The Return of Bongo Boy

Perhaps you can go home again, after all.

My original coffee shop, Bongo Java Belmont, is back in my regular morning rotation.  For the past few years, I drifted away from Bongo Java for a variety of reasons, none of which I am going to write about today.  This morning, I want to be present and content with what Bongo Javi is in this moment.  

As of late, the vibe in Bongo Java has been tremendous.  Happy, friendly baristas who care about making a decent cup of coffee.  Baristas and other employees that seem to like enjoy each other's company.  Early mornings, before it gets busy, from my normal table I can hear them talking and laughing by the La Marzocco expresso machine.  It hasn't been that way for a while.The music, too, has been awesome, at least for me.  All 70's.  Eagles, ELO, Billy Joel, etc.  

A few of the regulars, like me, are returning or stopping by more regularly.  I am beginning to recognize new regulars, too.  They stop by every morning for a coffee to go or to have a quick bite to eat.  Finally, there is a grill cook - which should always have been the case - so I can order scrambled eggs with avocado, liken the old days.  

The old days.  I have so many memories of this place, all of them happy.  With JP and Joe, this was our home away from home for so many years when they were little.  From where I sit right now, watching the sun stream in the window of the exit door, I can almost glimpse Joe toddling around after waking up from a nap in his stroller on a Saturday afternoon, sippy cup in hand.  Or, at age four or five, JP sitting on the window seat in the back room with me across from him, as we eat breakfast before I take him to Children's House.  

On many mornings, I texted Carley when she was on the way to house and told her we would meet her at Bongo Java.  I ordered her a bagel, so it would be ready when she arrived.  She sat with Joe and me before I left for work.  It was perfect.  I miss those days.

Now, JP drives himself to MBA.  Jude drives Joe to USN, as he finishes up his last two months there before starting at MBA next year.  I sit here, in Bongo, for a few minutes before I hustle down to the office in Franklin for another in a long line of hectic days. 

Bongo Boy?  A character created by one of the baristas almost 20 years ago - probably George Dorrance - that was featured, cartoon like, in a brochure-like coloring book and on children's t-shirts.  I have one of the t-shirts that Joe wore.  It's a prized possession and I've saved it.

Maybe it's Indian summer at Bongo Java.  The vibe will change next month when Belmont U.'s school year ends and the students go home for the summer.  Some of the baristas will leave.  Bob B. (the owner) will reduce hours and I won't be here nearly as often, maybe not at all.  

Still, for now, I am going to enjoy Bongo Java, and the feeling that for a few weeks, it's been like it used to be.   

Weekend Sport Center

These are the weekends that I will miss when the boys grow up.  

Saturday about noon, I drove over to MBA to watch JP compete in the Doug Hall Relays.  Jude and her parents were there, too.  JP ran the 800 in the DMR (distance medley relay) and the third leg of the 4 x 800.  Alice arrived in time to watch the 4 x 800 and took a great video of JP taking the lead and pulling away from a Nolensville runner on the second lap.  It was an impressive run for JP and team, who won the 4 x 800.

Earlier, JP ran the 800 in the DMR at 1:58:20 a PR for him.  MBA already had a big lead, as Jack Wallace blew the field away in the first leg, the 1200.  As a result, it was hard to tell how fast JP was running because he was running alone.  The answer, of course, was pretty darn fast.  Gabe ran a strong 1600 to finish the race and clinch another MBA win.

MBA won the Doug Hall Relays, again, so it was a good day all around for the Big Red on their home track.  

From there, Jude and I drove to Murfreesboro to watch Joe play his second basketball game of the day.  His Stars team lost their first game while Jude and I were at the Doug Hall Relays watching JP run.  Joe's team lost the second game, too, to a better team.  However, they played tough against a bigger and more experienced squad and only lost by 10 points. 

I was particularly proud of how Joe played.  In the second half, he took it upon himself to box out the other team's big man, who scored 23 points for the game, all but two of them on put backs after rebounds, and try to keep him off the boards.  Joe succeeded to a point, as the big man scored in single digits in the second half.  The big man was at least a foot and a half taller than Joe and still, Joe played him physically and boxed him out when shot went up.  Joe played with real courage and resolve.

