The Beast is Born

Yesterday, at USN's river campus and with a heat index of 100 degrees, JP's MBA 7th/8th grade cross country team ran their first meet of the season against CPA, Overbrook, Ensworth, and USN.  It was so hot, in fact, that the various school official gave serious thought to canceling the meet.

I picked up Joe at USN and we arrived at USN's river campus as the 7th/8th grade girls' race was underway.  JP's race was up next so we were right on time.  

I had been nervous all day.  Truth be told, I had been nervous for a couple of days.  I'm not sure why but over all of the games I've watched JP play over the years - baseball, basketball, and soccer - cross country races make me the most nervous.  I've thought about that a lot and I think it's because I know exactly how it feels to push yourself in a race to the point of exhaustion.  I mean, I've done it many times, though mostly in the context of a road race in which I'm mostly racing against myself, perhaps trying to set a PR (personal record).

That's different, of course, from racing against others, especially boys you train with every day.  In that case, you're competing against yourself and others.  Then, for JP, there was the added layer of running a race on his old school's (USN) course against boys he went to school with, some of whom he's known for 10 years.  That's a lot of pressure on 13 year old.

And, of course, it was oppressively hot.  

Since JP began running with me during the early stages of the pandemic, I've been impressed with how naturally it seemed to come to him.  With a modicum of regular training, he's been able to keep up with me - and push me - quite easily.  He's been training on his own, too.  Running regularly in the neighborhood in evenings (before school started) and on weekends.  Still, I had no idea how any of that would translate in a cross country race. 

The setup of the USN course allows you to catch a glimpse of the runners in four places, including the finish line.  Joe and I found Jude, said hello, and I quickly walked away to be by myself, and stood alone in the shade at the second viewing point.  I said a quick prayer, for JP, and for all of the boys.  

Did I mention I was nervous?

As start time neared, I walked up to the first viewing point, and hear the starting gun fire.  I talked to my friend, Keith, and we agreed that we hoped neither of our sons would be near the lead because of the heat. Better to fall back in the pack a bit and conserve energy for the second half of the race.  If there ever was a time to run negative splits, this was it, I thought.

When the boys turned the first corner between the quarter and half mile marks and approached us on the straightaway, I saw that JP was in the lead, running fast.  While I cheered for him as he ran past me, he didn't see me or hear me.  He was all focus.  All concentration.  Staring straight ahead, steely eyed.  Running smoothly.  Effortlessly.

Damn, I thought.  Too fast.  He can't hold this pace the entire race.  Smarter to hang back in the back of the lead pack.  Mentally, I was kicking myself for not discussing strategy with him before the race.  My thought, though, had been to let him figure that out.  Let him figure out what worked and what didn't work.  I felt like he needed to have that experience on his own with no input from me.

I hustled over to the second viewing point, near the mile mark.  Brigid, a lawyer and longtime friend and fellow runner, was standing at the turn with me.  The boys approached us, more spread out than before.  

"Is that JP?" she asked.  "Wow.  He looks great."

"Looks like it," I replied.  "He's gone out too fast, I'm afraid.  I don't think he can hold that pace the rest of the race."  

Brigid nodded.  "Cade, the boy behind JP, is a great runner."  Brigid's son, Ben, was in the lead pack, too.

I cheered for JP as he ran by and asked if he was okay.  Staring straight ahead, he nodded - almost imperceptibly - as he ran by me.  He still looked really good.  Running smoothly and efficiently.  

I walked - no, ran - across the parking lot to the third viewing spot, about a quarter mile from the finish.  Parents were milling around and talking.  Joe joined me and we stood together, nervously, looking to our right for the John Deere Gator to make the turn, leading the runners toward down the back side of the course.  

Suddenly, we saw it.  Squinting in the sun, Joe and I tried in vain to see who was in the lead. 

"That's not JP," Joe said, as the runner approached in the distance.  "That's not him."

"You sure?"  I said.  "I think that's him.  Wait.  It is him!"  

Joe and I began cheering wildly as JP neared us, leading the second runner - Cade - by a comfortable margin.  Probably 25 yards.  This cannot be happening, I thought to myself.

