boys - my boys - grow up so fast?  

Yesterday, or so it seems, I was playing "giant pepper" with them on field 3 at Warner Park before an 11 - 12 year old baseball game, calling them by their nicknames I made up as they laughed uproariously.  The Mongoose (Jonathan Kleinstick).  The Big Cat (Wes Taylor).  The Helpless Gazelle (Aidan Poff).

Now, several of them are playing their final high school baseball season.  I've been determined to get out to see each of them play one more time.  It's tough with my work schedule and the boys' sports' schedules but I'm determined to make it happen.

Monday, Hume Fogg played USN at Vanderbilt, which was really cool.  Apparently, Vanderbilt allows Hume Fogg to play one baseball game a season there.  It means a lot to the boys, I know, to have an opportunity to play a high school baseball game at Hawkins Field.  It's special.

Jonathan Kleinstick, whom I began calling "JK" early on, plays centerfield for Hume Fogg.  JK was a Dodger almost from the beginning.  He was one of my core guys for almost a decade, from age 5 to 13 or 14, along with JP, Wes Taylor, Benton Wright, and Porter Weeks.  

JK's dad, Randy Kleinstick, was my first base coach for all those years.  We coached together in ballparks all over middle Tennessee in spring, summer, and fall.  Randy became a dear friend of mine and, to this day, he still is.  Recently, he retired from Nissan after a career spent working there.  

JK was the Dodgers' leadoff hitter, always and forever.  He and Randy worked and worked and worked, often times together at Green Hills Park and, later, in the batting cage at JT Moore Middle School.  JK turned himself into an excellent outfielder and a good hitter.  He's always been my fastest players.  

In the perfect Dodgers' lineup, batted JK first and JP second.  I called the "the daily double," with a tip of the cap to Cubs' Hall of Fame broadcaster, Harry Caray.  In the early 1980's, he called Bobby Dernier and Ryne Sandberg "the daily double," too.  

Walking into Hawkins' field, I saw Juliet Douglas, the interim Head of School at USN.  A true servant-leader, she was coaxed out of retirement to run the school for a year while they searched for a new Head of School after the ignominious end of Amani Reed's three year tenure.  Juliet represents everything that is good about USN and it made my night to see her at the baseball game.

I walked over to the Hume Fogg section on the third base side, found Randy, and gave his wife a hug.  Randy and I quickly settled in to watch the baseball game.  JK made a couple of nice plays in centerfield, tracking fly balls with confidence.  Clearly, he is comfortable defensively, which wasn't always the case when he was younger.  That's what consistent, hard work will do for you.  

JK was 0-2 at the plate, batting ninth.  He's been in a bit of a slump which, of course, happens in baseball.  He had been hot lately, batting leadoff, but cooled off the last two or three games, according to Randy.  

It was a great game, 2-2, until the sixth inning when Hume Fogg's coach foolishly pulled almost all of the starters so the junior varsity players could get play an inning or two at Hawkins' field.  I left and later learned that USN won 16-2.

As I left, I stopped by the Hume Fogg dugout, leaned down, and talked briefly with JK through the protective netting.  I told him I was proud of him as my voice caught in my throat.  In a spontaneous gesture that, somehow, summed up my feelings this spring for all of my Dodgers as they play out the last games of their baseball careers, I tapped my right hand tow my heart a couple of times, smiling and fighting back tears.  

As I turned to leave, I marveled at how grown up JP looked and at how quickly those Dodgers' days passed by.

A Tough Spring

It's not been the easiest spring for the boys athletically.  

Joe has struggled to find his way on the baseball team at school.  He hasn't started, bats eighth, and generally plays right or left field.  It's a very different baseball season from what he is used to, for sure.  As a rule, he's a pitcher, a middle infielder, a team leader, but that's not what has happened this season. 

Obviously, I don't see what goes on at practice, so it's hard for me to get a feel for why he's not been able to get noticed by the coaches.  His lack of size works against him, obviously, but that may change.  My only complaint - and it's a relatively mild one - is that I don't think Joe has gotten a real chance in games to play consistently and prove himself worthy of more time.  Still, the roster is a large one and it is, after all, seventh grade baseball.  

The more interesting thing to me, though, will be to see what Joe does with what is shaping up to be a bit of a lost seventh grade baseball season for him at school.  Does he use it as motivation and work tirelessly to get stronger, more agile, and a better hitter?  Does he set short-term and long-term goals for himself, in baseball, then come to me to see what we can do to help him carve out a path to reach his goals.  Or does he feel the sting of non-success briefly, then move on to the next thing, as Joe tends to do.  It's worth watching, as a father, for sure.

JP had his first race of the season after having been injured for the first time in his athletic career.  He ran the 800 at the Scott Hartman.  He got boxed in early, then used up all of his energy escaping and moving into second place, albeit briefly.  JP faded down the stretch and finished in seventh place at 2:01.  

