Scott Harman Relays

In what could only be called a stroke of serendipity, my NSL class was canceled Wednesday night due to inclement weather.  That meant I could attend the Scott Harman Relays and watch JP race in the 3200.

The Scott Harman Relays are important to me because I grew up in the same neighborhood with Scott Harman.  We played youth baseball together.  He was two years behind me at Brentwood High School.  He was the best athlete I've ever known.  6'3" 210 pounds.  All-County and All-Midstate running back.  He won a state championship in the pole vault in 1985.  In 1986, he broke the state record in the decathlon by 200 points and, in the process, won a state championship.  Scott subsequently accepted a track scholarship to UT (Knoxville) and I occasionally saw him on campus in the fall and winter of 1986.

On April 17, 1987, Scott was in Berea, KY, participated in his first track meet as a member of UT's track and field team.  While warming up, he was hit in the head by an errant throw of the hammer by another athlete.  Scott never regained full consciousness and died at home 16 years later on November 12, 2003.  It's a tragic story made more so by the fact that Scott's older sister died in a car accident near our neighborhood a year or so before he was critically injured.

Initially, the Scott Harman Relays began at Brentwood High School as a fundraiser for the Hartman family.  It makes me happy, all these years later, that they're still held in Scott's honor every spring.  I don't want Scott Harman to be forgotten.  To that end, I sent one of JP's track coaches an e-mail last weekend providing him with details about Scott to share with MBA's track and field team before the meet.

On Wednesday evening, I arrived at Brentwood High School about 6 p.m.  After finding a parking place behind Brentwood Middle School, I found an entrance on the back side of the track and walked across the infield, still wearing my coat and tie.  The boys were finishing the second heat of the 800.  JP's senior cross country teammate, Jack Farringer, ran well, clocking a 2:05:42 in the second heat.  I missed the first heat, in which JP's senior cross country teammate, Jack Wallace, won the 800 by running a blistering 1:56:75.

Almost as soon as I walked up, lightning flashed in the western sky and the meet was officially delayed.  Athletes were ordered off the track and parents walked to their cars.  Jude and I sat in my car for close to an hour, listening to a podcast.  I reclined my seat and catnapped.  Finally, I drove her around to her car in the front parking lot, so she could leave to get Joe from Rohan Chitale's house after his baseball game, which had been rained out.  

Surprisingly, the meet resumed about 7:45 p.m. and I walked back down to the track.  I talked with some other parents and stood for a few moments by the flagpole with the plaque honoring Scott Hartman.  I watched a relay or two and a few boys and girls hurdles heats.  I walked to the back side of the track and stood next to a Father Ryan mother as she watched her daughter run the 3200.  Finally, about 8:00 p.m., the boys lined up to 3200.

I was curious to see how JP would fare against other boys who had been training specifically on the track all spring long.  JP, of course, has been playing baseball primarily and running on his own.  He works in the occasional track workout with the team when it doesn't conflict with baseball.  I like the 3200 for JP, too, because I think he excels at that distance.  

With the sky threatening heavy rain at any moment, the starter fired his pistol, and the boys were off.  On the first lap, at the third turn where I was standing, JP was leading the pack as the boys ran what appeared to be a comfortable pace.  My first thought, though, was for JP to get out of the lead.  On a windy night, no need to lead the race.  Let someone else do the work of the leader and trust your kick at the end.  Don't go out too fast and don't break for the lead too early.

In the second lap, JP settled in behind the leader, running along the inside of the track.  By the third lap, the lead pack of seven runners, including JP and Gabe (his classmate at MBA), had broken away a bit.  JP continued to run second and looked good, like a car in fourth gear, with a fifth gear available, when and if necessary.

Although I was nervous, I felt good about how JP was running as the runners crossed the start/finish line and began the second half of the race.  He's a quick study and when he ran the 2-mile, indoors, in Louisville earlier this year, I think he realized he broke too early.  My thought, then, was that he's probably break at or near the beginning of the last lap.

And when the bell rang loudly, that's exactly what he did.  Nearing the far, second turn from where I was standing, JP burst from the pack with a powerful move no one else could match.  I walked across the track then began jogging across the infield to get to the finish line.  He had pulled away from the pack by 10 or 15 yards as the boys approached the third turn, where I had been standing.

He was running fast and easy as he made the final turn and ran down the straightaway toward the finish line.  A runner from Page High School, in second place, tried to pick up the pace and reel JP in, but he couldn't do it.  JP maintained a distance of 10 yards or so between them.  As he crossed the finish line in 9:42:32, JP extended his arms out beside him in celebration, almost like wings.  I chuckled, remembering that JP's former teammate, Samuel Trumble, raised an index finger to the sky in the same race last year and was almost disqualified by the race officials.  

I found JP and gave him a hug and took a quick post-race photo.  JP had a huge smile on his face.  A smile of relief, maybe, after he'd worked so hard, running on his own in the mornings before school or on weekends.  A smile of pride and a sense of accomplishment after winning his first race in a high school track event.  A smile of youth and, in some ways, innocence.  He was ebullient and that made me very happy.  

After the race, as the team and coaches were milling around the infield, Coach Russ said to him, kiddingly, "nice race for a baseball player."  JP laughed and I did, too.  

I took a few more photos, including my traditional JP and Gabe shot.  Alice called them "Shake and Bake" in a text the other day, which made me laugh.  

I said goodbye to JP, got in my truck, and drove home as is started to rain.  I was filled with wonder and gratitude.    

What a gift it is to watch my son run.  

Conflicts

I hate missing any of the boys' sports activities.  At times, it's unavoidable, like when I have a mediation.  Those, I can't really control in terms of when they conclude.  Occasionally, I'll get caught in court or in a deposition and be unable to get away.  

My scheduled was set up just right, this week, to watch JP run on Thursday in his first track meet of the season, the Scott Hartman Relays, at my alma mater, Brentwood High School.  Unfortunately, Brentwood High moved everything up a day to try to avoid bad weather headed our way the end of the week.  As a result, JP is running the 3200 tonight, rather than Thursday.  I teach at Nashville School of Law on Wednesday nights, so I have an unforeseen scheduling conflict.  

I would consider missing tonight but we're doing to our final two classes and our last two trials.  Our students work all semester long to prepare for their trial.  It's the culmination of almost six months of Wednesday night classes.  I just can't miss one of our four trials.  I can't.

It kills me, though, because I don't miss JP's races.  Ever.  I'm very curious to see how he does today given that he has been running on his own this spring and attending the occasional track workout when it doesn't conflict with baseball.  He's fit, for sure, but he not be track fit, to coin a phrase.  

