mobile post: lost

On the road heading back to Memphis after a glorious week in Ohio. Lori's driving, Maxwell is singing about being in love, and the kids are sleeping soundly in the back. It's peaceful and today is one of those days when I feel like we're just one big happy family. I like how this feels...something like a fairytale.

A few days ago, I sat in my Aunt Marsha's (actually Lori's aunt) kitchen, eating grits and scrambled eggs, drinking coffee. I listened to her talk about how her dad used to drive the family to Alabama when she was a kid. She talked about how much fun they had visiting their cousins and how they looked forward to seeing them every year. Marsha said that it was important for the kids to know each other..."they have to know their family, otherwise they will be lost.". This resonated with me, because when Lori and I chased our dreams we left some very valuable things behind. My cousins are having kids and building beautiful families.

They say that life goes on, and that time waits for no man. But these cliches aren't so useful when I'm trying to convince myself that it's ok that my kids don't know their cousins. Baby d doesn't know her aunts and uncles as well as she should, and she barely remembers my grandmother. We are disconnected, and I can't help but to think that in some ways we are lost. It's a long road back to Memphis...

i'm not mucking about this summer

Mucking about: to my knowledge it's a British term that's very similar to f**king around or fumbling your way through something. It's what happens when you spend time idly. You would say something like, "stop mucking about in there and let's get out of here" if you wanted somebody to hurry up. Or you would say, "you've been mucking about all summer, now it's time to get ready for school!."

Last summer we had Jack's (British exchange student) parents and siblings visit Memphis during June and July. I worked all summer while Lori and the kids spent time mucking about with the Lambros family. Kenzer and Izzy (Jack's little sister) spent all of their time laying around, swimming and eating. It was disgusting, and I'm not putting up with it this summer.

I'm determined to kick some major ass this time around. I cannot watch my kids screw around all summer with nothing to show for it when it's time to go back to school. The fact of the matter is that last summer they did absolutely nothing and I let them. I can't help but to think that maybe I was the one mucking about, but I promise that I won't be thinking that this year. I've got a plan folks. This will be daddy's summer. Stay tuned.

first time for everything

I've been gone for a while, and for that I apologize. Honestly, I just got bogged down with work and the daily grind. But here I sit, feeling a little relaxed after hours of yard work, drinking a beer on the front porch watching the Tennessee sun make its descent behind the western treeline. It's warm--but not hot--with an occasional breeze. Birds are singing their last songs for the evening, tucking themselves in to rest up for their morning serenade. This is one of the things I love about the south. It is truly a beautiful place, despite the checkered history of so many grotesque and horrible things. As I sit here, I have love for this gorgeous region of our country.

Enough of that. The important thing for the day is that Baby D is growing up. It's inevitable, I know, but it's not always easy. Tonight she is having her first sleepover at a friend's house, and I can't imagine what it will be like tomorrow waking up with here not here. All the other kids have had their first sleepovers, but there is something profound about the last first time. It's the first, but yet it's final. I feel a door closing, and it scares the shit out of me. It lets me know that no matter what I do, all of them will grow up and they will become adults. They will have lives of their own and it's highly probable that they will follow in my footsteps and move to other regions of the country. If they grow to be the people we are striving for them to be, one of them may even leave the country!

If this seems to be an unusual reaction to a sleepover, then I don't care. My youngest and final child is showing signs of independence. If I have to go down deep to that place where I sometimes avoid, I realize that I call her Baby D for selfish reasons. You can read between the lines, because I'm just not ready to go there yet. So I'm signing off tonight feeling much older than I did yesterday. Maybe I should just go and pick her up now...

master of the grill

When I was 14 I ate BBQ for a whole summer. It wasn't as much fun as it sounds; we grilled out just about every day, because my parents could not pay the electric and gas bill. By the third week, I was sick of the taste of charcoal and the smell of bbq smoke. It was a smell that I couldn't shake and it stayed with me all day every day. Anything you can think of, my mom threw it on the grill. I had bbq sausage for breakfast, and bbq chicken for dinner. BBQ pork chops, grilled corn and eggs cooked over an open fire--it actually sounds a bit romantic. In retrospect, my parents were pretty creative with some of the stuff they came up with on that grill. At least we were eating.

For years I couldn't eat at a bbq or cookout without feeling a sweet nostalgic sadness inside. It was just one of those reminders that sometimes life plays cruel jokes on you and brings bad memories back in the midst of a good time.

The weather in Memphis has finally settled down. The air is warm and the sky is blue. Green grass is now creeping in and gaining the advantage on the dormant brown blades that were marking time all winter. It's my favorite time of year. Yesterday I fired up the grill for the first time this year. I sipped rum and coke, and two-stepped to Michael Jackson from time to time. The kids came in and out asking, "is the food done?"

I cannot pinpoint the day, but at some point grilling out became something that I love to do for my family. Maybe it was when I figured out that they look forward to it. I mean, they really look forward to it. I know that they like to eat...that's a given. And my grilling skills get better every year, so I know the food is good. But there's something else. It's a look on their faces, and something about it that makes Lori relax a little bit more than usual. Maybe it's because they know it's a good day, because I'm happy and have time to stand over a fire for several hours. When you have as many people in a house as I do, you remember the times when everyone is in a great mood.