I stared intently at JP as he passed by us.  His face was a mask of concentration.  And pain.  A lot of pain.  I've been there.  I know how that feels.  In that very moment, I felt so close to JP, like I was running with him.  His gait wasn't quite as smooth.  The running not so effortless.    

This is it, I thought.  This is where he finds out who he is and what he can do as a runner.  What he can be as a runner.  He's there and now he gets to find out.

Joe and I, joined by Jude, ran over to the finish line.  A race official yelled at us as we ducked under the sideline tape.  I ignored him because I was intent on getting to the end of the course so I could cheer for JP.  So I could tell him who was behind him.  So I could watch him cross the finish line.

JP made the final turn, still leading.  He had slowed a bit and Cade was closing in on him with surprisingly strong finishing kick.  JP quickly glanced over his left shoulder to see where Cade was, seeming to judge his distance and speed.

"JP!"  I yelled at the top of my lungs.  "Finish!  Finish strong!  All the way through!" 

I didn't want JP to lose the race at the end, after working so hard and leading the entire way.  As he told me later, he heard my voice amidst the cacophony and chaos of the race finish - and picked up his pace a bit.  He crossed the finish line two seconds ahead of Cade.

JP won the first cross country race of the season.  He led wire to wire.  An amazing feat on such a hot day. Truly.

Afterwards, JP didn't know where he was.  He fell into my arms as he crossed the finish line.  He mumbled his name to the race official as she recorded the names of the top finishers.  He was moaning, speaking almost incoherently.  He couldn't see, he told me.  I poured water over his head.  Brigid and her husband gave us an ice towel to put on his neck.  I gave him a Gatorade.  It was all he could do to put the plastic bottle to his lips and drink it.

JP and walked around together for the next ten or 15 minutes, reeling like a couple of drunken sailors, Jude later told us.

"You're okay." I assured him.  "You're okay."  

Slowly, his vision returned and JP came back to me.  To us.  I know where he was because I've been there. It's not a place I've visited often and I haven't been there in many years but I remember it.

I remember it when I ran an 18:06 5K at the Run for the Missions in downtown Franklin.  I thought my heart was going to explode after the race.  That was a lifetime ago but you never forget that place after you've been there.  It's such an intense experience.  

Not many 13 year olds - hell, not many people - are willing to go to the place, not willingly.  To do what JP did yesterday.  To give that kind of effort.  To push your body to the limit, to the precipice, and then to go beyond that point.    

That's where the magic is - in the beyond.  That's the crucible.  That's where you find out about yourself.  That's where you find the answers.  It's where you find the secret.  It's all there.  All of it.

JP, Joe, Jude and I walked over to the pavilion to join JP's MBA teammates.  As he walked up to join his team, another boy grabbed him, then fist bumped him.  

"JP!" he said.  "What a race.  Man, you're a beast!!!"

I turned away quickly, so no one could see the tears in my eyes.

JP was a beast yesterday.  

I'm so proud of him.  It's a rare and special thing, I think, for a grown man to be inspired by his 13 year old son.    

   

The Tie that Binds

Anyone that knows me knows how much I love music.  I've never played other than a couple lost years of piano lessons as a child.  For as long as I can remember, though, I've loved to listen to music.

Charlie Watts - legendary drummer for The Rolling Stones - died yesterday at 80.  My enduring image of Charlie Wats is from the Stones' "Start Me Up" video during MTV's heyday in the mid-1980's.  Clear as day, I can see Charlie playing drums, smiling bemusedly, and shaking his head as Mick Jagger cavorts around the stage, acting like a an idiot, and Keith Richards plays guitar and laughs.  For some reason, that image always has stuck with me.

RIP, Charlie Watts.  The greatest living drummer.  The unlikely soul of The Rolling Stones.

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/08/24/arts/music/charlie-watts-rolling-stones.html

Over the weekend, I learned that my guy, James McMurtry, had released a new album for the first time in six years.  For me, it's like Christmas morning when I get a new album from McMurtry.  Other than Tom Petty, James McMurtry has been my guy for more than three decades.  I've seen him play many times in many venues, from the Cannery in Nashville to an indoor/outdoor motorcycle bar somewhere outside Knoxville - now that was a night!