On top of that, Joe has a baseball game at USN's River Campus.  Under normal circumstances, Jude and I would divide and conquer since JP and Joe have after school sports activities.  Not today, though.  

Sports on Earth

Joe's USN varsity middle school baseball team (7th and 8th grade) played Brentwood Academy.  Joe and a couple of other USN 6h graders are playing with the varsity.  It's a challenge for Joe, which is good, because there is a lot of difference, physically, between a 6th grader and an 8th grader.  In point of fact, Brentwood Academy's middle school varsity team had players, across the board, that were significantly bigger than JP's junior varsity high school team at MBA.  Draw your own conclusions.

USN got gonged in the 4th inning, losing 13 - 1 or something like that.  They're not a very good team and, frankly, they don't appear to be very well organized.  I think the boys, and the baseball program, miss Coach Gimblette.  He departed mid-semester in the fall much to the surprise of the administration, parents, and baseball players.  The timing was unfortunate, as was the fact that he didn't at least work through the end of the semester or the end of the year.  I feel sorry for the high school baseball players he left with little or no warning.  It's not the way I would have done it, for sure.  I've always said that how you leave a job is as important as how you start it.

In Joe's only at bat, he was completely overmatched by a hard throwing right hander.  Three pitches, two called strikes.  On the third pitch, he pulled his head out and swung and missed.  Strike three.  He's dropping his bat before the ball has left the pitcher's hand, which is something we tried to eliminate last summer.  He's got a lot of work to do to become a better hitter.  I think he's ready to start, though, so we may go hit today.  

He played third base and shortstop in the first three innings of the game.  On the only ball hit his way - a soft line drive in front of him at shortstop - he couldn't quite get there to catch it in the air and bobbled it before making the throw to first base, so the runner was safe.  Right now, he's a gamer without the game to play against 7th and 8th graders but, again, that's to be expected at his size and age.  I want him playing against older, strong, and better players because that will help him improve.  It's a process.  

Joe pitched the fourth inning and I was really, really proud of how he battled.  He got nicked for one run but also struck out a batter, looking, when he threw him a nifty changeup.  It followed a fastball so he set it up perfectly.  Like his brother, he was around the strike zone and threw to contact.  That's a great start, for sure.  

Joe and I left for the TOA Sports Performance Center (it sounds like a bigger deal than it is) immediately after Joe's game so he could catch the second game of a doubleheader for his 6th grade Starts' basketball team.  Having not watched this team play yet and knowing that his winter Stars' team struggled at times, I wasn't sure what to expect or what I would get at the game.

What I got, however, was the best game I have ever seen a team Joe is playing on play for two halves of basketball.  Joe's team is extremely well coached to begin with.  Every single player played hard, played defense, rebounded, and hustled.  There wasn't enough sharing of the basketball for my tastes which, really, is a slight criticism because Joe's group beat a decent team by 30 + points.  

There is real talent on Joe's team and, for once, a legitimate big man with real height and aggressiveness.  Of course, no on the team passed him the ball in post for the entire game, which was unbelievable.  After the game, I asked Joe if the big man had stolen somebody's girl friend.  It looked like they were freezing him out.  

What I loved about Joe's game was what I always love about Joe's game - his unselfishness.  He had three or four assists, which is three or four more than anyone else on the team had in my estimation.  He looks to pass first and you need players like that.  He also rebounded and picked up a couple of loose balls, which isn't particular easy at his size.  He hit a bucket on the baseline, too.  

Joe's best friend Pike, whom I have seen play what seems like a thousand basketball games with Joe over the years, was a revelation.  It's by far the most complete game I have seen Pike play.  He's talented and can score but last night, finally, he hustled and worked on defense.  He rebounded, too.  He as aggressive and when he missed a shot, he didn't hang his head.  I was really proud of Pike and I told him so after the game.  

This afternoon, Joe has a soccer scrimmage because, well, of course he does.  18 hours.  Three sports.  

I wouldn't have it any other way.

JP and the Edge of Seventeen

Well I'm not the kind to live in the past

The years run too short and the days too fast

The things you lean on are the things that don't last

Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these 

Time passages

There's something back here that you left behind

Oh time passages

Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight

- Al Stewart (1978)

JP turns 17 years old today.  

It's a beautiful time to be his father.  He's no longer a boy yet not quite a man.  

Some days, I see vestiges of the boy he used to be and glimpses of the man he will become.  It's a fascinating juxtaposition in so many ways.  

JP is, earnest, diligent, hard working, driven, ambitious, serious, intelligent, kind, caring, competitive, funny, athletic, and confident.  All of that and so much more.  

He's a son any parent would dream to have, quite honestly.  He's a tremendous big brother to Joe, who idolizes him.  He is Christ centered, which I really, really admire about him.  He takes his Catholic faith very seriously.   

His work ethic is unparalleled.  I've never seen anything like it in a boy his age.  He inspires me. 

Many mornings, before school, he's up at 5:30 a.m. and out the door for a five or six mile run.  On other mornings, he leaves early for school for an Honor Council meeting, a role in which he takes great pride.  After school, at least this spring, he practices or plays baseball for the MBA junior varsity team or does a track workout with the varsity track team.  When he gets home, he studies before and after dinner in his room (aka "the Grind House").  

I worry sometimes because he works so incredibly hard almost all of the time.  I want to make sure he takes time to enjoy himself.  I want him to enjoy these last 2 + years in high school, living at home, as much as he can.  He's a goal setter.  Always has been.  I want him to enjoy the journey, though, and not obsess about the destination.  I really want that for him.

At this point, it feels trite to write about how quickly time passes.  Still, it's true.  

As I finished a run this morning and walked down Belmont Boulevard to cool down, I could almost see JP (age 4 or 5) and me outside Bongo Java, splashing through the water running down the side of the street after a summer rainstorm on a Saturday afternoon.  That one brief moment of spontaneous and unbridled joy will be with me always.  The laughter and the innocence of that moment as his youth stretched endlessly before us.  I thought we would be there, in that place, forever. 

I have, quite literally, a million memories just like that one, of JP as a boy.  I could write a book and maybe, someday, I will.  

Happy 17th birthday, JP.  I love you.        

These Are The Days

Yesterday was one of those special days for me as a father.  A day that brought back a lot of happy memories but, at the same time, a day that will stand alone in my memory.

