Joe and I are in the "Indian Summer" of our weekend afternoon walks, literally and figuratively. Fall is here, and it feels like it today, with the high temperature in the low 70's. Soon it will be too chilly for our walks. And, just as soon, he'll begin to nap in his crib on weekend afternoons (as he does not during the week).
And just like that, it will be over. One of my very favorite things about being a father will have come to an end. First, J.P. and now, Joe. I feel melancholy just thinking about it, actually.
I'm at Bongo Java as I write this on a Sunday afternoon and Joe is sleeping in the stroller beside me. My friend, E.J., has fired up a music mix featuring "Uncle Tupelo" (a top 5 all-time band for me), which kind of fits my mood. Mellow and nostalgic.
Damn, I'm going to miss these quiet Saturday and Sunday afternoons at Bongo Java. It won't be the same without Joe (or in another life, J.P.), sleeping in the stroller beside my table.
(I posted this out of order, as it was originally written in early October.).
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Blue Mitts
This afternoon marked the conclusion of the fall season for the "Blue Mitts," J.P.'s baseball team I coached in the West Nashville Sports League. To say I enjoyed it would be the understatement of the year. The truth is it may have been the most rewarding experience of my life.
The Blue Mitts were Wyatt, Brennan, Bennett, Benton, Cash, John, Cooper, Harrison, Luke and J.P. and I absolutely loved coaching each and every one of them.
The highlight of my weeks this fall has been leaving work early on Friday, meeting my boys at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ and playing baseball with them as the sun sank lower and lower into the early evening sky. First, we stretched in left field, then I raced the boys to the fence in right field and back (At practice Friday, Wyatt "tied" me and was ecstatic). Next, we took batting practice, as I sat on one knee close to home plate and pitched ball after ball to the boys. Last, the boys ran the bases, twice. In the background, throughout practice, parents watched and talked quietly and the boys' siblings laughed and played together.
When practice ended, J.P., his grandpa and I usually stayed behind so J.P. could hit another bucket of balls. Often times, his teammate, Benton - a serious, quiet boy who is the most talented athlete on the team - stayed for extra hitting, too. I especially cherished those times, pitching balls to J.P. and just spending quality time with him at the end of a busy work week.
Games were Saturday afternoons at Warner Park (field # 2), usually at 1 p.m. Normally, each team batted through their order two times, then we called it a day. Today, in the final game of the fall season, each team batted three times, which was nice. J.P. batted last, which he loved, because he got to the run the bases when he hit the ball.
For me, there was something special abut coaching these boys. I can't put my finger on it, but I think it has to do with their age, 5-6 years old. They're all so innocent, not a care in the world at practice or games. Truthfully, they seemed to enjoy practicing and playing baseball, but their favorite part was chasing each other and playing "diaper tag" afterwards.
Also, because it was "coach pitch," it's so easy to make a real connection with the boys when I'm pitching to them. As each boy steps into the batter's box, I'm so focused on that boy and he on me. I want so badly to give each one a good pitch (or pitches) to hit and for him to get a good hit. As I would kneel on one knee 10 or 15 feet away from home plate, each boy stared out at me wide eyed and expectantly, a look of complete trust on his face.
I can't help but laugh, thinking of my first practice at Sevier Park, on a makeshift baseball field in the grass. I was more than a little apprehensive, as Jim White (J.P's grandpa) and unloaded the gear from my truck before practice. Thankfully, I found my groove pretty quickly, and by the second or third practice we were off to the races. I started out wondering if I could coach and I ended up realizing not only was I a pretty good baseball coach, I enjoyed it tremendously, as well.
I'm smiling as I sit at Bongo Java, Sleeping Joe beside me, thinking about the fall season, from beginning to end.
The Blue Mitts were Wyatt, Brennan, Bennett, Benton, Cash, John, Cooper, Harrison, Luke and J.P. and I absolutely loved coaching each and every one of them.
The highlight of my weeks this fall has been leaving work early on Friday, meeting my boys at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ and playing baseball with them as the sun sank lower and lower into the early evening sky. First, we stretched in left field, then I raced the boys to the fence in right field and back (At practice Friday, Wyatt "tied" me and was ecstatic). Next, we took batting practice, as I sat on one knee close to home plate and pitched ball after ball to the boys. Last, the boys ran the bases, twice. In the background, throughout practice, parents watched and talked quietly and the boys' siblings laughed and played together.