Amazing guitar player but what really sets him apart is his songwriting.  His dad, Larry McMurtry, was a Pulitzer Prize winning writer who died this year and is one of my favorites.  James McMurtry writes songs like his dad, Larry, wrote novels, screenplays, and memoirs.  Beautifully.  Stories about real people.

This album - The Horse and the Hounds - is like all McMurtry albums for me.  Solid all the way through.  I'll find one song I like, wear it out, then move on to another song, and wear it out.  Deep cuts on every album, for me, anyway.  Right now, it's the first song on the album, Canola Fields.  Every line exquisitely written and achingly, hauntingly beautiful.  That's a McMurtry song.   

That's every McMurtry song.  

The Dog Days of August

In a little more than a week, Joe and J.P. start school for the 2021 - 22 academic year.  Joe, at USN in 3rd grade and J.P. in his debut at MBA in 7th grade.  For the first time in a while, the boys will be at different schools which, of course, will present a variety of logistical challenges for Jude and me.  It's been nice for the past three years to have them at the same school.

This week, neither of them has a camp or anything similar to go to during the day.  That makes for a relatively lazy final week of summer, although J.P. does have cross country practice every afternoon at 3 p.m.  I'm pleased that they'll have some down time because, in summer, it often seems that they're weekly schedules are jam packed with basketball camp, baseball camp, zoo camp, Camp Whippoorwill, Camp Widjiwagan, etc.  

Camps for the boys are a necessity for working parents like Jude and me, of course.  Still, I seem to remember a lot of down time in the summer when I was a kid.  Watching television, readings, laying around.  Not a better way to do it, in summer, just different. 

I'll probably write more another time about my hopes and dreams for J.P. at MBA but I do know, for sure, he's going to be challenged academically and socially from the get go.  That's partially why I'm happy for him to get some down time this week.  The calm before the middle school storm, if you will.  I'm also happy for him to have some time to clean up his room because boy, does it need it.  Clutter - mostly sports related - everywhere.

It's been funny to watch Joe walk around MBA's campus when he has accompanied me to pick up J.P. from cross country practice in the evenings.  Shoulders rolled back, arms swinging confidently by his sides as he walks from the football field to the baseball field, chin up.  That's just Joe.  Big personality. Confident.  Doing individual workouts at MBA in the new basketball facility with Coach Amos this summer has made Joe feel more at home, too.  

Over the weekend, I laughed and told friends that Joe probably thinks he'll be the first 4th grader to attend MBA in history next year, a tall task given that the school is 7th - 12th grade.  Again, that's Joe.

Last week, J.P. spent some time with his friends, Cooper and J.D., both of whom he's known forever.  They're 8th graders at MBA.  At a pool party at J.D.'s, J.P. got to meet some other 8th graders which I'm hoping will give him a head start on meeting boys once school begins next week.  

Where did the summer go?  The same place it always goes, I guess, quickly receding into the scrapbook of memories in my mind as our boys grow up and older every year, every month, and every day.  Time is getting away from me, I know, and I find myself, sometimes, reminding myself to enjoy the stolen moments. 

It's hard because I'm so busy at work, as always, and there's always the next thing to take care of for a client.  So much of what I do is deal with people in crisis in their personal lives, so every call or meeting is important and, sometimes, fraught with emotion.  I have a 4-day trial upcoming in the next couple of weeks, too.  It's a lot.

Nonetheless, we keep on keeping on.  School is upon us and maybe, hopefully, fall weather isn't far behind, although it doesn't feel like it today, in the dog days of August.  

     

Another Win for the Old Man

As I've written many times before, the Nashville Bar Association softball league is special to me.  I've played in the league for almost 30 years.  Manier, Herod; Cox, LeVan, Sprader & Patton; Bowen, Riley, Warnock & Jacobson; and Riley, Warnock & Jacobson. 

Somehow, this season, we've become "the Russians," a nickname Duane Barrett and I gave the team, while we drank beer together, a lifetime ago. 

