Serena

Friday evening, Serena Williams, 40, lost to Ajla Tomljanovic in the third round of the U.S. Open in what was almost certainly her final tennis match as a professional.  

The owner of 23 Grand Slam titles in singles, Serena has been on a quixotic quest to tie Margaret Court's record of 24 Grand Slam titles since she last won a singles title at the 2017 Australian Open.  Since then, she's had a child, battled injuries, and taken time off from tennis in the midst of what, ultimately, was an unsuccessful quest to tie Margaret Court's longstanding record.  

In the end, though, Serena Williams' impact on women's tennis and, really, women's sport generally, is farther reaching than the 23 Grand Slam singles titles she won over a professional career that spanned more than a quarter century.  From when she won her first Grand Slam title at the U.S. Open in 1999 at age 17 to her final match Friday night, Serena blazed a trail for all women to follow.

Outspoken, brash, and unapologetically competitive, Serena pulled women's tennis - kicking and screaming, at times - into the 21st century.  Gone forever were the days when women's tennis took a back seat to the men's game.  Gone also were the days when women's tennis players were demure, understated, and soft spoken in the just happy to be there way preferred by the tennis establishment.  

Serena and to a lesser extent her sister, Venus, took the baton from Billie Jean King, and insisted on being heard on issues important to the women's game, like pay equity in Grand Slam tennis tournaments.  

I have a vivid memory if sitting in my office, downstairs, at 401 Church Street in Franklin, shortly after my partner, Mark, and I had started our law practice there.  As I read the USA Today at my desk, there was a color photograph of Serena and Venus on the front page of the sports section, their hard braided with beads as they wore it in the early days of their careers.  

Serena and Venus were so young then, 16 and 18, if my math is correct.  I was young, too.  Unmarried, no children, starting a new law practice.  Now, it seems, we've grown older, if not old, together.  The Williams' sisters, especially Serena, have been a constant in my life, for more than two decades.  Jude and I have watched, and cheered, as we celebrated their success.  

All of that has come to and end, though, which is the way it works in sports, sadly.  An athlete's youth is not limitless and, in fact, it's rather fleeting.  When it's over, it always seems to have passed by too quickly.  Sports is like life in that regard, I guess.  

When life is over, or nearly over, it seems to have passed by too quickly.

The Beast is Back

In a reprise of his stunning win in his first middle school cross country race for MBA last August at USN's river campus, JP stormed to a win in yesterday's race at the river campus with a PR of 10:48.  The second place finisher was at least 50 yards behind him.  

Frustrated sportswriter, maybe, but JP's performance on a very hot afternoon was nothing short of amazing.

Leading up to the race, we had talked about what he wanted to do, and he told me he wanted to run under 11:00.  This season, because he's going to have to set goals for races and motivate himself because it doesn't appear that he has a rival to push him, at least not on the MBA team.  He misses Cade Sturdivant in that regard, as they finished 1 - 2 in all four races they ran together last year.  He's going to have to push himself, really, to race against himself, I think, at least until the regional cross country meet.

Watching him run is truly a thing of beauty.  His form is damn near perfect.  He never seems to be struggling.  So smooth.  He runs so effortlessly.  For an old runner like me, to see his youth, vitality, strength, and stamina on display during a race is moving.  It's emotional for me to watch him race, in large part because I'm so damn proud of the work he has put in leading up to this point.  139 miles this summer and still, even now, he runs on his own on weekends.  

Most of all, I'm glad he's learning that hard work pays off, almost every time.  Certainly, it does in the running world.  

The way the USN cross country course is set up, I can watch him at four different points, including the finish line.  I have to move pretty quickly, though, to get from one place to the other because he's so fast.  A few friends were laughing yesterday as I jogged across the parking lot to get to close to the one mile mark to see him.  

As he runs by each spot where I am, I encourage him and, if he asks, tell him how far back the second runner is behind him.  That answer, so far, has been way back.  

Yesterday, at around the one a half mile mark, I waited, anxiously, by myself, straining to see the John Deere Gator making the turn on the back of the course, 15 yards or so ahead of JP.  I climbed up to the top of a small set of bleachers at the tennis courts so I could look out across the course.  At first, nothing.  This is taking too long, I thought.  Has the heat gotten to him?

Then, I saw the Gator, and I saw him.  Way out in front.  In fact, I couldn't see the second place runner at all as he made the turn onto the home stretch of the course.  As he approached me, the win assured barring a catastrophe, I began wondering about his time.  He looked good, and strong, as he ran by me and I yelled encouragement.

I ran across the parking lot to the finish line, where I could see watch the digital clock and see JP finish at the same time.  As he rounded the far turn and ran toward the finish line, the digital clock hit 10:00.  He's got a chance, I thought, to break 11:00.  