When practice ended, J.P., his grandpa and I usually stayed behind so J.P. could hit another bucket of balls. Often times, his teammate, Benton - a serious, quiet boy who is the most talented athlete on the team - stayed for extra hitting, too. I especially cherished those times, pitching balls to J.P. and just spending quality time with him at the end of a busy work week.
Games were Saturday afternoons at Warner Park (field # 2), usually at 1 p.m. Normally, each team batted through their order two times, then we called it a day. Today, in the final game of the fall season, each team batted three times, which was nice. J.P. batted last, which he loved, because he got to the run the bases when he hit the ball.
For me, there was something special abut coaching these boys. I can't put my finger on it, but I think it has to do with their age, 5-6 years old. They're all so innocent, not a care in the world at practice or games. Truthfully, they seemed to enjoy practicing and playing baseball, but their favorite part was chasing each other and playing "diaper tag" afterwards.
Also, because it was "coach pitch," it's so easy to make a real connection with the boys when I'm pitching to them. As each boy steps into the batter's box, I'm so focused on that boy and he on me. I want so badly to give each one a good pitch (or pitches) to hit and for him to get a good hit. As I would kneel on one knee 10 or 15 feet away from home plate, each boy stared out at me wide eyed and expectantly, a look of complete trust on his face.
I can't help but laugh, thinking of my first practice at Sevier Park, on a makeshift baseball field in the grass. I was more than a little apprehensive, as Jim White (J.P's grandpa) and unloaded the gear from my truck before practice. Thankfully, I found my groove pretty quickly, and by the second or third practice we were off to the races. I started out wondering if I could coach and I ended up realizing not only was I a pretty good baseball coach, I enjoyed it tremendously, as well.
I'm smiling as I sit at Bongo Java, Sleeping Joe beside me, thinking about the fall season, from beginning to end.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
VU Jane
My mom (aka VU Jane) is having surgery tomorrow. I'm not going to go into the details of what type or why, out of respect for her privacy, but it's not a small thing. If all goes well, she will get to come home tomorrow evening. I suspect she'll spend the night in the hospital, though.
I'm not sure where to begin in describing how much my mom means to me. I don't know a stronger, tougher woman. She lost her husband (my father) at age 31 and was widowed with 2 young children. She moved us back to Tennessee from California in 1972, first leased an apartment in Bellevue, then bought a house in Brentwood (the same house she's living in today, 41 years later). A few years later, her father died. Then, her older sister, Ann, died. Then, when I was a fresman in college in 1984, her oldest sister and best friend, Sue, died.
She took care of her aunt, Margaret, until her death. Then, she took care of her mother, Mary Alice, and her mother's sister, Sarah, until she died. So much death and hardship, yet she never complained to me, not once. She just got up every morning, loved them and loved us, and did whatever it was that needed to be done that day. And then she did it again the next day.
She paid for Tracy, Alice and I to go to college, ultimately returning to work as a nurse. For 17 years, she worked nights as the charge nurse at Baptist Hospital. She touched so many lives during her time working on the 3500 (rehab) floor. Simply put, my mom was born to be a caregiver. It is her blessing and her curse, as she always has cared for others first, herself last.
I have marveled at the fact that since she retired a few years ago, she's been busier than when she was working, mostly helping other people. Just tonight - the night before her surgery - she visited an older woman she checks on regularly, providing her with conversation, company and the occasional batch of cookies or a similar treat. That's just who she is.
My mom raised Tracy, Alice and me, all on her own. For the most part, Tracy was pretty easy to raise. Alice and I, not so much. As the oldest child and her only son, I constantly tested her limits and tried to exert my independence. Losing my father at such a young age, I think I grew up more quickly than some of my peers. I know I lost a lot of the innocence that children have and that affected my world view somewhat. We fought, at times, when I was a teenager, but I always respected the fact that she listened to me, respected me enought to let me have my say, then made the decision she thought was best for me in a particular circumstance.