On my team and on other teams in the league, so many friends and teammates have come and gone.  Earlier this season, I played against Dickinson Wright (formerly Stewart, Estes & Donnell) and only recognized one player on their entire team.  It's like that on almost every team we play.

Somehow, at age 55, I've ended up as the last man standing.  Other than my teammate and longtime friend, John Rolfe, and Independents' stalwarts Gary Rubenstein and Eula, there aren't many - or any - players who have been played in the NBA softball league as long as I have. 

Last night, in the second game of the tournament, we played Hardin Law, one of our rivals of recent times.  All good guys on their team, including Bill Porth, whom I went to high school with.  Billy and I have been playing softball against each other for years.  Their team was down a few players, as was our team.  Vacations, Covid-19, etc.

J.P. and Joe were at the game, which always is big for me.  It means a lot to have them there, in the dugout, at an age where they can follow and enjoy the game, and interact with my teammates.  It's also important to me for them to see me, at age 55, competing, and stepping on the mound to pitch with the confidence of someone who has been doing it at a high level for more than three decades.  I also like them to see me, in my element, talking, laughing, and hugging players on my team and on other teams.  

Vanity on my part?  A little but also, I want them to see the importance of working hard to build relationships that last over time and the enjoyment and friendships that are forged in the process.

Our team took an early lead but Hardin Law closed the gap late and, in the bottom of the last inning, we were up 12-10.  It was slightly past 8 p.m. and almost dark because, for some reason, Metro Parks refuses to repair the lights not he fields at Cleveland Street Park.  

The first batter, a woman, grounded out to shortstop.  The next batter hit a ball to my right.  I backhanded the ball, bobbled it slightly, then whirled and fired it to first.  I thought we had the guy by half a step but Gary called him safe.  Gary was hustling down the line to get a good look at the play, so I couldn't complain, although the consensus was that he missed the call.  The last batter in the lineup, a woman, made an out.  

Good news?  Two outs.  Bad news?  Leadoff hitter coming up.  As always, the game turned on where the teams were in the lineup during their last at bats.  

The leadoff hitter and second got base hits.  The third batter hit a double, scoring one run, leaving runners at second and third.  Our lead was cut in half to 12-11.  Two outs.  A base hit wins the game for Hardin Law.

My teammates, especially the infielders, wanted me to walk the batter to set up a force at any base.  I thought about it but quickly decided I was going to pitch to the cleanup hitter.  The on deck batter was an old school, hulking softball player.  He had gotten a base hit every time he batted earlier in the game.  Looking at him in the on deck circle, I knew he - like me - had seen it all on the softball field.  I knew he wouldn't try to do too much if he batted with the bases loaded.  He would lace a base hit to left field and the game would be over.

The cleanup hitter was younger and less experienced.  He might - just might - be a little nervous.  He might press and try to crush the ball, as opposed to base hitting me.  I liked my chances with him.

Our third baseman, John Wilks, looked right at me and said, "Newman, you want to walk this guy?"  "No," I replied, emphatically.  "I can't get the guy behind him out."

I took a deep breath, stared in at the cleanup hitter in the fading light, and threw his a first pitch knuckle ball.  Sure enough, he took a massive swing and lines a hard grounder right back at me.  I gloved it, turned toward first base, and threw the ball to Derek Hughey.  

Game over.  

As Hughey caught the ball from me, John Wilks yelled "Neeewwwmannnn!"  My teammates and I congratulated each other with a little more enthusiasm than normal, enjoying our improbable win.  J.P. and Joe jogged out onto the field to congratulate me.  Adrenaline flowing, I made the rounds, clapping teammates on the back and giving high fives.  

One softball game in a line of hundreds, maybe more than a thousand, softball games in my lifetime.  Still, a memorable softball game.  I showed my boys - and I showed myself - that I can still spin it at age 55.  And that's something - for me, anyway.

After the game, I dropped the boys off and drove two Burger Up to get a takeout salad.  As I sat at the bar and sipped an Uncle Val's (gin) and tonic, I savored the victory, texting with several of my teammates.  It as a moment of quiet satisfaction, one I want to remember.

I don't know how many more years I have playing softball in the law league.  Maybe a few.  Maybe several.  But I'll remember last night's game after I'm done.