On a beautiful spring afternoon, I watched JP's MBA JV team defeat one of their true rivals, Father Ryan, 7 - 5 in what was a great baseball game.  To begin with, I didn't think I would make the game because I was in the first day of a three day mediation.  The mediation ended rather suddenly mid-afternoon, which meant I could get to JP's baseball game.  I even had time to change clothes so I wouldn't be the only main the stands watching the game in a coat and tie as is usually the case.

Neither team could get anything going offensively for the first couple of innings.  Whitt pitched very well for MBA.  High velocity on his fastball and better control than his last outing.  He's a competitor and will contribute in a big way to the varsity baseball team over the next couple of years.  

In his first at bat, JP lined a grounder back to the pitcher off of the end of his bat and was thrown out at first.  Not great contact but he was on the pitch.  In the third or fourth inning, MBA rallied and plated two runs.  JP batted with two outs and a runner on third base.  He lined an RBI single into right center field just over the second basemen's head.  It was a big hit for him and for the team, as MBA increased its lead to 3 - 0.  

Unfortunately, the wheels fell off for MBA in the top of the 6th inning.  Father Ryan scored five runs after Whitt ran out of gas and MBA's first relief pitcher struggled a bit.  Aidan, a freshman I haven't met yet, came in as the second relief pitcher and put out the fire.  

Earlier, in the inning in which MBA scored three runs, Aidan laid down a perfect sacrifice bunt, moving two baserunners to second third.  Both baserunners scored when the next batter singled.  It was good, fundamental baseball.

In the bottom of the sixth inning, Father Ryan's relief pitcher tired and MBA took advantage, scoring four runs to take a 7 - 5 lead.  JP was hit by a pitch that gazed his jersey.  Against a left-hander, he got a big jump and slid safely into second base after the batter grounded out to first base in what amounted to a hit-and-run.  One pitch later, he noticed the second baseman was not holding him on, so he took off for third base and stole it, easily beating the throw from Father Ryan's catcher (one of his teammates on HBC last summer).  Later, JP confirmed he stole third on his own, which I suspected was the case.

In the bottom of the seventh inning, JP made a nice catch on routine fly ball to center field for the first out.  He was perfect positioned to make the play.  Aidan - pitching like an absolute boss - struck out the last batter with runners on second and third to clinch the win.  Huge.

____________________________________________

So, that's the game story.  What mattered the most to me, though, was watching JP play baseball on a beautiful spring afternoon with a good group of young men on a rapidly improving baseball team.  

For the last few innings, I sat with Gavin O'Heir, my friend and the father of one of JP's teammates and friends.  We laughed, talked sports (Celtics vs. Lakers), laughed some more, and watched our sons play baseball, just as we have for the last three baseball seasons.  He's a great guy and a fantastic father.  His son, also named Gavin, is a well rounded student and athlete, precisely the kind of boy with whom I want JP to be friends.

As I watched JP running in from center field, at the plate, and on the bases, I was struck by how much he looks like a baseball player.  I thought back to all of the spring and summer evenings in the house on Elliott Avenue when we would throw on a little strip of grass at Mount Gilead Baptist Church, across the street, after dinner.  I thought of all of the practices and games in which I've coached him over the years.  Wins and losses.  Successes and failures.

All of it, or so it seemed, culminated in yesterday's game as I watched JP.  Not the strongest or biggest baseball player on the team.  Not the most gifted but maybe the most confident and self-assured player on the team.  Already this season, he has played center field, left field, shortstop, third base, second base, and pitcher.  He's probably the best base runner or at least one of them.  

He's a baseball player and I love to watch him play baseball.

I know these days are numbered.  In a way, they always have been.  Nothing lasts forever.  Not youth.  Not teams.  Not school.  Not life.  

Not baseball.

Still, I'll remember yesterday's game as one fo the special ones.  One of my favorites.  

  

Red Rolled

I had a mediation cancel yesterday, which was great because it allowed me to sneak away early to watch JP play JV baseball at David Lipscomb.  The Mustangs rolled MBA, 11 - 1.

It's going to be a long season, I believe, because MBA's JV team has nine freshman.  Those boys are young, small, and learning that this is a big difference between 7th and 8th grade baseball and JV high school baseball.  They're thin on pitching and, at least early, no one is hitting.  They lost a couple of pitchers, too, who really would have helped this team, which is unfortunate.  Yes, it's early, but this team just feels different, less confident, than last year's team.

What I've stressed to JP is to lead this team.  It's not unlike the junior school "A" team a couple of years ago.  There were very few 8th graders that played much at all.  JP lead that team and he needs to lead this one.  It's a real opportunity for growth for him, I think.  

JP played shortstop yesterday, filling if for a freshman who strained his hamstring.  Otherwise, JP has been playing center field and left field.  On this team, he'd probably help more playing second base regularly but his versatility is one of his strengths on the baseball field.  Always has been.  

I'd like to JP pitch because I think he could help the team that way.  For whatever reason, though, his coach doesn't seem to see him as a pitcher.  Generally, he has good control and yesterday, our boys walked several hitters.  While JP won't overpower anyone, he generally throws strikes and pitches to contact.  Selfishly, as a father, I'd just like to see him on the mound again to see what he could do. 

At the plate, JP walked the first time up.  He battled in his second at bat, falling behind ini the count early before working it back to 3-2.  After fouling a couple of pitches off, he hid a sharp grounder in the hole at shortstop, scoring a run.  He was thrown out at first in a relatively close play.  It was a quality at bat and I was proud of him.

The boys plays David Lipscomb again this afternoon and I'll be there, at least for part of the game.  I'll leave early most likely because I teach tonight.  

Elijah Luc, whom I coached for several seasons.  One of my all time favorite boys, hands down.

JP's number one fan at yesterday's game.

Two men currently in the witness protection program.

How to Become a Regular in Seven Days

Yesterday evening, before an outstanding dinner at Cafe Tango on 30A, a couple of friends reached out to us to find out when we're planning on leaving for home.  They pointed out that there is a significant weather event headed through the south today - straight line winds, tornados, hail, heavy rain - and that it was supposed to hit Alabama by midday.  The concern was our getting caught in a traffic jam somewhere on the interstate in Alabama in the middle of a severe storm.

Jude and I talked about it and, initially, decided to pack last night and leave early this morning in an effort to beat traffic and the storm.  On a lark, I reached out to the owners of our house, Beyond the Sea, and asked it we could extend our stay by a day and leave Sunday.  Quickly, they responded that we could and here we are with an extra day in Santa Rosa Beach.  

