31

I ate a crappy ass dinner for my birthday. It was a pizza buffet with below-average pizza and plastic tables. It's one of those places where teenagers come to stuff their faces, because you can eat all the pizza you want for like five bucks. It's a place where the majority of people there have their pants sagging off their asses. There's not a beer in sight and the television is never tuned into a sporting event. I hate the place. Here's the part where you ask, "then why did you eat there for your birthday?" The only answer I have is: "because that's what I do."

What I really wanted was a steak. I wanted a perfectly seasoned ribeye steak with a big fat loaded baked potato. I was driving down Highway 64 licking my chops, thinking about how I was going to hammer my ribeye and half of Lori's NY Strip that she always orders. I was thinking about how the strip is more tender and a better cut, but I was going to stick with my ribeye. I love the flavor. I was going to order a Sam Adams Winter Lager and the combination was going to be perfect. It was all going to be perfect. Then a voice piped up from the back seat..."Can we get pizza?" The voice was followed by two more in unison, "yeah Daddy, let's get pizza!" And that was that.

The whole point of my birthday dinner is supposed to be for me to eat what I want and for my family to spoil me. It's supposed to be all about me. But somebody asked for pizza. Like clockwork, somebody had to make their desires known.

Anyway, I had a decision to make. It was simple. I traded in my steak to see my kids smiling and enjoying the crappy pizza buffet. Towards the end of that sickening dinner, Kenzer looks up from a pastry on her plate and asks,

"Daddy, are you having a good birthday?"
"Wonderful" I respond, just wanting to get out of that place.
"Good" she says and gets back to eating.

I sit there disgusted, trying not to let it show. Kenzer will pick up on any sign of unhappiness from a mile away. They finally finish and I'm pleased that they don't detect a hint of disappointment. They laugh and play all the way home as if they just had the time of their lives. As we pull into the driveway I wonder how they will remember this day when they get older. I hope that they will think, "remember how much fun we had when we took daddy out for pizza on his birthday?" I hope they will remember me having a good time. I also hope that this doesn't become a family tradition.

Get at me

"Does anybody even read this shit?" That's what I ask myself from time to time. I know that writing is a way to get my thoughts out and in many ways it's a simple, inexpensive method of therapy. But I also want people to get something out of it.

Looking back my journey so far, I would only change one thing: I would have asked for more advice...you know a sounding board. I'm confident in my decisions but I would have benefited from having some input every now and then from somebody who has already walked this path of marriage and fatherhood. It just so happens that I was the pioneer within my circle of friends. I was the guy doing it first. Solomon said that there's nothing new under the sun, and I can't argue with the poster child for wisdom. In one way or another, it's all the same.

Last week, I got a pleasant surprise. Somebody sent me a message asking for some advice on a situation. Initially I thought, "why would anybody ask me? I'm not an expert on anything." Then I thought about a very simple statement: There's no substitute for experience. So if there's one thing that I can bring to the table, it's the experience of being in this game for 11 years. I was thrilled to lend a bit of advice to someone who just wants to do the right thing. I'm not sure who's out there reading, but I'm sending out the call. Consider me your second opinion.

As men, we deal with so many issues surrounding pride. There's nothing weak about asking another person for input, and I've learned a lot of lessons along the way that I'm happy to put to good use. Get at me anytime. tbaker10@gmail.com.

caution: 5th grade is coming for you

On the way to work Friday morning, Kenzer and I engaged in a conversation. I use that term loosely, because she's in the fifth grade. I'm not saying that 5th graders are not intellectually developed enough for conversation, but I am convinced that they are mentally unstable. For the past few months I've noticed some things about my 5th grade daughter.

1. She is nuts.
2. She is emotional.
3. She seems to care about who is friends with whom more than anything in the world.
4. I have no clue how to deal with any of it.

So we're driving to work and I ask her,

"What happened to Sidney?"

"What? Nothing happened to Sidney?" She knows what I'm talking about, but remember, she's in the fifth grade. Everything must remain cryptic.

"Why don't you guys hang out anymore?"

"We hang out sometimes." Again, she sidesteps me.

"Ok, but you don't talk about her anymore or go over her house. Is something up?"

"She hates Sidney!" Mack chimes in. I'm surprised he can hear us talking over his blaring headphones.

"Why don't you guys hang out anymore?" I ask.