In truth, my mom has been my best friend. I have always been able to talk with her - to tell her anything. She has been there for me on every single occasion I have needed her. And that's something. She's been my rock, my example, my pillar of strength. I aspire, every day, to be as strong as she is. I fail, but I keep on trying.
My mom has lived a life of service to others. She epitomizes the word "selfless." My mom has lived a life of service to others. She epitomizes the word "selfless."
I've said this many, many times. I believe there's an express lane at the pearly gates near the entrance to Heaven. I also believe my mom will be in that line, the one that says "12 items or less," when the time comes.
Jackie Robinson said, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives." My mom's entire life has been about impacting other lives.
I love you, mom, and I'll be praying for you tonight and tomorrow.
I'm not sure where to begin in describing how much my mom means to me. I don't know a stronger, tougher woman. She lost her husband (my father) at age 31 and was widowed with 2 young children. She moved us back to Tennessee from California in 1972, first leased an apartment in Bellevue, then bought a house in Brentwood (the same house she's living in today, 41 years later). A few years later, her father died. Then, her older sister, Ann, died. Then, when I was a fresman in college in 1984, her oldest sister and best friend, Sue, died.
She took care of her aunt, Margaret, until her death. Then, she took care of her mother, Mary Alice, and her mother's sister, Sarah, until she died. So much death and hardship, yet she never complained to me, not once. She just got up every morning, loved them and loved us, and did whatever it was that needed to be done that day. And then she did it again the next day.
She paid for Tracy, Alice and I to go to college, ultimately returning to work as a nurse. For 17 years, she worked nights as the charge nurse at Baptist Hospital. She touched so many lives during her time working on the 3500 (rehab) floor. Simply put, my mom was born to be a caregiver. It is her blessing and her curse, as she always has cared for others first, herself last.
I have marveled at the fact that since she retired a few years ago, she's been busier than when she was working, mostly helping other people. Just tonight - the night before her surgery - she visited an older woman she checks on regularly, providing her with conversation, company and the occasional batch of cookies or a similar treat. That's just who she is.
My mom raised Tracy, Alice and me, all on her own. For the most part, Tracy was pretty easy to raise. Alice and I, not so much. As the oldest child and her only son, I constantly tested her limits and tried to exert my independence. Losing my father at such a young age, I think I grew up more quickly than some of my peers. I know I lost a lot of the innocence that children have and that affected my world view somewhat. We fought, at times, when I was a teenager, but I always respected the fact that she listened to me, respected me enought to let me have my say, then made the decision she thought was best for me in a particular circumstance.
In truth, my mom has been my best friend. I have always been able to talk with her - to tell her anything. She has been there for me on every single occasion I have needed her. And that's something. She's been my rock, my example, my pillar of strength. I aspire, every day, to be as strong as she is. I fail, but I keep on trying.
My mom has lived a life of service to others. She epitomizes the word "selfless." My mom has lived a life of service to others. She epitomizes the word "selfless."
I've said this many, many times. I believe there's an express lane at the pearly gates near the entrance to Heaven. I also believe my mom will be in that line, the one that says "12 items or less," when the time comes.
Jackie Robinson said, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives." My mom's entire life has been about impacting other lives.
I love you, mom, and I'll be praying for you tonight and tomorrow.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Gone
It's Friday night and I'm sitting at Bongo Java, a half hour before they close. It's actually fairly deserted inside, with just a couple of tables of people talking quietly and drinking their coffee. My guess is that a lot of the Belmont U. students took advantage of the long weekend (Labor Day) to travel home.
I said goodbye to Jude, J.P. and Joe at the airport, then drove home to an empty house. It's strange, but while I look forward each year to the peace and quiet I'll have when they travel to Neptune Beach to visit with the Baines' clan, I also miss them as soon as they're gone. When I got home from the airport, the silence in our house was deafening, in large part because I knew it would be that way for a couple of days.
It was nice, tonight, to sit at the bar and have dinner at Cabana, reading on my iPad, nowhere in particular to be. At the same time, it's weird to know that I'll be going home in few minutes to an empty, quiet house (excepting N.C. and Mini T., our silly cats, of course). I'll probably get caught up on "Breaking Bad," maybe watch a few episodes of the office, then read for a while.