It brings to mind the one other time that Jude and I extended out stay by a day, many years ago, when we were staying with JP in Another Happy Day, the first house we rented in Old Florida Village.  The reason for that extension?  We were desperate to finish a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle.  I'm not joking.  We stayed another day and got close but still didn't manage to finish the puzzle.  We still laugh about it.

Of course, as is always the case, the morning you leave the beach (or are supposed to leave) is always the prettiest morning of your stay.  Today is no exception.  Although it's a little windy, as it has been all week, it's a gorgeous 30A spring morning.  It sure doesn't look like bad weather is on the way.  Without our luck, the weather pattern will be delayed a day or it won't arrive here until tomorrow morning and we'll be pulling out of town in a storm.  Still, one more day at the beach is one more day at the beach.

I'm having coffee this morning, again, at my new place, Black Bear Bread Company, in Grayton Beach.  It's closer than Ama Vida, the coffee is just as good, and the atmosphere is better.  It's in a small development called The Shops of Grayton Beach.  Two small buildings, connected by a breezeway with outside seating.  A coffee shop, sandwich shop, and a small bar serving specialty drinks, Bloody Mary's, mimosas, beer, and wine.  It has a good vibe, too, which I like in coffee shop.

The staff already has begun to recognize and greet me, mostly because I bring my own coffee mug.  Of course, it may be my disturbing mustache - see, e.g. Sam Elliott - that makes me stand out enough to be remembered, as well.  It's a conversation piece, if nothing else, as evidenced but the humorous exchange I had with a more heavily mustachioed man and his wife as we were leaving lunch yesterday at Stinky's Bait Shack.  

I told him the guy that when my mustache grew up, it wanted to look like his.  He laughed and laughed, as his wife should her head sadly.  Jude walked up and both wives commiserated about how ridiculous their husbands looked with mustaches.  Jude is still not happy with the mustache, a gift I gave her last month for our 22nd anniversary.  

I diverge because this morning, I was thinking about a conversation Jude and I had last night.  The question that started our conversation was an interesting one.

Could we retire on a distant day in the future and live here, in Santa Rosa Beach, full time?

Jude immediately said yes.  I wasn't so sure.  It's interesting because for many years, I would have been an instant yes, too.  It's hard for me to imagine being retired at all, to begin with.  It's even harder for me to imagine being retired and leaving Nashville to move to the beach.  

My early mornings this week spent at Black Bear Bread Company are proof that I could quickly find a favorite coffee shop or two, a favorite restaurant or bar, and become a regular.  That's important to me for some reason.  I think it's the almost daily interaction with other human beings who are in my orbit.  Not family or close friends but other humans that I see regularly and with whom I exchange pleasantries.  It makes me feel alive.

I don't think I'm capable of living in relative anonymity.  A part of me needs consistent interaction with acquaintances and almost friends.  Why?  I'm not sure.

I would love the weather and, more importantly the beach an ocean.  I would love to be able to run on the 30A bike path or nearby trails every day.  I think I would enjoy integrating myself into a neighborhood like Old Florida Village, a mixture of residence and short-term rentals.  We would find a Catholic Church to attend, I know.  

Still, I'm not sure I could completely give up the semi-cosmopolitan aspect of living in a medium sized city like Nashville.  A varied restaurant scene.  A plethora of coffee shops.  Professional and college sports.  My friends.  Live music.  All of it.  

I think Jude could easily give up all of that, partly because she doesn't gravitate to those types of things like I do.  We're different in that way.

For me, today, I find myself thinking of my mom's longtime neighbors and friends, Evelyn and Bill Pilkinton - may God rest their souls.  They lived in the house in Brenthaven, next door to my mom (and later, in a condominium) for half of the year and lived in Florida for the other half of the year.  They were very active in both places until very late in life.  Spring an summer in Brentwood and fall and winter in Florida.  That I could do, I think.

A quick recap of yesterday as the coffee shop fills up with families - pickle ball at the park.  Jude and finally got a game off the boys, although they beat us three straight after our one win.  A bike ride to Stinky's Fish Camp for lunch.  Watching the Vols beat Texas in the SEC basketball tournament.  A three mile run on the Longleaf Trail for me.  Dinner at Cafe Tango and when we got back to Old Florida Village, Joe's first driving lesson in the golf cart.  Hilarious and slightly frightening.  

The best of days during the best of weeks.

 

For the first time this week, I slept reasonably well last night.  I got up early and drove over to Seaside for a cup of coffee at Ama Vida, my old-time go to coffee spot.  Folks sleep later over here and there's little traffic outside in the large common area in between all of the shops and restaurants.  I suspect that will change in the next hour, though.  It's nice, for now, to be the only person in Ama Vida, as I sip my coffee and read the New York Times on my laptop.  

Joe and I went for a 3-mile run late yesterday afternoon on the Longleaf Trail, maybe my favorite spot to run in the world.  Certainly, it's my favorite out of town running route.  I don't think I've ever run the Longleaf trail in the late afternoon or early evening.  It had a different feel.  A nice one, actually.  It was great to get out and run with Joe.  My opportunities to run with JP are fewer and far between, as when he runs, he's training seriously.  Every run for him matters, since he's trying to squeeze in enough training to maintain a relative amount of fitness for the school track meets he's able to fit in between baseball practices and games.  I had hoped to get in a three man run with both of the boys this week but I don't think that's going to happen.

It's a little like the running version of Harry Chapin's folk son, Cats in the Cradle, when I think about it.  While it makes me a little sad not to run as much with JP, I totally get it.  It's impressive to see him get up early every morning on vacation and go for a run or a running workout.  He's dedicated and I very much admire that about him.

Last night, we drove the golf cart down to Shunk's Gulley for dinner ant to watch the Boston - Oklahoma City NBA game.  I talked our way into a table upstairs in the bar, so we could watch a multitude of games on the televisions.  The boys and I were in basketball watching heaven.  Conference tournaments.  NBA.  Perfect for a Wednesday night in Santa Rosa Beach for Spring Break.

After dinner, Jude and JP walked the half mile home to our house in Old Florida Village.  Joe and I drove home in the golf cart, arriving just as they did.  We watched the second half of the Boston - Oklahoma City game - a great game, actually.  OKC won.  Maybe a preview of the NBA finals.  Next, we finished watching Ant-Man, an MCU (Marvel Comics Universe) movie starring Paul Rudd.  Joe loved it, as he does all of the MCU movies we're working our way through in order.  According to Joe, we have one more movie to go - the second Thor movie - and we'll be on to the second group of MCU movies.  It's all a bit confusing but I love the fact that Joe is so into the MCU.