 

Double Nickels

I'm not big on birthdays.  Not for me, anyway.  It's weird - always has been - but I'm sure it's tied up with my dad dying at such a young age.  More than most, especially when I was younger, I've always had a strong sense of my own mortality.  Obviously, for me, a birthday meant a year older and year closer to, well, death.  

Morbid and weird?  Sure, but it's the way I'm wired.  Consequently, at least as an adult, I've never enjoyed it when anyone made a big deal out of my birthday.  Others' birthdays are great.  Mine?  Not so much.

The truth is I've never liked the idea of getting older.  That's not changed.  If anything, it's worsened as I've gotten older.  Maybe part of that is natural.  Maybe not.  

So, a couple of weeks ago, I quietly turned 55 in Charlottesville, then spent the day with J.P. after picking him up from sport camp at Woodberry Forest.  Actually, it was a perfect birthday for me.  Low key.  No party.  Spending time, along, with J.P.  Very nice.

At the time, I didn't dwell too much about turning 55 years old.  A few random jokes about being closer to 60 than 50 but that was about it.  Still, it was unsettling and the jokes I made masked an insecurity on my part about my age.  Not because of vanity but out of a feeling that so much of my life is behind me and the unknowable question of how much life I have left.  

I wouldn't trade my life or my family for anyone's, certainly, but that's a down side of having children so much later in life.  There's a real pressure to stay healthy as long as I can to be here for them as they grow into adults.  I worry about that all the time.  I don't want to be 65 years old 10 years from now - with the boys 23 and 19 - and be frail or a burden to them.  What if, God forbid, I get dementia or Alzheimer's and as they enter the prime of their lives, they have to deal with a father who is an invalid?  I don't want that for them.  

I worry about that a lot.  I really do.

An old friend of mine - a lawyer - has been in intensive care with kidney cancer and heart problems.  He's only a few years older than me.  Back in the day, as they say, we played basketball and softball against each other in the lawyer leagues.  He was an athletic marvel 25 years ago.  6'5".  In great shape.  In basketball, he could handle the ball, play defense, and score.  He was unstoppable for "the Wildcats," a team in the Nashville Bar Association basketball league.  A very competitive guy.

Now, he's coming off a major surgery and lately, it's been touch and go.  Unbelievable to me, especially last week, when I learned of his health issues as I played in a softball game in the law league.  Where does the damn time go and how did John and I get old?  How did John get sick?

Yesterday, I mediated for a lawyer who is a very good friend of mine.  Earlier in the week, it looked like the mediation would get canceled because his mother had bacterial pneumonia, was in the hospital, and wasn't likely to survive.  I remember when Dana used to visit his parents in Stuart, Florida, and fish with his dad.  Now, his mom's health is failing - she has Parkinson's and dementia and, on top of that, bacterial pneumonia.  Again, where did the time go?

Also yesterday, a lawyer who practices next door to me in Franklin - one who also is a very good friend of mine - buried his father in Tracy City, Tennessee.  His father served in the Navy, owned businesses in Grundy County, and in days gone by, was a dedicated cock fighter.  Yes, I've seen photographs.  His dad loved raising what he called "chickens" and fighting them in arenas small and large all across the south.  And after battling dementia and a myriad of health conditions, he's gone.  I feel for Neil, my friend, because he's lost two brothers and his father in the last couple of years.  

So much illness.  So much death.  

Lately, to be sure, I've had a difficult time appreciating the wonder of life while it seems like disease and death are lurking around every corner.  It's a delicate balance - it always has been, for me - that I probably can trace back to my father's death.  I think the balance has been upset, or thrown off, and that's hard for me to handle.  

My emotional energy, at home and at work, has waned, at times.  Especially at work, my capacity to empathize with my clients or with those I am mediating for, is diminished.  I don't much patience to deal with demanding clients or issue with staff.  Sometimes, I simply want to be left alone, and that's not possible in my line work.  I have to be "on" virtually every day I'm at work and that's been a challenge.

I'm not sure what I can do but soldier on, so to speak.  It's what my mom would have done.  Hell, it's what she did, every day of her life after my father died.  