While JP has been cross-training like a fiend during his recovery from injury, there is no substitute for actual running when it comes to preparing for a race or a race season.  That is abundantly clear. 

In short, both of the boys are unexpectedly facing some adversity this season.  That's not necessarily a bad thing, either.  It's part of life.

 

The Pain of Caring

Last night, the boys watched Vanderbilt lose a heartbreaker to Nebraska, 74-72, in the NCAA Tournament.  A win would have put Vanderbilt in the Sweet 16 and capped off their best basketball season in well over a decade.

It was out last night of a spring vacations bookended by college visits for JP, so they watched the game on a big, flat screen television at our Airbnb in Central, SC, minutes away from Clemson University.  Jude and I were in bed, reading, but kept up with the game by listening to JP's and Joe's shouts of joy followed by groans when something didn't go Vanderbilt's way.  I peaked my head in a couple of times in the second half to see what was happening.

It was a heartbreaking, gut punch of a loss for Vanderbilt, as they pulled ahead by six points late in the second half after falling behind early and trailing all game.  Nebraska rallied, though, and took the lead on a late drive and layup by one of their several white guards.  Tyler Tanner, by far their best player,  missed a half court shot at the buzzer that would have won the game.  Reminiscent of Gordon Hayward in the 2010 NCAA final when Butler lost to Duke by two, Tanner's shot was on line, hit the backboard dead center but a little too hard.  The basketball started to go down, then popped up and out of the goal.  A couple of Nebraska players fell to the ground in shock and relief.  They thought it the shot was in.  I did, too.

The boys are at that age where every Vanderbilt basketball game is life and death, especially one like last night's, when a loss end the season.  It's the same with the Lakers (whom we watched beat Orlando earlier on a last second 3-pointer by Luke Kennard), the Dodgers, Belmont basketball, and the Predators.  It's that sweet spot for a boy who is a sports fan, age 11 - 23 or somewhere thereabouts, where every big game is life or death.  It matters so very much.  I know, because I've been there, too.

I hate to see JP and Joe down, although I'm glad they care so passionately.  When you care, you're move alive, I think.  As a father, I'll take passion over apathy every day of the week.  Passion equals vibrancy, memories, laughter, exultation, and quite often, a broken heart as a season ends.  I hurt for them this morning, as I sip my coffee at Jitters Brewing Company in Central, SC.  I arrive just as they opened at 7:30 a.m. for a quick cup of coffee before our 5 + hour drive home.

Somewhere along the way, it seems like I stopped caring quite as much about the outcome of games, even those involving my favorite teams.  The exception is the Dodgers, I think, because the MLB playoffs are a roller coaster for me every year.  The last two years, with back-to-back World Series titles have been tremendous, or course.  The Lakers still matter a lot, too, as evidenced by how excited I was - and the boys, too - when Kennard won the game for them last night. 

Still, I care less and less about Tennessee football and basketball.  While I want Tennessee to beat Virginia today and get to the Sweet 16, I won't be devastated if they lose.  I feel the same way about the Predators.  I've been apathetic about them for a few years now, after being a devoted fan for so long.  It's strange, really.

I think as I've gotten older I've become so focused on the boys' lives that I don't have as much energy left to worry about the outcome of a game involving one of my favorite teams.  Life happens, you know?  There is work, family, and so much else going on in our country and the world that's not good that I find it hard to get too worked up over a game that one of my boys isn't playing in, or so it seems.

As I've written in this space before, my mom passed her love of sports to Tracy and me.  For sure, we have passed it on to our children, too.  In a way, it's the tie the binds us together.  It was, then, before my mom died, and is still is, now.  

So, I'll pack up my laptop in this quite, quaint little coffee shop that I'll likely never visit again, in Central, SC, and head home.  First to my family in our Airbnb five minutes away, then to our home and our lives in Nashville, busy and on constantly on the move.

Unless I miss my guess, JP isn't going to Clemson University, but it was nice to be here and see the campus.  It was nice to see him together, too, with a couple of his high school friends who are freshman here, particularly Charlie Warner.  

Western Carolina

For the past few days, we've been staying in a house in Connestee Falls, NC, owned by my childhood friend, Greg Westfall.  We had hoped to see Greg and his wife, Cheryl, at the end of the week but that's not going to happen, unfortunately.  They just returned to their home in Hilton Head, SC, from a week-long sailing trip, so it would be difficult to get away again so quickly.  Cheryl is the primary caregiver for her adult sister and mother, so she has a lot on her plate. 