For once, I was able to limit my contact with the office yesterday.  No forest fires to be put out, small or large.  Or, at least none of which I was aware.  I hope it stays that way today.  

We have a couple more days left here, at the beach.  I want to savor them if I can.  As Joe mentioned to me yesterday, next Spring Break we might be visiting colleges with JP.  That, of course, was something that hadn't even crossed my mind.  

It's strange, in a way, to return to a place for vacation that we've been coming to since the boys were toddlers.  There are a lot of good memories for us here to be sure.  Someday, probably after the boys are out of high school, I want to come down here and stay for a month, just to see what that's like.

For now, as Ama Vida begins to fill up with teenage girls getting pastries and adults desperate for their morning coffee, I'm going to head back to Santa Rosa Beach.

Joe, after our 3-mile run on the Longleaf Trail yesterday.

My boys.

Home on 30A

Jude and I have been coming to Santa Rosa Beach, FL, on 30A, for 15 + years.  On top of that, every time except for one we have rented a house and stayed in Old Florida Village.  I'm a creature of habit, of course, and I think some of that has rubbed off on my family, at least when it comes to vacations.  

I love Santa Rosa Beach and Sewanee and so do Jude and the boys.  As a result, we vacation in both places at least once a year.  

Santa Rosa Beach has been our preferred spring break destination.  This week, in JP's 10th grade year and Joe's 6th grade year, I find myself here again.  With so much changing in the boys' lives, it's nice to have a few things that stay the same.  returning to Santa Rosa Beach and Sewanee keep me centered in a way.

I am not as wild about the house (Beyond the Sea) in Old Florida Village that I rented this year.  It's located in the very front of the complex, which means it's one of the older houses.  It's been updated but still showing wear and tear.  The beds are smaller and, in fact, there doesn't seem to be a true master bedroom in the sense that there's no room with a king or queen size bed, only doubles.  The layout of the house is a bit different, too, from the ones in which we're stayed in the past.  On top of that, I was woken up this morning at 7 a.m. by a lady running a leaf blower right outside our house.  Admittedly, these are first world problems but still, you get away for a week and you want it to be close to perfect.  I do, anyway, because I always pick out the house we're going to say in, book it, and surprise the family when we arrive.

As I write every year, Santa Rosa Beach isn't quite the quiet, sleep town it was in the first decade vacationed here.  There's been a lot of growth.  New developments means new houses means less open space.  Some of our favorite restaurants have closed or changed hands.  Gulf Place, which was the hub of Santa Rosa Beach for years, was sold to the middle eastern owners of Alvin's Island - much to the dismay of locals and regular tourists, like us - and several of the longtime businesses were run out of the development.  

Gone for the first time is Sunrise Coffee (Gulf Place) and YOLO, a bike rental and beach shop (Gulf Place).  Also gone from earlier visits are the Pickle Factory and Grayt Coffee House.  Blue Mountain Creamery changes hands, as our friend Jed's family sold it to someone else.  That happened a couple of years ago, though, but we still miss stopping in to see Jed, whom we have known since he was a teenager.

It's rained a lot our first couple of days here, although the boys have still managed to squeeze in some beach time.  Joe got it ocean yesterday in spite of the relatively cool weather, mostly because the waves were unusually big, which delighted him.  Joe is a beach bum, like I was when in my younger days.  He loves the beach and, especially, the ocean.  

JP has been running every morning.  I've gotten my 3-mile runs in mid-morning each day so far.  JP and Joe have thrown the baseball every day, too, to stay loose.  We brought the bucket of baseballs and foolishly forgot a fungo bat, so taking ground balls is out.  This afternoon, I think we'll play pickle ball, one of Jude's favorite activities.  

Jude and Joe have had a couple of close Scrabble games.  Jude beat Joe by 5 points, then by 3 points.  He's stalking her.  We've all played Hearts the past couple of days, a favorite family pastime on vacation.  

Jude and I, along with Joe, have read a lot.  I love the fact that I am in a family of readers.  In fact, I wouldn't have it any other way.  I finished a surprisingly good book about Jimmy Carter's "malaise speech," so titled in spite of the fact that he never mentioned the word "malaise" in it.  The book provided a nice remembrance of what our country was like in 1979, when I was 13 years old.  

JP has been working, diligently (the only way he knows how to work), on making initial contact with various colleges' and universities' cross country and track coaching staffs to express an interest in their programs.  With a non-revenue college sport, like cross country/track, it's important for interested high school students to reach out and make the initial contact to get on a particular school's radar.  This we learned when, at JP's request, we met with an academic counselor, college sports liaison, and his cross country coach at MBA.  If you want to run in college, this is the first step.

I've had to work too much during the day and today will be no different.  One of the downsides of not having an associate working for me, at present, is there is no one to mind the store while I'm gone.  That's makes it harder for me to completely disconnect from the office.  

Coffee this morning at Black Bear Bread Company in Grayton Beach.  A new place, at least to me.  I think it's been open a couple of years.  An interesting joint, on the small side, serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  The coffee is not bad, either.  The '80's music playing, loudly, gives it a nice vibe early in the morning, particularly for a 58 year old man like me.  Music from my formative years.  

Turning Red

Monday night during a rare quiet moment in our house, Jude and talked with Joe about where he wanted to go to school next year.  USN or MBA.  I think we knew his answer - MBA - but we wanted him to articulate it.  We also wanted him to acknowledge he had thought about how hard he is going to have to work to succeed at MBA.  I think we wanted his buy in.  At least I did. 

Like my longtime friend, John Rowland, said to me at Don Smith's memorial service early last fall, MBA is a competition every day.  Academically,  athletically, and socially.  He's right.  It seems to me, though, that boys grow strong in a cauldron of competition and emerge, as graduates, better prepared to succeed in college and in life.  That's my hope, anyway.

Joe told us he thinks MBA will require him to work hard every day and that he's ready for it.  I suggested he continue improving his study habits and discipline during his last few months at USN in preparation for seventh grade at MBA.  He agreed that might be a good idea.  

I think Jude and I wanted to know, from Joe, that he wants to go to MBA.  That he wants to be challenged.   That he's ready to be challenged.  In a way, that he's ready to grow up.  From a relatively care free preteen to an organized, driven, goal oriented middle school student.  A lot of work and not nearly as much play.  That's the deal.

The reality, of course, is middle school at USN likely would have been significantly harder than lower school has been.  That's just the nature of things at a top notch independent school.  Beginning in seventh grade, it's time to grind and start to build the study skills that will stand you in good stead in college and beyond.  Sure, he likely would have been doing those things in a familiar environment at USN, which will not be the case at MBA.  Still, Joe will have JP at MBA (and JP's friends) and a whole crew of boys learning on the fly just like he will be doing. 