So, this weekend, I'll put a smile on my face for Jude and the boys, and do what I need to do.

Keep.  Going.  

Mt. LeConte

Yesterday, I led our crew vacationing together in the Smokies on a hike to Mt. LeConte.  Jude, Joe, and Holden turned around at Rainbow Falls and hiked back to the trailhead.  J.P, Terry, Meg, Terry (Jr.), Tommy, Scott, Jacqui, Ben, and Ellie hiked with me to Mt. LeConte on the Rainbow Falls Trail, then back down from Mt. LeConte on the Bullhead Trail.

At my encouragement, we got an early start.  That's not easy when it involves wrangling a bunch of teenagers who like their sleep.  Terry was up early, though, and motivated his boys to get going.  We left the Gatlinburg cabin - "the round houses" - a little after 7:30 a.m. and arrived at the Rainbow Falls Trailhead parking lot just before 8:00 a.m., where we go the last three parking spaces.  

Our ragtag crew hit the trail a little after 8:00 a.m. on the way to Rainbow Falls.  It's funny, but as many times as I've hiked to Mt. LeConte on that route - two years ago with J.P.. for example - I always forget virtually everything about it.  Total mileage.  The terrain.  Total time for the hike up and back.  Difficulty.  I tend to underestimate all of those things, much to the dismay of anyone I'm hiking with which, of course, was the case yesterday.

The draw for me to this particular route to Mt. LeConte is twofold.  First, almost three miles up, you get to see Rainbow Falls, which is beautiful.  Second, you get to hike an alternate route down the mountain on the Bullhead Trail.  In other words, two trails for the price of one.  That's cool, to me, given that I don't get to hike Mt. LeConte as much these days as I did in the past, during and after law school.

Our group did well on the hike to Rainbow Falls, although Jude struggled a bit.  The payoff was there, though, as the falls were roaring after a hard rain in the Smokies the night before.  I cautioned all of the boys about climbing too high up toward the falls and Joe, of course, was mad that I wouldn't let him climb as high as the older boys.  

I took a few pics of the group at Rainbow Falls, after which Jude, Joe, and Holden headed back down the trail.

I also got a few pics of J.P. and Joe.

The rest of the group continued to Mt. LeConte.  The hike up the mountain was longer, and tougher, than I remembered.  More than once, one of the kids stopped and asked me, "how much longer," which was akin to the "are we there yet" queries I used to get from our boys on car trips to Florida.

At one point, in response to yet another question about how much farther we need to hike to reach Mt. LeConte, I estimated the distance at about .5 miles.  Big mistake, given that it turned out we were 1.6 miles from the top.  I caught a lot of shit about that from the group - deservedly so - when we arrived at Mt. LeConte Lodge and sat down at a picnic table to have lunch.  

Everyone was beat, especially, Ellie.  To her credit, though, she was on the point most of the hike up the mountain.  She fell once, ran out of water, and looked to be on the verge of tears at one point, but she made it.  As I gave her an extra bottle of water while we ate lunch, she casually mentioned that she regretted not finishing the hike up the Narrows in Zion National Park two years ago, so she had been determined to get to the top of Mt. LeConte.  I admired her tenacity, for sure.

The hike down, as usual, was tougher than the hike up the mountain.  For some reason, the park rangers haven't done any maintenance work on the upper half of the trial.  As a result, most the single track trail was obscured by knee high grass, which made it difficult to see the loose rocks on the trail on the way down.  Jacqui fell and I almost did more than once, as well.  Fortunately, the park rangers had cut the grass on the bottom half of the trail, so it was slightly easier going.

The last mile or so, I was on the point, with Tommy, Ben, and J.P. close behind me.  It was fun listening to Tommy and Ben talk about the college application process, among other things.  J.P. listened - mostly silently - taking it all in, hopefully, so he realizes the importance of studying hard and testing well.  

Finally, we made it to the bottom of the Bullhead Trail, then hiked .2 miles back two the Rainbow Falls trailhead and parking lot.  All of us, including and especially me, were in pain and ready for the hike to be over.  13.9 miles in one day, between six and seven hours of hiking time.  