I turned my head left, to watch him, then back right, to check the clock, several times as he approached me.  He's got a chance!  

When JP was 10 yards away from me, I couldn't contain myself any longer.  "Go!  I shouted.  "Get under 11:00!!  You can do it!  Push!"  My voice was choked with emotion as he sprinted by me toward the finish line.  

With an incredibly strong finishing kick, JP ran across the finish line in 10:48.  Amazing.  Almost 30 seconds faster than his time at Vaughn's Creek last week and a PR for a two mile race.  

Before the race, he asked me if I'd be at the finish line and if I'd have water.  "Of course I will," I told him. "I think I'm going to need it," he said, then walked over the starting line.  

I thought about our brief conversation as I ran to him when he exited the finisher's chute, breathing hard and moaning a bit.  A put my arm around his waste, walked him over to my cooler, and got him an cold towel to wrap around his neck and ice cold water.  We walked together for a minute or two, JP leaning against me for support, while my heart filled with so much pride it wanted to burst out of my chest and streak across the late afternoon sky.  

Slowly, he came back to himself as runners do after a hard race, then walked over to watch his teammates finish.

And I stood there smiling to myself, in awe of my 14 year old son and what he had just accomplished.   

The Kid Crosses the Finish Line

JP's first cross country meet of the season was Thursday at Vaughn's Creek Park which is, in essence, MBA's home course.  Belmont University's home course, too, for that matter.

I've arranged my work schedule this fall so I won't have to miss any of JP's cross country meets.  I left work early on Thursday and picked up Joe at USN because Jude had a 4 p.m. meeting.  I wanted to make sure Joe and I could get to the meet in time for the girls' race, which started at 4:30 p.m.  The boys' race was scheduled to follow, a little before 5 p.m.

As I mentioned last year, I get more nervous before JP's cross country races than with any sport he plays.  I'm not sure why that it but it's a fact.  I'm pretty sure it's because running is something we have in common.  While I've never run at the level he is at right now, I know how it feels to run a race and push your mind and body to the limit.  I know how that feels and I know it takes courage to toe the starting line with the realization that you're about to put your body through a certain amount of pain in an effort to run your best in that race.  

JP has put in so much work this summer.  I was confident that of the 75 or so other runners at the meet, no one had put in the mileage JP had leading up to the race.  I knew he had run well at practice, as evidenced by the 10:24 two mile time trial he ran last week.  In other words, I knew he was ready.  Still, I was nervous for him, wondering if there was a runner we didn't know about - maybe a talented 7th grader from another school or an 8th grader who had moved to town over the summer.  It turns there wasn't, at least not at this race.

I waited at the 1 mile mark and as the boys approached, JP was comfortably in the lead.  By comfortably, I mean the second place runner - a new boy from USN - was 30 or 40 yards behind him.  I walked across the park to wait at a spot at the 1 1/4 mile mark.  I waited for a couple of minutes, then watched as JP emerged from the tree line.  There was no one behind him, at least in my line of sight, until he got even with me.  

"How far back?" he asked as he ran by me.  "Way, way back," I replied.  "You're good."  And he was.

I walked over to the finish line, across from where Jude and Joe were waiting.  A couple minutes later, JP made the final turn and headed home.  As he approached where I was standing, I could hear a few voices cheering for him.  He was running comfortably and finished strong, more than thirty seconds ahead of the second place runner.  JP's buddy, Abe (a rare combination of hockey player and cross country runner), finished third.  MBA won the meet easily.

What made me the proudest, though, was watching JP finish the race, pick up the first place index card, then immediately walk back up the outside of the finishing chute to cheer on his MBA teammates as they finished the race.  His coach, Elijah Reynolds, took note of that when he addressed the team after the race. To me, that was JP being a team leader, and it made me really, really proud of him.

A few minutes later, I drove Joe to baseball practice at Warner Park.  In between coaching he and his teammates, I couldn't help but show the video I'd made of JP winning the cross country race to a few of my fellow coaches and dads.  

A pretty damn good afternoon and evening, I would say.  

 

An Endodontist and a Divorce Lawyer Walk Into a Coffee Shop

It's a strange place out on the end of the pain spectrum.

I just completed the root canal procedure that I've been dreading.  Maybe it's the drugs slowly wearing off - nitrous oxide and novocaine - or the relief I'm feeling now that it's over, or both, but I almost feel a sense of euphoria as I sip a latte out of a straw at Honest Coffee Roasters.  

Somehow, someway, I overcame my visceral fear - dental anxiety, if you will - and survived a root canal today without being put completely under as I originally had planned.  It's a small thing for normal people, I know, but it's a huge thing for me because my fear of the dentist - of root canals and oral surgery - is very, very real to me.  

As I told Dr. Hicks and his staff today - all of whom were excellent, by the way - there is a lot in common between what he does, as an endodontist, and what I do, as a divorce lawyer.  Stay with me on this because it makes sense when you really think about it.  I promise.  

Nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to have to go see an endodontist or a divorce lawyer.  However, if you find yourself in need of one, you want him or her to be very good.  Experienced.  Reassuring, with excellent bedside manner.  

The more time you spend with an endodontist - multiple visits and such - the more expensive it will be.  It's the same with divorce lawyers.  Complicated cases cost more money.  Period.  And, in most cases, there is no insurance so the patient - or the client, in my case - is paying out of pocket.  

Good, caring, and kind staff can make all the difference to patients, or clients.  Honestly, that starts with the receptionist, or scheduler, and continues with whomever assists the endodontist with the procedure.  It's exactly the same way in my office.  I've always said that a good receptionist can help me get clients and keep clients, as well.  My legal assistant and, especially, my paralegal, are so important to my practice in that they're interacting with my clients on a regular basis.  Comforting them.  Reassuring them.  

One of the scariest things - for me, anyway - about getting a root canal is my fear of the unknown.  I don't understand exactly what the endodontist is doing, how he's going to do it, what the risks of the procedure are, what my prognosis is, and how much it's going to hurt.  I just know there's drilling involved and everyone says it's scary and extraordinarily painful.

Divorce cases, and clients, are like that, too.  When a potential client initially comes to see me, often times they're frightened, uncertain, confused, and filled with anxiety.  They have heard so many horror stories about divorces, divorce lawyers, court, depositions, trials, etc.  And, of course, they never thought they would be talking to me.  

I've joked before, many times, to clients that giving a discovery deposition is like getting a root canal, but that's not right.  The entire divorce process is like getting a root canal.  And what I have to do - and what I have to teach my lawyers to do - is to realize that and to make sure we always treat our clients with the care and kindness that I needed today when I walked into Dr. Hicks' office.  I do that, for sure, and we do that, but it bears remembering why it's so important and, well, so necessary.

So, I'll go get a new crown on tooth no. 3 in a couple of weeks from my dentist, Haley Schmidt, DDS, whose bedside manner isn't quite what Dr. Hicks is, unfortunately.  I'll dread it but I'll get through it.  

And in the meantime, I'll redouble my efforts to be patient and understanding with all of my clients, and to do what I can to assuage their fear, concerns, and feelings anxiety.  

Where Is the Tooth Fairy When I Really Need Her?

I don't like going to the doctor and I especially don't like going to the dentist.  For the past 30 + years - ever since I had a root canal during college - I've lived in fear of having to get another one, because it was such an unpleasant experience the first time around.  This week, I'll realize my worst fear as I have another root canal on a different tooth.  

On top of that, I'll have to get a new crown on the same tooth, repeating what probably was the second worst medical procedure of my life, after the root canal in college.  

I realize it's an irrational fear and that I shouldn't dread going to the dentist so much.  Somehow, it's gotten much worse as I've gotten older.  I don't even like to get my teeth cleaned.  I have no idea how I got this way.  It's more than a little embarrassing, frankly.

Still, I can't go on this way, as I've been had a considerable amount of pain in my tooth (#3), gum, and jaw for the past week or so.  I saw my dentist last week and she did some tests, then referred me to the endodontist.  I go there this week, first for testing, then for the root canal.  Because I'm so ridiculous about all of this, I'm going to pay extra to have him put me under for the procedure.  I want to wake up and have it be over, like when I got my wisdom teeth out as a teenager.

Then, I'll go back to my dentist, apparently, and have the crown replaced.  For that one, I'll be wide awake.  Shit.  I want to get in a time machine and be done with all of this.  

I've been so down about it and paralyzed by the feeling of dread that I haven't felt like doing much of anything, not to mention that I've been in pain, off an on.  I started a round of antibiotics the end of last week, which seems to have helped a bit.  It's weird, though, because I'll feel fine then suddenly, my tooth and gum will start throbbing.  The pain lasts for 15 or 20 minutes, then goes away.  I'm not sure what causes the flareups.  

Over the weekend, though, I decided to start running again.  I'd been avoiding running out of fear of jarring my mouth or causing more pain.  I was able to run three miles, fast, on the treadmill at the YMCA on Saturday and Sunday, which made me feel a little better.  More like myself.  I needed those runs.  I'm going to try to do the same thing this afternoon.

My rational brain knows that this too shall pass but damn, I'm scared.  

Brad Miles

My family on my mom's side has a bit of a star crossed history.  Hell, I guess every family does.  My mom lost both of her older sisters, Sue and Ann, way too early.  She lost her father - my grandfather - way too early.  I lost my my way too early, in my view, anyway, when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's then died after a massive stroke three and a half years ago.

Last Sunday morning, we lost my oldest cousin, Brad Miles, when he died of a heart attack at age 60. Way too early. 