I think it's going to be important to make a real effort to see that Joe stays connected, socially, with the boys in the crew.  He needs to do more with them than play sports.  Sadly, his best friend, Pike, decided not to apply to MBA, so he won't be there with him, at least not next year.  Jude and I need to see that he stays connected with his buddies from USN and Harding that are going to MBA next year from a social standpoint - hanging out, sleepovers, etc. - rather than just by playing basketball and soccer with them.  

I'll write more about USN and our time there as a family, I know, but not today.  By my count, we have had a 10 year run at USN which, by and large, has been productive and positive. 

For now, though, Joe is turning Red.

Joe and the Long Red Line

For the past week, I've fought the sinus infection I had avoided all winter.  I haven't been sleeping well, which made a busy week at work even tougher.  I haven't felt like or been myself.  

On top of that, I've been on pins and needles as I worried about whether Joe would be accepted to MBA.  We were set to receive word yesterday morning and my thoughts had been consumed with potential outcomes all week.  Friday night, I didn't sleep well, as I dreamt about Joe getting into MBA and my collapsing onto the ground after Jude gave me the news.  Weird, yet strangely vivid dream.  I checked e-mail around 4 a.m. and again around 6 a.m.  Nothing from MBA. 

Last Sunday, in church, I had a bit of an epiphany that provided me with a bit of peace.  I realized, as I sat alone in the pew in our usual spot that the whole thing was in God's hands, where it should be.  I needed to let it go.  There was a plan and I needed to let it unfold.  I tried - unsuccessfully at times - to remind myself of those things as the week passed by me.  Still, I worried.

Yesterday morning, I woke up early and followed my normal Saturday morning routine.  I drove to Dose for coffee and breakfast.  I checked e-mail after I arrived shortly after 7 a.m., then again several more times as I read Substack, the New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal.  Nothing, although I knew we likely wouldn't receive word until 8 a.m. or shortly thereafter.

At 8 a.m. on the dot, I checked e-mail.  Still nothing.  A minute or two later, my cell phone rang.  It was Jude.  "Oh, shit, I thought."  Before I answered, I checked e-mail again.  

There it was.  An e-mail from Greg Ferrell, admissions director at MBA.  At the top of the e-mail, there was one word.

YES.

Overcome with emotion, I got up and walked outside and answer the call from Jude.  Relief swept over me in waves as Jude and I shared the moment together.  I choked back tears as we talked bout how much this would mean to Joe and how proud of him we were.  In short, it was a parenting moment that I will never forget.

Why did it mean so much for Joe to be accepted to MBA?  That's a good question.

It's something he's worked so hard for.  He took the ISEE (Independent School Entrance Exam) review course and worked his ass off.  Throughout Saturdays in the all and winter, he spent Saturday afternoons with his tutor at the review class, working, learning, practicing, and testing.  Halfway through the review class, he changed tutors, which I think helped him tremendously.  He took a practice test, then took the real ISEE test.  Not easy.  

This is something Joe accomplished on his own merits.  Acceptance to MBA. 

What I mean by that is that three of Joe's teachers wrote recommendations.  His teachers love him because of the kind of student and person he has been over there past 6 + years at USN.  He's earned praise from his teacher because of how he has conducted himself at school every day.  

USN sent his transcript to MBA.  His grades at USN have been stellar, which is a result of the hard work he has put in academically, particularly the last few years.  He studied for the ISEE and worked hard to prepare for it.  

Joe's interview with Coach Cheevers at MBA went well, I am sure.  But, again, it's something he did himself.  He put on khaki's, a sweater, and sat down with Coach Cheevers, one-on-one, for 30 minutes for a conversation.  Joe knew what was at stake, that it was important.  He took care of business.  

Do I think it helped Joe that JP has done so well, to say the least, at MBA?  Would that help if it was a close all?  I think so but, still, I know people with sons at MBA who have younger brothers that were not accepted into school.  That was part of what worried me.  In the end, thought, Joe needed to do this on his own and he did.  

Joe had the courage to put himself out there.  To make it known that he wanted to be accepted to MBA and that he was willing to work for it, even though there were no guarantees he would achieve his goal.  That takes courage, in my view.  He set a goal and he achieved it.

I wanted Joe to achieve something that JP had achieved, too.  Why?  Because I wanted him to feel like he is just as good and just as accomplished as his big brother was in sixth grade.  I wanted him to know he could do something just as well as his big brother.  I didn't want him to feel like he came up short in comparison to JP because JP casts such a large shadow.

Joe has a lot of friends - boys he has played soccer and basketball with for several years - who had applied to MBA.  I didn't want him to have to feel rejected if they all were accepted to MBA and he wasn't.  That worried me a lot.  

In the end, I wanted it for Joe.  Because he wanted it.

After I got the news, I drove home from Dose.  Jude called the boys downstairs into our bedroom.  They straggled in, JP without a shirt on.  When Jude turned her cell phone around and showed Joe the e-mail, he broke into a big grin.  JP lifted his arms above his head, smiling, and shouted "YES!"  He grabbed Joe in a bear hug, as Jude and I watched, looking at each other and smiling.  A snapshot moment, for sure.

As a family, we'll help Joe make the best decision this week.  He has options and this is what I wanted for him.  USN - although it's been a rough year administratively - is a great school, as is MBA.  I think MBA is where Joe needs to be and, more importantly, where Joe wants to be, but we'll talk about it as a family.

Joe has several buddies who were accepted, too.  Max, Rex, Cole, Cullen, Austin.  He could walk into school, as a seventh grader, with a good core group of boys to run with, which would help him socially.  We'll see.

On top of the great news from MBA, on Thursday afternoon, we learned Joe had made the Stars' tournament basketball team this spring.  He attended tryouts last Friday and Sunday.  He'll be playing with his best friend, Pike, so this was big news, particularly since Joe was cut last year.  

Joe also learned from this baseball coach at USN that he'll play with the middle school varsity team.  This is big for him, as sixth graders don't often play with the seventh and eighth graders.  He's ready, though.

It's been a good week for Joe.  One of the best, actually.  He deserves every bit of it, too.

 

22 on February 22

As Joe so aptly pointed out, yesterday was a special day.  Anniversary number 22 for Jude and me fell on February 22. 

Notwithstanding the fact that the winter cold and sinus infection I had run from for months finally caught me thanks to Vic Anderson coughing all over me for eight hours during a mediation last Monday, we had a fun and eventful anniversary.