"I don't know." The classic answer that really means, "I don't want to talk about it."

"What do you mean you don't know? Are you involved in the situation, or are we talking about somebody else? How can you NOT know when you are one of the people we're talking about?"

Crickets...she just sits there. At this point, I think back on the days when my dad would say things like, "Don't ask me for shit" when he got mad. I think about how when I was her age, I couldn't even think about getting a ride to school everyday. I think about all the money I'm pouring into this damned tuition and I can't even get a decent conversation. I have the urge to pop my first-born child in the mouth. I imagine saying all sorts of things that my dad used to say back in the day. But I tell myself it's not that big of a deal.

I decide to sit back and turn up 88.5 to let the smooth grooves of Teddy P take me into work. The next time I see Kenzer in school that day she gives me a big hug. She buries her head in my mid-section (in front of her friends by the way) and says, "I love you daddy."

5th graders are not right. That's the bottom line. What I'm trying to figure out is which battles I'm supposed to fight. For now, I'm trying to focus on the main things, like honesty, character, integrity. Work hard, be nice...things like that. I sprinkle in a little extra at times, but everyday is different. As kids get older, nothing really goes according to the plan. But one thing that never changes is the love. I approach every day with her waiting for the unexpected. She does not disappoint.

Working it out

I've been with my wife for over ten years. We have been together for over a third of my life. I don't care what anybody tells you: there are days when it is challenging to stay married. Their are days when I'm bored or frustrated. What's even better is that we can carry on a "friendly" argument for weeks at a time. Don't get it twisted: I am a happily married man. But happiness is not easy to come by. If it was easy, then everybody would be happy.

Today just happened to be an easy day. It was one of those days when I got a chance to connect with my wife doing something that we both love. It was simple. We worked out together. Something about it reminded me of our college days. That's it folks. Find something that you both love and make a little time for it. That stuff goes a long way.

Feeling Guilty

It's now 10:41 p.m. Central Time, and I'm just getting settled in for the night. My kids were alseep when I got home, and once again I feel like I missed the party. We did get to eat dinner together tonight and I had my meeting with Young Pog without a hitch.

But duty called and my job kept me away from home until after 10:00. After a 15-hour day, we wrapped up the last Middle School game for the night and I was dog tired. On my way out of the gym I pick up a basketball and think, "I'm gonna put up a few shots before I leave." As I pick up the ball, the scrawniest, worst player on our 5th and 6th grade team walks up and asks for the ball and I feel like vomiting all over the place. The last thing I want to do is watch this kid shoot some more after watching him run around in circles for the past hour. I give him the ball and watch him shoot a few terrible set shots, then something changes.

I start telling him to keep his elbow in tight and to bend his knees. Before I know it, I have him doing form shooting and I'm challenging him to make one perfect shot with one hand, knees bent, following through with his hand in the cookie jar. At this point it's just us in the gym, and his parents are off in the corner just happy to see somebody working with their son. I block them out and focus in on this kid's shot. For the moment I'm locked in, feeling like I'm doing what I was born to do. After about 5 minutes of floundering and adjusting, he does it. He bends his knees with his elbow under the ball and drops one--all net. Perfect. Before I know it I'm clapping, yelling and high-fiving with this kid at 9:30 pm because he made a wide open, uncontested shot. His face lights up and for the first time I see a glimmer of confidence in his eye.

It's a look that I love to see. I feed on that look. I leave the gym on a natural high that reminds me of why I do this job, and why I will probably work with kids in one way or another for the rest of my life.

But I also feel a twinge of guilt. I feel guilty for spending so much time showing other people's children how to do things. While I spend a considerable amount of time teaching my own kids, I feel like it's never enough. Tonight is one of those nights when the self-doubt creeps in. I think it happens to all parents at one time or another, but tonight is my night. I don't always think of it as a bad thing, because it motivates me to do more. The guilt gives me energy when there's nothing left.

Be realistic with your kids!

Yesterday Mack Attack, my oldest boy, played in a basketball game against a local rival. He's in the 7th grade, and he has an impressive blend of natural, God-given athleticism and years of technical and fundamental work. As we used to say in college, "he gives people the business"--most of the time.

At one point in the game he stepped into a passing lane, got the steal, gave the defender a nice stutter-step, to an in-an-out dribble and finished with left-hand lay-up. This just happens to be a move we've worked on several times. At that point, a man turns to me and asks, "who's that kid?" I had a chance to utter the words that so many fathers dream of saying at a sporting event.