Joe scored seven points, a high for him in a Stars' game this spring.  After having a layup swatted by the big man on a breakaway after a steal, Joe crossed him up after another steal in the second half with a jump stop - courtesy of Russ Allen (!) - and hit the bucket.  

When Joe was in the game and the other team was pressing, he typically caught the inbounds pass, looked up court, and passed the ball to an open teammate to break the press.  No panic.  Steady play.  When Joe wasn't in the game, the press speeded his team up and his players turned the ball over several times for easy buckets by the other team.  Quintessential Joe.  Heady play.  Smart.  Tough.  As I so often say about him on the basketball court, a glue guy.

Sunday, Jude and I drove to Murfreesboro and I watched the first of two Armada soccer games in which Joe played goalie (a half in each game, sharing time with Liam).  The first game was incredibly exciting, as Baker scored the game winning goal with less than 30 seconds left.  Joe and his Armada teammates were over the moon with the late win.  I came home to do some work and missed the second game, a 0-0 tie.

Late afternoon, we all watched Rory McElroy win the Master's from Augusta, in what can only be described as an excruciatingly painful viewing experience.  It was a roller coaster.  I taped the end, though, and Jude and the boys watched it after Sunday evening church at Christ the King for Palm Sunday.  I got a run in while they were at church, semi-recovered from the back pain I'd strangely experienced in my mid-back earlier in the week.

A weekend full of sports.  Just the way I like it.

Clarksville

I left work early yesterday and drove to Clarksville to watch JP and MBA's junior varsity baseball team play Clarksville High School.  I hadn't been to Clarksville High School in more than three decades, as best as I can remember.  In the deep, dark recesses of my memory, I recall driving there to watch Alice play basketball once upon a time.  

I arrived early, way early, as I typically do when traveling to an unfamiliar place.  I found a coffee shop - Lucille's Cafe - around the corner from the high school and I stopped in before the game.  It was nice to take a breath and read the latest issue The Sun and sip coffee for a few minutes.  

I love traveling to out the way high schools and middle schools to watch one of the boys play sports.  It's nice to get away and, just for a couple of hours, lose myself in a baseball or soccer game, or a cross country meet.  It's a mental and emotional oasis of sorts.  Yesterday, like I do most of the time, I chatted with a couple of fathers before the game, then settled into my deluxe camping chair (a rocker) in a spot by myself.  All week long, I talk and talk and talk, and made decisions for others, so it's nice to not talk to anyone while I watch the game alone.

As I settled in and MBA batted first, I didn't recognize the peatier hitting in the two hole.  It looked like JP but I decided it wasn't him.  Too muscular.  Too big.  Plus, he usually hits lower in the lineup.  To my surprise, I heard a couple of players in the dugout saying "come on, JP!"  I looked harder and sure enough, it was him.  Number 6.  For a moment, I thought, my son looks like a college player.  Grown up.

When JP was batting the second time, MBA's varsity team walked up and several players stood behind me.  I overheard them talking, trying to figure out who was batting.  Finally, one of them pointed out that it was JP.  "He looks big," a voice from behind me said.  I laughed.  It wasn't just me.  Strange.

It was windy and cool in Clarksville, sweatshirt or coat weather to be sure.  Not cold but cool.  In a game that was stopped early - after shortly more than an hour - because the varsity teams were playing next, MBA rallied from a 4 - 1 deficit to win 5 - 4.  Will Brock pitched like a boss.  Battled and gave the boys four strong innings for the win.

JP's first time up, he hit his hardest ball of the season, a fly ball to deep left center.  The wind was blowing out and for a second, I thought it was going to get over the left fielder's head.  It didn't and he made a good catch.  In the third inning, JP laid a nifty sacrifice bunt down the third base line on a hight fast ball, not an easy ball to bunt.  That started a four run rally, which in the end, gave MBA the win.