I hate that we won't get to see Greg and Cheryl this week because a lifetime ago, pre-kids, Jude and I stayed with them in New York City when we were in town for the U.S. Open.  Jude and Cheryl really hit it off during out stay.  Now, we find ourselves 20 years down the road without having spent any meaningful time with them.  It's funny how life works.  Before he (semi) retired, Greg traveled extensively for work.  He and Cheryl didn't have children and, of course, we did.  As a result, we lived very different lives and our paths didn't cross in the ways I had hoped they would.  

Really, that's true of most of my close friends from high school and college, too.  Because Jude and I had children relatively late in life, our world never lined up with my friends' worlds in the sense that their children were older, then out of the house, while ours were still young.  I wouldn't change my life for anything, though.  JP and Joe have enriched my life - our lives - more than I could have possibly imagined. 

JP had a nice visit at Furman University.  The official tour he and Jude went on was informative.  I was glad he got have lunch with Jack Wallace, a former cross country and track teammate who is a freshman at Furman and a member of the cross country and track team.  While Jack and JP haven't been particularly close, I think it was helpful for JP to talk with someone he knows who is running in college.  

JP also visited with an assistant coach for the cross country and track team, which was helpful and informative, as well.  Jude and I talked with him briefly.  Nice and personable young man.

We stayed overnight in Spartanburg, SC, too, so JP could visit Wofford College, since we were in the area.  Our Airbnb in Spartanburg, SC, was great.  We even worked in a trip to the YMCA, so JP could get a workout in.  His first treadmill run in a while was a success.  Joe played 2-on-2 (or 2 v. 2, as the kids call it) basketball with some guys.  I saw him drain a couple of shots, including a nice 3-pointer from the left side.

I think JP enjoyed his tour and visit at Wofford College.  He and Jude took a tour there, as well.  I like the fact that JP is having an opportunity to see a few smaller, Division 1 colleges.  Clemson, on Saturday, will be completely different.  

It's funny, he never heard back from the coach at Wofford.  No response at all to his e-mail to let him know he would be in town and would like to meet.  It boggles my mind how a coach at a smaller school, like Wofford, could ignore an e-mail from an accomplished high school runner, like JP, who has posted times in races that indicate he is a potential Division 1 college runner.  Sure, I am biased, but not even a "thank you" for reaching out.  It's amazing how responsive some college coaches (and schools) are and how non-responsive other coaches and schools are.  I guess that's just part of college recruiting.  

Greg's place has been great, particularly since we figured out there is an exercise room in the clubhouse.  Apparently, the development (Connestee) Falls upgraded it a couple of years ago.  It's quite nice and has everything JP needs.  Treadmills, ellipticals, etc.  Perfect for him (and me) to get his runs and workouts in every day.

We've had great meals out every night in Brevard, NC, a town we've quickly fallen in love with.  Square Root, the Bohemian, and Quixote all were bit hits.  Jude has hiked to Connestee Falls the last two days.  Yesterday, she and Joe played tennis.  I've worked some, run on the treadmill, and generally tried to recharge my batteries.  

Tomorrow, we're off to Clemson University, where JP will visit with his friend and former cross country teammate, Charlie Warner.

A Different Kind of Spring Break

Tomorrow morning, we're loading up and heading to Greenville, SC, where we'll stay tomorrow night.  

Monday morning, JP is going to take a look at Furman University.  There, he's going to have lunch with his former track and cross country teammate, Jack Wallace, meet and talk to one of the cross country/track coaches, and tour the campus.  

Strangely enough, I visited Furman many, many years ago, on one of the only college trips my mom and I took together.  I can't recall who stayed with Tracy and Alice.  If memory serves, over the Thanksgiving holiday my senior year (November 1983), my mom and drove to Winston-Salem, NC (Wake Forest), Greenville, SC (Furman), and Boone, NC (Appalachian State).  Odd combination of schools.

If all goes according to plan, on Monday evening or Tuesday morning, we'll drive to Spartanburg, SC, so JP can visit Wofford University.  He's scheduled a tour there, too, although I don't think he's heard back from any of the coaches.  

If it works out, we're going to try to stay in Brevard, NC, during the middle of the week.  An old high school friend of mine owns a house in the mountains in Brevard, and I'm trying to see if we can work out a visit there.  It's not a week at 30A and the beach, I know, but it would give all of us two or three well earned days to relax and unwind.

On Saturday, JP is going to visit Clemson.  Charlie Warner, a friend a former cross country teammate, is a freshman there, along with another boy from MBA.  I'm not sure how interested JP is in going to school at Clemson but I think he's looking forward to seeing Charlie and taking a look at the campus.  Truthfully, I'm looking forward to seeing Clemson, too, as I've only seen it on television during football games.  It's supposed to be a pretty campus.

Earlier in the school year, Jude and JP visited the University of Texas and Rice University.  A month or so ago, they did a mid-west tour and visited the Indiana University, University of Illinois, Notre Dame, and Butler University.  He took a side trip to Wake Forest after NXR in the fall.  