"That's my son."
"What?"
"That's my son." I say with my chest poked out a bit more than usual (I have been working out).
"Wow, he's good" the guy says.
"He's O.K. He has a lot to work on."
"No. He's really good" the guy says.
"Thanks, but he has a lot to work on this summer. Hopefully, he will be good next year."


That is my response. "He is O.K." The guy looks at me like I am the worst parent on Earth. He looks at me like I don't appreciate my own kid. What he doesn't understand is that it pays to be realistic. You can be head over heels in love with your kids and everything that they do. But you cannot lose perspective. That leads to false hope and unrealistic expectations for your kid and for those around him. I'm proud of my son's abilities and accomplishments on the court, but on a national level, he would be somewhere in the middle. On a continuum of players, from terrible to great, my son would be somewhere in the middle. Like a C+. However, he just happens to be the best player on his team. People pat him on the back after every game and tell him how amazing he is. He is handling it well, and he usually comes home after every game and talks about how much fun he had or how one of his teammates played well. He rarely brags on his own game (I don't know how he managed being so humble with me as an example).

This is where perspective and goal-setting come in. If we were complacent with him being the best player on his small private school team, then what would our goals be? Don't get me wrong. I congratulate him for playing great games and for being a leader, but he is simply not a great player YET. I say yet, because the goal is for him to reach that level. Whether he does or he doesn't, I will be proud. I will be proud, but I will be realistic.

Allow me a little soap box time:
These parents need to stop hyping their kids up to be the next best thing when it comes to sports. If your kid really is great, then I take my hat off to you. Otherwise, you should praise them when they do well, set goals to get better, and work to reach them. Sometimes when parents come to games and their kids play terribly or not at all, they blame the coach. They blame the school. They even go as far as to blame the other kids on the team. In my not so humble opinion, if your kid isn't good there are one of three things going on:

1. They're just not good. We are not all born with the same talents and gifts. Hard work and dedication can move mountains, but some people just don't have it to begin with. With all the work in the world there's a certain level some people will never reach.

2. They don't want to play anyway. I'm guilty of this one. I will force my kids to play a sport without a second thought. I tell them, "you're not going to sit on the couch watching Spongebob and Hannah Montana. You're gonna play a sport or get a job." Then when they say, I'm too young to get a job, I say, "Well then it's an easy choice." At that point I know that they won't necessarily excel, because the desire is not there. But I would rather have them out there playing and competing than watching television. But I don't come to the game and blame the damn coach.

3. The parents don't spend time with their kids. Plain and simple, some of these people get pissed off when they see how terrible their kids are, because it reminds them of all the time they DIDN'T spend with their kids. Spend some damn time with your kids.

As for me, I'm looking forward to the next game. In the meantime, we need to work on Mack's pull-up jumper. He's been fading to the left.

Gym rats

I'm sure most people have heard the term "gym rat." A gym rat is a kid who basically grows up in a gym watching games and practices. I'm proud to say that my children are gym rats for sure. For the past ten years, they have spent more time in a gym than any kids that I have ever seen. I think Kenzer (my oldest daughter), Young Pog, and Baby d can't remember anything else. I can remember all three of them stumbling around as toddlers during my games (either as a coach or administrator). Mack Attack, my oldest has more stories about my past games than he does about things that has happened in our home! My kids have come to view our athletes as extended family members. I can't tell you how many kids have "adopted" my youngsters and looked after them while I was busy getting things done during games. Baby d and Young Pog have fallen asleep in the arms of teenagers as much as they have in my own.

The gym has been a central piece of our family life. Tonight was no different. I remember when we lived in Georgia and Young Pog would walk by the bench during the game to give me a high-five during games. Yes, my kids have eaten concession stand nachos and hot dogs for dinner more times than I care to remember. We have spent Saturdays together in the gym with Lori working the gate and being a trooper helping out wherever it's needed. For some it would seem like drudgery, but for us it's not. In fact there are times when it's the only time we get to spend time together as a family. We have learned to make it work.