Joe's Stars basketball team played there final game of the season at 10 a.m. at David Lipscomb.  They played hard and played better but lost again.  The season has been, well, meh.  The boys on the team - and I include Joe - are not tournament or travel level basketball players.  Still, the parents pay the money, the boys get all the gear, and voila, and the boys plays more basketball at a higher level, which is what it's all about.  More basketball against better players.  Joe has enjoyed playing, for sure, and the Stars' organizational message is a positive one, which Jude and I like.  It's been a positive experience for him and I hope he makes the spring team.

I drove to the Green Hills YMCA and got a three mile run in on the treadmill, hoping that perhaps I could sweat out whatever is ailing me.  No such luck but, still, it was nice to get a run in because February has not been very productive on the running front.  

Meanwhile, JP and a friend, Milo, went to the Vanderbilt baseball game.  Vandy vs. Saint Mary's.  Vandy was down when they left in the 6th inning but rallied and won.

At 4 p.m., Joe played his Bucket Squad season finale at Hillsboro High School.  Thomas McDaniel moved the boys up to play against 7th graders for the last two games of the season in the WNSL basketball league.  Joe's and his teammates had been boat racing most of the 6th grade teams so it was nice to see them get some real competition, although there is a big size difference between 6th grader and 7th graders.

The Bucket Squad cruised to a victory, although they didn't play particularly well and turned the ball over too much.  The 7th graders they played against only had a couple of decent basketball players, as it turned out.  Joe played reasonably well and made several nice passes for baskets, particularly a couple of "Magic Johnson specials," long bounce passes through traffic for layups.  That pass has become his signature play.

Much like with the Dodgers, this may be the end of the line for the Bucket Squad, who have played together for six years in a variety of leagues and tournaments.  All of the boys are starting middle school next year and things will change, of course.  That's a shame but it's as it should be, I guess.  I'll miss the innocence, though, of these Saturday basketball games with Joe and his friends playing together.  They've grown so comfortable with each other and their roles on the team, sharing the ball, helping on defense, and competing as a unit.  It's been special.

We rushed home from Joe's second basketball game to pick up JP and head to the Predators - Avalanche game at 5 p.m.  By luck of the draw, we had all four of our group's tickets to the game.  While I wasn't feeling particularly well and my choice would have been to go to the Belmont - Indiana State basketball game, it was nice to go to the Predators' game as a family.  Better yet, we saw the Predators beat the Avalanche, 2 - 1, a rare victory in what has been a lost season.

It was a great atmosphere, almost like the old days, when the Predators were a threat to go deep into the playoffs every year.  The Avalanche outshot the Predators but Juise Saros stood on his head and sealed the victory by turning away a barrage of shots late in the third period with the crown on its feet, cheering loudly.  

Jude picked up Amerigo's for us - an anniversary dinner, if you will - and we watched the Lakers - Nuggets on television, ABC's Saturday prime time NBA game.  For the first time since arrive a couple of weeks ago in the most stunning trade in NBA history, Luca Doncic dominated and the Lakers snapped the Nuggets nine game winning streak much to the dismay of the Denver home crowd.  

As I enjoy my Sunday morning coffee in the lobby at oneCITY Nashville, outside Sump, I feel a sense of contentment and gratitude.  Jude and I have had a 22 year run - 27 county the years we dated - that I wouldn't trade for anything.  The best years of my life, for sure.  We're so lucky to have the boys we have, the life we have, and each other.  

Now, if I can just start to feel a little better.

Joe at 13

As of today, I have two teenage boys.  I can't believe it.

A few minutes go, I read my post from 13 years ago, the day Joe was born.  What I wrote, and the photos, brought back so many memories. 

At the hospital with Jude for a scheduled, last week check up and ultrasound.  

The telephone call from Roseanne Maikis as she read the ultra sound in another building, suggesting she was a little concerned about what she was seeing.  Roseann asking me if I thought Jude could get her game face on and have the C-section that afternoon, a couple of days early.  Passing the telephone to Jude so she could talk to Roseann.  

Going home and retuning with JP, not quite four, so he could see Jude before surgery.  Walking down the hall toward Jude's hospital room, holding hands with JP, as he got more and more nervous.  Looking up at me, he said, "Dad, I don't know about this."  JP smiling when, at last, he saw Jude in her hospital bed.

The wait.  The interminable wait, sitting in a metal, folding chair while Jude was prepped for surgery in the operating room.  Walking in, at last, and making eye contact with Jude, and seeing the steely look of concentration on her face.  So determined.  So strong.  So ready.  Nothing on earth was going to come between her and the son she had carried for nine long months.  

Our miracle baby.  The second child we never thought we'd be lucky enough to have.  A brother for JP, who had gotten more and more excited as the big day approached.  My family.

Finally, Roseann calling to me, as I walked around the curtain to see my second son take his first breath.  Crying loudly, as Jude and I cried along with him.  God's gift to us and to JP.  

Joseph Dylan Newman.

I remember sitting with Joe in the recovery room for what seemed like an eternity, singing to him.  Elizabeth Mitchell's "So Glad I'm Here."  I changed the words around, as I sang the song over and over, almost like a mantra.

JP is glad you're here.  

JP is glad you're here.  

JP is glad you're here, here today!

Punk is glad you're here.

Punk is glad you're here.

Punk is glad you're here, here today!

And so forth and so on, I sang Elizabeth Mitchell to Joe and held him in the crook of my arm until it ached.  I was worried about Jude because I lost track of time.  It seemed like she had been in post-op forever.  Finally, they wheeled her in and she smiled wanly, then fell asleep.  Exhausted.  

Thus began the greatest 13 year stretch of my life.  A wife I loved, two boys I adored, and what seemed like all the time in the world together, as we watched them grow up.  When I look back on my life, that afternoon - February 20, 2012 - just might be the high point for me.  The moment I would love to relive over and over again.

I closed my eyes when we go home that night, and opened them up this morning, and like magic, Joe had turned 13 years old.  How?  

Time passes.

The days go slow but the years go fast.  

Truer words never have been spoken.  My boys are 16 (almost 17) and 13, both teenagers.  Incredible.  Just incredible.  

Joe is my happy, kind, music loving teenager.  We share an unbinding love of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, sports, and reading.  He's kindhearted, fiercely competitive, a bit naive about life (which I wonderful), and a fan of all things Star Wars and Marvel Comics.  