Last year, JP and I visited Ohio State University on a cold, cold Saturday morning before the Vols played the Buckeyes in the CFP.  In past years at NXR, JP has visited Duke, North Carolina, and North Carolina State.

There's an aimlessness to it all that I find unsettling, which I guess is normal.  I'm told by friends that JP will know which college or university is right for him as soon as he steps on campus.  Maybe so, but since he wants to run in college, that adds an extra layer of complexity to the mix.  Academics, athletics, scholarships (academic or athletic), and most importantly, a place where JP wants to live and go to school for four or five years.

It's a lot.  At least, it feels like a lot to me right now.  On the one hand, picking a college is such an important decision.  I don't think I would trade my 4 + years in Knoxville, at UT, for anything.  I guess I would have had just as much fun, and learned as much, somewhere else, but it seems like my life would have turned out differently had I gone to Vanderbilt, for example.  It's the road not taken, I suppose.

On the other hand, JP is going to be the same great kid - young man, actually, as he turns 18 in two weeks - wherever he attends college.  That I know for sure.

Maybe what's unsettling to me, too, is that my time with JP is running out.  By that, of course, I mean our time together when we see and talk to each other every day.  My time with JP living in our house will soon be at an end.  Actually, that's more than unsettling, it's almost unfathomable.  Honestly, it's hard to think about or to conceptualize.  But I know it's coming, though.  I know it's coming.

It's funny.  You work so hard as a parent, to teach your child well.  To help him or her grow, mature, succeed, handle failure, and become an adult.  Then, they say goodbye and go off to college and it's never the same.  Not like it was.  

And your heart is forever broken by the inexorable march of time.

Getting Noticed

One of the challenging things for Joe about changing schools has been starting over.  While I knew this would be case, having been through it with JP, it's still hard for me, as a father, to watch him find his way at MBA.  

In my head, I know it's what is best for him.  The learning for Joe is in the struggle to be noticed.  To be seen.  To find where he fits and to assert himself.  To become confident, again, and comfortable in his own skin.

The easy thing for Joe would have been to stay at USN.  He was established there.  A leader.  Someone to whom the other students, boys and girls, looked to for approval and friendship.  He was popular among the other students and faculty.  He set the tone in his classes every day.  Mind you, this is not supposition on my part.  It's what I heard from his teachers, twice a year, in parent-teacher conferences, for the seven years he was there.

At MBA, we knew it would be different.  Almost all of the boys are highly intelligent, driven, and motivated to succeed.  As my friend, John Rowland, said to me at Don Smith's memorial service, "MBA challenges students academically, athletically, and socially every single day."  Truer words have never been spoken.

Joe has adjusted well, by and large.  His grades are very good.  He's succeeded, thus far, in soccer and basketball.  Still, he's finding his way, which is to be expected.  Baseball, his favorite sport, has been a bit of a challenge this spring.  It's been harder for him to get noticed.  Being one of the smartest, most instinctive players on the field is not enough any more because many of the other boys - at least at this point - are bigger and stronger.  That likely will change but it's the case for now.

Thus far, Joe has been relegated to playing right field, batting low in the order, and only getting one, maybe two, at bats per game.  He's had trouble getting noticed.  Obviously.

It's a new experience for me, as a parent, when it comes to baseball.  My boys have always been team leaders, middle infielders, and pitchers.  Leadership positions.  With the exception of JP's seventh grade year, when he made the "A" team of 8th graders because he could play catcher, that's always been the case.  It's different this year for Joe, so far, and that's been an adjustment.  For him and for me.

I've told him to keep working hard.  To be a good teammate.  Vocal and supportive.  The first one out of the dugout to congratulate other teammates.  To have a good attitude.  And, most importantly, to be ready to capitalize on any opportunities that come his way.  

Yesterday, in an intersquad scrimmage that was set up like a real game with an umpire, he pitched in relief of a starter who gave up 7 runs in the first inning.  When Joe came in, the bases were loaded with two outs.  After getting ahead of the first batter, 0-2, he aimed his pitches rather than just throwing.  As a result, he lost him and walked in a run.  He got the next batter out and got out of the inning, however.

The next inning, Joe still struggled a bit with his control but managed to get through the top of the order without allowing any runs.  He finished the game, an 8 - 4 loss, pitching 2 1/3 innings and allowing no runs (the runner he walked in would not have been charged to him).  One, maybe two, strikeouts and four walks.  Overall, he pitched well, although his control needs to improve.  He was rusty, which is to be expected.  I hope he gets another chance to pitch.

My bigger hope, though, is that Joe got noticed yesterday.  He was much more upbeat, more himself, after the game, which made me happy.  He had contributed, which is what he wanted to do.  I wish he would have started the game because the outcome might have been different.  Still, progress.  

Getting noticed.