My play is to get up early tomorrow and hit the trails at Shelby Bottoms for a long run. Sadly, it's been ages since I've been there on a Saturday morning for a long trail run. My Saturday morning trail run there was a focal point of my life for so long. It's tough, now, because between family obligations, laziness and injuries, I just haven't been able to get over there on Saturday mornings. Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow.
I said goodbye to Jude, J.P. and Joe at the airport, then drove home to an empty house. It's strange, but while I look forward each year to the peace and quiet I'll have when they travel to Neptune Beach to visit with the Baines' clan, I also miss them as soon as they're gone. When I got home from the airport, the silence in our house was deafening, in large part because I knew it would be that way for a couple of days.
It was nice, tonight, to sit at the bar and have dinner at Cabana, reading on my iPad, nowhere in particular to be. At the same time, it's weird to know that I'll be going home in few minutes to an empty, quiet house (excepting N.C. and Mini T., our silly cats, of course). I'll probably get caught up on "Breaking Bad," maybe watch a few episodes of the office, then read for a while.
My play is to get up early tomorrow and hit the trails at Shelby Bottoms for a long run. Sadly, it's been ages since I've been there on a Saturday morning for a long trail run. My Saturday morning trail run there was a focal point of my life for so long. It's tough, now, because between family obligations, laziness and injuries, I just haven't been able to get over there on Saturday mornings. Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow.
Monday, August 26, 2013
First Day of School
Today was J.P.'s first day of school, year 3, at Children's House. He's in "K-Club" this year, a certified kindergarten program at the school he's attended the past 2 years.
Jude called me this morning after she dropped him off at school and we marveled, together, at how it seems like only yesterday we were dropping him off for his first day of school at Children's House as a 3 1/2 year old. Today, he was up, dressed and ready to go early, all so he could help Ms. Anne get younger children out of their vehicles in the drop-off line. In fact, Jude and J.P. arrived so early they were first in line, which has never happened before.
J.P.'s one of the older kids at Children's House now and it's hard to believe. He's growing up before our very eyes.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Postscript (or Deja vous)
As a postcript to the post I finished minutes ago, I'm sitting at Bongo Java, drinking a "Mood Elevator," Sleeping Joe beside me. I'm actually sitting at the same table I was sitting at on April 28, 2013, when I wrote the post about the Belmont U. kids leaving for the summer. My friend who works at Bongo, George, is sitting outside on the front deck, just like he was 3 months ago.
Life has a sense of humor, doesn't it?
Life has a sense of humor, doesn't it?
The Cycle of (College) Life - Part II
I just read a post from the blog I wrote on Sunday afternoon, April 28, 2013, sitting w/Sleeping Joe at Bongo Java. In the post, I was lamenting the end of the school year at Belmont U. and the imminent departure of the college kids for the summer. I also was anticipating, just a bit, the relative tranquility that comes with summer on a college campus.
Well, the tranquility is over, as today is orientation day at Belmont U., which marks the official end of summer. It's appropos for me, since we arrived home less than two hours ago from our week of vacation at Santa Rosa Beach, Fl. My summer is over, too.
I'm sitting at a table in the bar at "blvd." (on Belmont Boulevard), enjoying a locally brewed beer - red rye from "Jackaloupe," Sleeping Joe next to me in the Baby Jogger City Elite stroller. When I finish up here, I'm going to walk over to Bongo Java for a "Mood Elevator," my first one in a week. In other words, it's business as usual on a Saturday afternooon for me (and Joe).
Did I mention I love my neighborhood?
The bar itself (the restaurant doesn't open until 5 p.m.) is filled with parents who have come to town to drop their children - all freshmen - off for their first year at Belmont U. I've written about this in past years, but it's fascinating to watch and listen to the parents. I can overhear them talking and sharing bits of infomation wiht other couples. They're a bit nervous, apprehensive even. I can sense it in their tone of voice, in the way they talk to each other. I can hear them trying to figure out where they're supposed to meet their son or daughter for dinner tonight, asking the bartender for directions to a restaurant.