Joe and JP are alike in many of the important ways but very different, too, which is as it should be.  Joe loves his big brother and looks up to him, always.  Listening to the two of them talk, upstairs, before bedtime, fills me heart with joy.  Brothers forever.

On your 13th birthday Joe, know I love you.  I'm proud of you.  You completed our family.

Searching for Blue Mountain

Through the wonders of the Internet, this morning I confirmed that December 4, 1995, was one of the seminal nights of my life as a music fan.  That's according to a copy of a music industry newsletter - Pollstar - that I happened across online while I was trying to see if I could pinpoint when I saw Blue Mountain play, for the first an only time.  Among other things, back issues of Pollstar has complete listings of artist's shows on tour.  Who knew?

In December 1995, I was 29 years old.  I was two years out of law school and working in downtown Nashville at Manier, Herod, Hollabaugh & Smith.  My first job out of law school.  I was a serious runner, training all of the time and racing every weekend.  I'm still a runner, although not as serious.  I was more that a decade away from having JP and Joe.  

In law school, I started listening to the Jayhawks, then found my way to Uncle Tupelo and, later, the Bottle Rockets.  Out of Festus, Missouri, lead by singer/guitarist, Brian Henneman, I was and am a big fan.  This was before Americana was a recognized musical genre, I think, but it was the type of music that I found myself gravitating to over time.  

December 4, 1995 was a Monday, and I got tickets to see the Bottle Rockets play at 12th & Porter.  The Playroom was a relatively small, intimate music venue adjacent to the restaurant on the edge of downtown, located appropriately enough on the corner of 12th Avenue North and Porter Road.  The only surviving music venue today that is similar is 3rd and Lindsley.  I arrived early, as I often do for shows, and got a table right in front of the stage.  

The opening act was Blue Mountain, a band from Oxford, Mississippi, that I had never heard of until that night.  Three members, Cary Hudson (guitar/vocals), Laurie Stirratt (bass/background vocals), and Frank Couch (drums).  

To my surprise and delight, Blue Mountain was incredible.  Cary Hudson's kinetic energy, thrashing the guitar while he sang in a deep, Mississippi southern accent, almost burned down the Playroom.  It was a performance I will never forget.  So much of that night is a blur, lost to time and age and 30 years of memories filling my head.  Still, I remember being so excited, so delighted, to bear witness to a band on a perfect night, on the cusp of grasping something ethereal and usually unattainable.  The perfect show.

I immediately bought Dog Days, released earlier that year, probably from Tower Records on West End Avenue.  I wore that CD out in the ensuing days, weeks, months, and years.  It's probably one of my most played CD's.  Even now, if it I play it, I can anticipate the next song as the current song is ending.  That doesn't happen anymore, of course, because everyone listens to songs and no one listens to albums.

The Bottle Rockets were good, as I knew they would be.  What sticks out about their show is that at one point, during a song, Brian Henneman sat down in a chair at my table, right in front of the stage, while he was playing a guitar solo.  Perfect.    

I never saw Blue Mountain live again.  I regret that, particularly since the band broke up a few years later.  Cary Hudson and Laurie Stirratt divorced.  Still, having seen them the one time and the one time only somehow makes the how all the more special to me.  It lives on in my memory.  A top 5 show for me, all time.

I've often wanted to go to Oxford, Mississippi, and see one of Cary Hudson's solo shows.  Maybe say hello.  Maybe tell him about a magical, memorable night at 12th & Porter, in the Playroom, on December 4, 1994.

The Ghosts of Baristas Past

At some point, I'm going to stop getting coffee every morning before work.  But not today.

It's by far my favorite part of the day.  A latte and the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Substack, the New Yorker.  Writing in this space.  Occasionally, answering an e-mail or two or working on a document, although I prefer to have 30 minutes or so to myself, not to work.  

Dose.  Bongo Java.  Sump.  The Well (Music Row or David Lipscomb).  Honest Coffee Roasters.  Crema.  8th & Roast.  The Henry.  Portland Brew (R.I.P.).  Wolf and Scout's (R.I.P.). 

For sure, this has been the morning coffee phase of my life.  It started, I guess, when JP was a baby and we began taking long weekend morning walks in the City Elite (stroller).  Until then - and this is slightly past age 40 - I had not been a coffee guy.  Not at all, which is strange, considering how much I love coffee now.  

Chad, a tattooed and facially pierced longtime barista at Bongo Java, took a liking to JP, and for some reason made me a Mood Elevator.  Double iced mocha with hazelnut (very light on the mocha) and an old school Bongo Java drink, off the menu by then.  And away I went down the rabbit hole of coffee, coffee shops, baristas, and all that comes with those things.  I drank a thousand Mood Elevators over the years, many while sitting at a table in Bongo Java with JP or Joe sleeping in the City Elite beside me while I read the New Yorker, surfed the internet, or wrote in this space.  

Other times, I finished a night run at Bongo Java, just before close, and Hunter made me a nightcap Mood Elevator.  I talked with him for a minute or two, then walked home to our first house in Elliott Avenue.  A more simple life for me in many ways and a more simple time.  Before my mom's diagnosis with Alzheimer's, before Carley got sick, before Jude's parents began to slow down ever so slightly.  

And, certainly, before I began to lose colleagues who had been important to me professionally, like Don Young, Mark Hartzog, Steve Cox, Don Smith, Gary Rubenstein, and so others.  And before we lost Dave to a brain tumor.  And before I had so many friends battling cancer, like Lance, Scott, Christa, Kelly, Reid, and Shannon.

So many baristas in so may coffee shops that I saw and interacted with regularly.  I called them my friends, although in truth, they were more like acquaintances with whom I shared a smile or a kind word almost every day.  At Bongo, Chad, AJ, EJ, Adam, Ayla, Chuck, Hunter, George, Megan, Rachel, Mitch, Josh, and many, many others whose names escape me now but who are referenced throughout the earlier days of this blog.  

At Honest Coffee Roasters, Anthony, Nick, and too many others to name.  All gone from my life, as working as a barista is by its nature a temporary, transient occupation, I think.  People do it as a certain point in their lives then move on, either working as a barista at a coffee shop somewhere else or moving into a different phase in their lives by beginning a career or starting a family.  

The strange part, though, is that I'm still here.  Getting coffee in the morning before work or on a Saturday/Sunday morning before a busy day of driving to practices and games for Joe.  The baristas change but my routine stays the same, at least for now.  The coffee shops for the most part stay the same, too, with the exception of those I have lost, like Portland Brew.  

Someday, perhaps soon, I'm going to change my routine and stop getting coffee every morning.  But not today.