But I cannot take credit for it. All the credit goes to Lori. I can't explain how valuable it is to have a spouse that not only supports my profession, but also covets our time together as a family with the fierceness of a pit bull. I have seen so many wives opt to spend the night at home to get some rest. Lori has basically decided that we roll together or not at all, and if I'm there, we're all there. Although my schedule often dictates 60-hour weeks, she makes sure that we get our quality time. Even if that means eating pizza together in my conference room.

I've heard people say that love conquers all. They say that if two people love each other than they can make it work. That's bull. It takes a little more than love to pull it off. It takes flexibility and the willingness to sacrifice to make a family a family. In my case, I'm thankful for the way that my family has been able to pull it together despite a schedule that most people view as impossible. Tonight is one of those nights when I'm reminded that no matter how hectic things may be, it's important to be together as much as possible. I'm a blessed man, folks. Truly blessed.

Daddy gets the bad car

I'm driving to work this morning in my Saturn and I start thinking about the days when I drove a silver two-seater with 12 inch woofers in the trunk. Some dude pulls up next to me in a black Range Rover with 20-inch rims and I stare at his truck thinking wtf? I can do without pretty much anything, but I LOVE having a "cool" car. I like leather, wood, buttons and rims--ingnore any stereotypes please. However, my Saturn has none of the aforementioned luxuries. It's a four-door, basic car that is very reliable. It gets good gas mileage and the maintenance has been minimal. Furthermore, it's paid off. It was a sound financial decision to purchase the Saturn, but every once in a while I want something else.

I turn my last corner before heading into the school parking lot, and I start thinking that at this point in my career I work hard enough and make enough money to drive a car that I'm proud of. Then I think about being a leader. I think about the fact that for the past 10 years, I have taken the "bad car" without fail anytime a new (or used) car is purchased. Let me clarify: I have insisted on having the bad car. You see I talk a good game about what I want, but when it comes down to it I'm going to put myself last 99% of the time.

Right now my wife drives an SUV, and I would not be able to stomach it if she were driving a worse car than I. It's just not the way things should be. I've never understood how guys can pull out of the driveway in new cars leaving their wives to roll hoopties. That's a bitch move fellas. No offense to anyone that drives a better car than their wife--I just don't get down like that.

The fact of the matter is that I probably could afford to buy that black on black Charger or Camaro, but that would require some adjustments. I could send my kids to public school rather than private...that would save a shitload of money. We could go out less or have fewer family functions. I could reduce the number of activities that my kids are involved in. But when I weigh the options, it just doesn't make sense to be that selfish. It doesn't benefit the TEAM.

So in a few years when the truck is paid off, we will get another vehicle. I've already decided that whatever we decide to buy will automatically be "mom's car." I will take the truck (which will have about 2-hundy on the ticker by then). I will still have the bad car, but I wouldn't have it any other way. But I can still complain about it from time to time. Nobody can take that away from me.

This is some bullshit

Ok, so now that break is close to being over, I'm feeling boxed in. I love my job, my kids and my wife, but today I'm feeling like this is some bullshit. It's taken me almost two weeks to get to a place where I actually feel relaxed. I've been taking naps all week, hanging out with my wife, ignoring my Blackberry, playing with my kids, and drinking large quantities of beer. I've watched football and basketball on TV and extended my workouts by 30-45 minutes. Folks, I've been selfish. For the first time in a long time I said, "I'm not going to worry about work or about all this other stuff. I'm going to relax." And guess what? I loved it.

So then where's the bull? The bull is that I typically spend every day worried about how to do a better job. A better job as an athletic director, a dad, and a husband. I worry about that shit so much that it makes me tense and old beyond my years. I skip my workout once a week to make breakfast for my kids. I meet with Young Pog (my youngest son) every day in my office at 3:00 to go over his homework. I actually had my assistant schedule it as a real meeting on my calendar. It's incovenient, but it makes a big difference to both of us. Plus it actually has helped his performance in the classroom. I run all over town attending my kids' basketball and soccer games, even when I don't feel like going (I'm going to be honest with y'all...I don't always feel like going, and most parents don't either). I make a point to let my wife know that I love her unconditionally and that I still find her attractive...even when I don't feel like it. By the end of most days, I have expended so much physical and mental energy that I don't have a second to clear my head and do creative stuff.

I have vowed to spend a few minutes each day laying down The Blueprint for how I do my thing. For now, Young Pog and Baby d (my youngest daughter) are standing next to me waiting for me to get them ready for bed. Back to reality y'all.