I'm also getting a look, right now, from a lady (with her husband) at the bar, who has noticed I'm trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Sleeping Joe is my cover, though. Surely she thinks I'm harmless, as I type away on my iPad with my sleeping toddler beside me in the stroller.
Belmont U. is in such a state of transition, with contruction projects ongoing all over campus. At one point this summer, on the way to dinner with our boys, Jude and I counted 5 crains on campus. It's a subject for another day, but I kind of feel like Belmont U., under Dr. Fisher's guidance, has lost its way. Bigger is not always better. Gone are the tennis courts that were open to the public and gone is most of the soccer field, where the men's and women's teams used to play and the students used to congregate at night, throwing frisbee and playing guitars.
The incoming freshman will probably see the contruction projects completed while they're here. That's a good thing, I guess. They will also make friends, lose friends, fall in and out of love, get part-time jobs, study, move in and out of dorm rooms, apartments and rental houses and become regulars at Bongo Java, blvd., P.M., Chago's Cantina, Mafiozza's, 12South Tap Room, Tacqueria del Sol, Burger Up, Frothy Monkey. They will explore their neighborhood. They will explore
Nashville. They wil grow up.
That's what I did, in Knoxville, TN, from September 1984 to December 1988. And that's what my boys will do, somday. But not too soon, I hope. I'm not ready for Jude and me to be sitting at some bar in a town with which we're totally unfamiliar, talking nervously as we prepare to leave for home the next day, leaving J.P. or Joe behind to begin his freshman year at college.
Well, the tranquility is over, as today is orientation day at Belmont U., which marks the official end of summer. It's appropos for me, since we arrived home less than two hours ago from our week of vacation at Santa Rosa Beach, Fl. My summer is over, too.
I'm sitting at a table in the bar at "blvd." (on Belmont Boulevard), enjoying a locally brewed beer - red rye from "Jackaloupe," Sleeping Joe next to me in the Baby Jogger City Elite stroller. When I finish up here, I'm going to walk over to Bongo Java for a "Mood Elevator," my first one in a week. In other words, it's business as usual on a Saturday afternooon for me (and Joe).
Did I mention I love my neighborhood?
The bar itself (the restaurant doesn't open until 5 p.m.) is filled with parents who have come to town to drop their children - all freshmen - off for their first year at Belmont U. I've written about this in past years, but it's fascinating to watch and listen to the parents. I can overhear them talking and sharing bits of infomation wiht other couples. They're a bit nervous, apprehensive even. I can sense it in their tone of voice, in the way they talk to each other. I can hear them trying to figure out where they're supposed to meet their son or daughter for dinner tonight, asking the bartender for directions to a restaurant.
I'm also getting a look, right now, from a lady (with her husband) at the bar, who has noticed I'm trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Sleeping Joe is my cover, though. Surely she thinks I'm harmless, as I type away on my iPad with my sleeping toddler beside me in the stroller.
Belmont U. is in such a state of transition, with contruction projects ongoing all over campus. At one point this summer, on the way to dinner with our boys, Jude and I counted 5 crains on campus. It's a subject for another day, but I kind of feel like Belmont U., under Dr. Fisher's guidance, has lost its way. Bigger is not always better. Gone are the tennis courts that were open to the public and gone is most of the soccer field, where the men's and women's teams used to play and the students used to congregate at night, throwing frisbee and playing guitars.
The incoming freshman will probably see the contruction projects completed while they're here. That's a good thing, I guess. They will also make friends, lose friends, fall in and out of love, get part-time jobs, study, move in and out of dorm rooms, apartments and rental houses and become regulars at Bongo Java, blvd., P.M., Chago's Cantina, Mafiozza's, 12South Tap Room, Tacqueria del Sol, Burger Up, Frothy Monkey. They will explore their neighborhood. They will explore
Nashville. They wil grow up.
That's what I did, in Knoxville, TN, from September 1984 to December 1988. And that's what my boys will do, somday. But not too soon, I hope. I'm not ready for Jude and me to be sitting at some bar in a town with which we're totally unfamiliar, talking nervously as we prepare to leave for home the next day, leaving J.P. or Joe behind to begin his freshman year at college.
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