After the tame, JP and I drove back together.  It was nice to spend a hour or so with him in the car.  I don't get that as much anymore since he is driving.  It was a pleasant afternoon all around.  

Today, JP runs in the Doug Hall Relays at MBA.  4 x 800 and the DMR (distance medley relay).  Joe plays soccer and basketball in Murfreesboro this afternoon and evening.  Jude and I will be on the go, which is the way we like it.

  

Home Stretch

Last night, as were were discussing today's after school schedule of sports for the boys, JP said, somewhat ruefully, that there were only two more baseball games at MBA during the regular season.  As I nodded my head, I felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart.  

I'm not sure that JP is as sentimental as his old man but I think he realizes he might be playing out the string on his baseball career in these last few games.  He wants to run in college and, of course, baseball and track are spring sports.  The last two years, junior varsity baseball has been his focus and he's gone to track practice or run in meets when there wasn't conflict with baseball.  When baseball season ended last year, he joined the varsity track team full time.  That's the plan this spring, as well.

My guess, though, and it's only a guess, is that next year will be different.  I think track probably will be his focus.  Since baseball is not a part-time sport in any sense of the term, particularly at the varsity level, he might hang up his cleats when this season ends in a couple of weeks.  

Originally, JP was going to play summer baseball again with Harris Baseball Club, as he has the past couple of summers.  He decided not to play this summer, though, because playing in out of town tournaments for seven out of eight weeks in June and July would have meant he couldn't run at least three days a week for most of the summer.  He wants to put all of his efforts into getting ready for the cross country season in the fall, which means running almost every day this summer.  I supported his decision, although telling Brian Harris - whom JP loves and respects - was difficult.  

As always, JP sets his goals and is laser focused and disciplined in trying to reach them.  I get it.  It's unusual, I think, for a 17 year old to be as driven as he is but that's the way he's always been.  Athletically and academically.  I'm very proud of him, of course, many reasons, not the least of which is his maturity, level headedness, and drive to be the best at whatever he is doing.

Sill, it's so hard for me to envision a life in which JP is not playing baseball.  Since he was four years old, baseball has been such a huge part of his life and mine, as well.  The rational part of my brain knew the end was coming at some point, possibly soon, but it still hurts.  Why?  Probably because it marks a passage of time in our lives.  For him, for me.  From youth to young adulthood.  From a young, active father with so much time ahead to spend with JP- coaching baseball - to older, spectator father, watching more and doing less.  

Like yesterday, I remember JP and I walking outside our old house on Elliott Avenue after dinner and throwing the baseball in the gloaming on the strip of grass at Mt. Gilead Baptist Church across the street.  That's where JP learned to throw and catch, as much as anywhere else.  The joy I felt - a joy I never new I would be blessed to feel - in the simple act of throwing the baseball with my son.  It was as close to heaven, for me, as there is on earth.  

On those languid spring and summer evenings, playing catch with JP until it got too dark to see, time stretched endlessly out in front of me as far as I could see.  JP would be young forever.  I would be a young dad forever.  For me, it was a perfect time in my life.  Simplicity.  Innocence.  Timeless because all we had was time.

It's different now.  So different.  We don't live at Elliott Avenue.  Last summer, the new owner cut down the beautiful 80-year old maple tree in the front yard.  Mt. Gilead Baptist Church is gone, replaced by Avenue Church, populated by a bunch of millennial and generation Z churchgoers.  I can't think of the last time JP and I have thrown a baseball together because his has a cannon for an arm and my right shoulder is shot.  He's driving.  My back hurts and, for now, I can't run.  

And now, his baseball career likely is drawing to a close.  

Like so much of the time as a father these days, I find myself asking, "How did I get here?"  It's like I've been on a rocket ship the past decade or so, enjoying the ride, and suddenly we've reached our final destination and it's time to get disembark.  Older than when I started the trip and saddened by the realization that I can't go back from whence I came.  

Here's the thing.  Life is a one way ticket.  You get on the ride.  You get off the ride.  That's it.  I have to remind myself, though, that the joy is in the journey.