I was proud of the kids, because hiking to Mt. LeConte isn't easy.  Hell, I was proud of the adults, too.  

It's strange but I don't remember the hike being so difficult two years ago when J.P. and I hiked the same route to Mt. LeConte.  I'm probably running more than I was then, or at least just as much, so I'm certainly not in worse shape.  Maybe it's that we were hiking with a group and I felt the added responsibility of keeping up with everyone.  Or, maybe, it's because I'm two years older, having turned 55 (gulp!) last Friday.  

It was a good hike with a great group of people.  Jude's friends - and their kids - are special.  Very special. It's always good for Jude to spend time with them, especially during this season of our lives.  

I had to drive back last night for depositions today and tomorrow, which sucks, because I'll miss the rest of the week with everyone.  Still, I'm glad we got to hike Mt. LeConte and I think it's a memory for all of them that will endure.

Charlottesville

Camper of the Week in week 3 for his team.

Football MVP for the entire camp.

His team won 4 of 8 championships.

And, today, in his team's final competition of camp - softball - he hit 2 home runs and a walk off ground rule double for the win, that I saw, in person.

More importantly, J.P.'s coach/counselor was effusive in his praise when I talked with him today at Woodberry Forest.  Humble.  Tremendous work ethic.  Team player.  Leader.  All of those were words he used to describe J.P. as we strolled across the 1,200 acre campus toward the dormitory on the last day of sports camp.

What was really special, though, was hearing from him that J.P. always took care to involve his younger teammates and to make sure they tasted success in a particular game.  Whether it was passing the ball to a teammate in soccer or hockey, or just encouraging a teammate to keep competing, J.P. was leading, and that's what Jude and I want from him.  On the athletic fields but more importantly, in life.

As J.P. and I picked up his gear and walked to my truck, then back to the Woodberry Forest bookstore, he exchanged goodbye's with several boys.  A nod of the head, J.P. slapping hands with another camper as we walked by.  J.P. met a lot of kids and made new friends.  A chapter in J.P.'s life closed but, hopefully, he heads into a busy and challenging fall with the confidence that can only come from living away from home, even for a little while, and establishing himself amongst he peers at camp. 

We walked down to the gym at Woodberry Forest.  It's an old school, turn of the century gym, the kind I love.  No air conditioning, sunlight streaming through windows on one side of the building.  J.P. and I got some shots up and talked quietly while we were shooting.  As we were leaving, Seth, one of his teammates from his team the first week, UNC, walked in with his father, who coached at Woodberry Forest.  He and J.P. laughed together as they talked about their first week of camp, when their team went 24-2.  As a result of their success, the teams were reconfigured for weeks two and three.

Seth, who Joe and I had named "the big dog," when we saw him in photos from camp, is taller than J.P. and a good basketball player.  His brother is 6'7" and plays in college.  Very nice boy.  His father and I talked at length, about baseball, when I dropped J.P. off, so it was fitting that they were the last ones we talked to before we left campus today.

Later, as we walked down the mall at West Main Street in Charlottesville, near our hotel, looking for a place to eat lunch, a boy yelled out, excitedly, "J.P.!"  It was Frank, a boy he'd met at camp who played on another team.  As I shook hands and introduced myself to his parents, Frank looked up at me, earnestly, and said, "J.P. is an amazing athlete."  I smiled and thanked him, then we said our goodbyes and walked away.

What an experience for J.P. had at Woodberry Forest sports camp!  I'm so grateful he had the opportunity to be there the last three weeks.  I'm grateful, too, that I have him back.

J.P. and his coach, Jay.  Jay is a football manager at the University of North Carolina who wants to coach football.  He and I talked for a bit and he had a lot of good things to say about J.P. as a person and as an athlete.  

J.P. with his coaches, Braden and Jay.  Really, really good guys.

J.P. and Matt Blundin, former quarterback at University of Virginia and head football coach at Woodberry Forest.  Matt and his wife, Amy, are the sports camp directors.

Now, on to the Smoky Mountains tomorrow to hook up with Jude, Joe, and Jude's college friends from Tulane.