Survived by his wife, Theresa, and three children, Nathan, Ben, and Sara Ann, it's beyond tragic, really. 

When Brad's mom, Ann (Ussery) Miles died, he and his sister, Ann Howard, were in high school and moved in with my grandmother in Jackson, Tennessee.  They finished high school at Jackson Central-Merry.  Alice moved in with us because she was closer to our age.  

I looked up to Brad when I was a child because he was the oldest of our group of seven cousins.  I was the second oldest, younger than him by four years.  He introduced me to comic books, and KISS (the band), among other things.  When I was in high school, I may or may not have ridden shotgun with him as we drove around Jackson and drank a beer or two.  

When I was young, we were playing in my grandparent's backyard at there house on West Forest Avenue in Jackson, when hundreds of yellow jackets swarmed out of a nest in the ground.  After telling me to run inside, he stayed behind and slammed a broom against the hole in then ground in a futile effort to slow the yellow jackets down and save me from getting stung.  

When Brad came inside a few minutes later, he had been stung multiple times on his forehead and face, in my recollection.  It was the first and purest act of heroism I had been exposed to at that point in my life.  I've never forgotten that act of selflessness and in many ways, it personified how Brad lived his entire life. 

Years later in in 1979, after Brad and Ann Howard had moved in with my grandmother in Jackson, he was a defensive lineman on a  Jackson Central-Merry  team that went 13 - 1 and was runner up to the state champions.  

Brad put others first, especially family.  Even if he didn't have much, he gave what he had to others. Always.

This was never more evident to me than when I spoke with his sons, Nathan and Ben, at a visitation for family and friends in Jackson last week.  Nathan is grown now and teaching and Ben is almost grown.  Both boys are big - taller than me -  but with reserved and respectful personalities that belie their physical stature.  And, to me, at least in the moment, both boys were mature beyond their years.  That would make Brad proud, I think.

At one point, Nathan remarked to me that sometimes it seemed to him that his father felt like he hadn't achieved as much as he could or should have or that he hadn't made enough of his life.  Nathan looked away from me, shook his head and said, almost to himself, "I don't know why he felt that way."  

I don't either.  What I think I do know, though, is that to Brad, his crowning achievement was his children, all of them.  Nathan.  Ben.  Sara Ann.  He was very proud of them, rightfully so.

Life is hard to understand sometimes.  Poor health.  Pain, physical and emotional.  Uncertainty.  Unhappiness.  Sadness.  Loss.  Death.  I guess it's all part of it, though.  The human condition and the human experience.  

I thought about this and a lot of other things as I drove back to Nashville from Jackson.  I hugged my boys a little bit tighter when I walked in the door that evening.  I reminded myself to appreciate my blessings, especially my family and friends, because in many ways, it's all fleeting.

  

    

A Happy Ending to an Unhappy Story

I'm taking a breath this morning after a long but successful mediation yesterday, one that ended a little about 7:10 p.m.  I know the time because I had to rush out the door to pick up Joe from his first fall baseball practice, which I missed.  It was good, though, to see some of the boys, just for a minute or two, when I arrived at Warner Park.

Yesterday's divorce case was was one that needed to be settled, as was the one I helped the parties settle, late, on Monday evening.  2 - 2 this week on helping parties, and their attorneys, settle the divorce cases. 

I enjoy everything about mediating cases for others, which is a good thing, since at last count I had mediated close to 850 cases over the last 16 + years.  It's an important, time consuming part of my law practice.  I take a lot of satisfaction out of helping parties - characters in what has turned into an unhappy story - resolve their divorce (or post-divorce) case and move on with their lives.  

For them, it's almost instant relief if a case settled.  No more attorneys.  No more legal fees and that's no small thing because litigation is so expensive.  The cost of taking even a straightforward divorce case to trial is prohibitive for most people.  And that's one of the best things about helping parties settle a divorce case.  They no longer have to live under the constant threat of court hearings, depositions or, God forbid, a contested trial.  That's no small thing either.  

In yesterday's mediation, I was working with two attorneys with whom I have longstanding relationships.  They're as much friends as they are colleagues, although we don't socialize together.  We've known each other for years and had multiple cases against each other.  There's a trust and comfort level that makes it easier, I think, for me to mediate for their clients.  We also can argue points of law, professionally, without anyone taking it personally.  

In the best mediations - for me, anyway - I'm able to connect with the parties early on and gain their trust. We're able to laugh together, which eases their anxiety about the mediation process and, just maybe, adds a little levity when it's most needed.  That was the case yesterday, in my view.  

Helping nice people settle a difficult divorce case makes me happy.  I've added value to their lives.  I've helped them close a difficult, painful chapter in their lives, as well.  I've helped give them closure, which is so very important.  

I've helped write a happy ending to an unhappy story, relatively speaking.