This afternoon, I'm going to leave work early and drive to Clarksville to watch JP play baseball.  I'm going to enjoy every minute of it, too.

This life.  This beautiful, singular life.  

Teacher

My mustache and I are sitting in Barista Parlor in Hillsboro Village.  It's a beautiful spring morning sandwiched in between all of the storms and rain we've had lately.  More rain this evening, of course.  

I had the first day of a two day mediation yesterday.  One of my cases with a client I really like.  Somewhat surprisingly, the case settled in one day.  That gives me today to catch my breath just a little bit.  Actually, what I will be doing is catching up on a lot of office work.  Drafting and revising pleadings to be filed today.  Reviewing settlement proposals.  Telephone calls to clients or potential clients.  Preparing for depositions.  Trying to keep my head above water before next week, which will be a bear.

Still, I have 30 minutes or so to sit, write, and drink my coffee and for that I am grateful.

I had given our mediator and the other side a hard stop at 5 p.m. yesterday because I teach class at Nashville School of Law (Divorce Trial Practice) on Wednesday nights.  Traffic is usually bad heading north after work - this is Nashville, after all - and I always worry about getting to class on time.  My mediation went late, of course, and I didn't get in my truck and start mad dash up I65 north until after 5:30 p.m.  For once, though, traffic was a breeze, and I made it with time to spare.  

Last night, we had our third of four trials that will mark the end our class for 2024 - 2025.  This year, more  so than the other two years, feels like it's flown by for me.  It's hard to believe next week is our last class.  November - April went by in a flash.  Six months gone just like that.  It will be nice to have my Wednesday nights free again and not to miss the boys' baseball games.  Still, I will miss teaching our students.   

I was struck last night, as I watched our students struggle to try the Dash case - Kendra Dash vs. Tom Dash - opening statements, direct and cross examination of witnesses, objections, closing arguments - by how much I love teaching.  All of it.

The students' enthusiasm is contagious.  It energizes me in a way little else does.  Perhaps their energy is different because our class is not a traditional lecture class.  It's a class where the student participate.  Where they "do" things.  They perform.  I'd like to think it's unlike most of their other classes.  I hope it is, anyway.

It's such a rush to have the students stay after class to talk about their trial, like they did last night.  Lee and finally I had to shut things down after 20 minutes or so because we had to leave and get home.  The students were so into the fact pattern and the trial that they stayed at their counsel tables after Lee made his ruling and asked question after question.  I loved every single minute of it.  

My life is so hectic right now.  I'm crushed at work, in part because I haven't hired an associate to help me.  My job is, in many ways, a high wire act of trying my best to provide support and counsel for my clients, many of whom are going through the most difficult time in their lives.  It can be emotionally draining and stressful.  I am not complaining, though, because I am fortunate to have a thriving law practice.  

My non-work responsibilities in the office take up a lot of my band width, too.  Who's happy.  Who might be leaving.  Who wants a raise.  What needs to be done to the building.  An on and on and on.

So many Wednesday nights since November, I've rushed into the NSL building after a busy, pressure filled day, hurriedly reviewing my notes and collecting my thoughts before class.  Then, when Lee and I walk in, I feel like I am right where I am supposed to be.  For the hour and half or so that we teach class, I feel relaxed, happy, and fulfilled.  I am giving back by pouring myself and my professional experiences over 32 years of practicing law into our students.  I love it.  

As I've told the students, the time I spend with them invigorates me and reminds me why I started practicing law in the first place.  It energizes me and makes me feel good about how I have chosen to make a living.  I get as much or more from teaching our students as they get from us.  I really believe that.  

I've so enjoyed spending time with Lee Davies, Sr.  My enduring memory of this time in my life, of teaching, will be the time he and I spent together in class, teaching, and out of class, planning and talking.  So often after class, we talk about our students.  It's been a pleasure to have the opportunity to become closer friends with Lee.  

My coffee is gone.  The morning interlude is over.  Time to get to work.

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.