Every once in a while something stirs up memories of childhood. The funny thing about having kids is that the significance of the memories changes for me as the kids get older. Some of the things that used to give me the blues now give me a feeling of victory. So yesterday when I opened up the grill and the smoke enveloped me, I thought of that BBQ filled summer when I was a boy. I thought about how hard it was and how much I wanted things to be normal for our family. Then I looked over to my right, and behind the glass screen door to the kitchen stood Baby D, smiling at me. I smiled back at her, because I felt like I had overcome something major. I had just created a memory. Things come full circle when you least expect it.

holding out

Outside in the driveway today, Pog (my 7 year-old son) and I stood side by side washing our family cars. He was in a pair of rolled up jeans and a Grizzlies jersey, barefoot. At seven years old and all of three feet tall, he was responsible for washing and drying the bottom portion of the cars. As expected, I ended up going over everything he had done, but what's important is that he was out there with me working...voluntarily! Sweet Jesus...the boy may actually like to work.

Anyway, at one point I was washing my rims (no not the cool rims that I want...factory Saturn rims) and I said to Pog, "you know I used to work at a car wash in high school." He looked confused...like he was trying to put pieces of a puzzle together.

"I didn't know that" he said. It was genuine. It had a tone like, "why have you been holding out? I'm supposed to know this about you by now."

It was a great indicator for me that my kids feel like they know me. An even better indicator that they are always interested in learning more. I wonder how long this lasts?

exposure

I am tired of Radio Disney. I'm sick of Justin Beber and all the other little kids who sing songs about love, school, and teenage angst, but at this point I don't think I have another choice. It seems as if every other radio station is determined to play songs about sex, drugs and violence. When I was 18, I thought it was awesome. Honestly, when I'm in the car by myself, I still tune in and bob my head to the southern beats. I have a connection with hip-hop that I cannot deny...but I don't want my kids being bombarded by all that nonsense every day. I know that they will hear it all in due time, but I have trouble riding with my 5 year-old daughter listening to somebody talking about bending a girl over. I'm just sayin'.

I had a conversation in passing with a colleague and he told me that he doesn't have cable tv in his home. I said, "then what do your kids watch? How do they get to see Hannah Montana and Sunny With a Chance?" He said, "they can watch that stuff on Saturday morning on network tv."

I immediately thought, "this guy's kids are going to be space cadets." I don't want to shelter my kids to the point where they are disconnected from their peers and the world in general. But I also want to make an effort to filter out some of the nonsense that our media constantly pushes on us. It's so much different than when we were growing up. If 2 Live Crew were to release an album with similar content to their old stuff, most of the songs would be "clean" enough to play on the radio. When I was a kid, it wasn't that way.

So I give them exposure when I can. I invite people over for drinks, and when they cuss, I don't get mad. I don't cuss around my kids, but I want my kids to know that people cuss. I want them to know that people smoke and drink and that they're not bad people for doing it. They need to know that good people make bad choices...but they're still good. It's funny when I have a beer at dinner and Kenzer says, "daddy, beer is a drug." I tell her, "your teachers are right, beer is a drug, but I'm over 21. I can have a drink when I please. You on the other hand cannot, because it's against the law." Well...sometimes I say, "your teachers don't know what they're talking about."

It's difficult to acheive a balance, but we have agreed that it's not healthy to allow them access to everything that's out there. We don't want our kids singing "I can make your bed rock." But at the same time, we think it's just as unhealthy to have them out here thinking that the world is all smiles and roses. We allow them to watch cable tv, but at this point BET and MTV are so far out of control that we don't let them tune in. They have ipods (spoiled) but we have to make sure they're not just downloading any and everything. I know that some things will slip by us, but I'm ok with that. Maybe some things need to slip through the cracks. It's called reality and we can't hide from it. But it's a full-time job trying to filter it.

some really cool stuff happened today

Baby D is 5. When I came home from work today she and Young Pog (7) ambushed me after I set my bags down. After they knocked me down, Baby D worked her way behind my head and clamped on with a choke hold that I taught them. When she locked her left hand around her right wrist she pulled up and yelled, "TAP OUT! TAP OUT!" I tapped out and she laughed uncontrollably. It was the best ass-whoopin I've ever taken.

how much is too much?

I teach a sports writing class to a bunch of rich kids. Every day that I teach that class I am reminded of the economic inequalities that are perpetuated in our society. I'm not bullshitting when I say that 5 of the kids in my class have parents who are known millionaires. Not 6 figures...millions. One of my students has been on MTV Cribs...he's the kid with the deer in his house. I have a kid who misses class to fly to Texas for football games (on a private jet). Another student drives a Range Rover on 22's with a Superman symbol on the front grill...she got the Range at her Sweet 16 birthday party after a performance from Omarion. The great thing about the class (and my school in general) is that we also have some kids who are on financial aid. They are from families who are scraping together every dollar they can to pay their tuition. It makes for an interesting mix.

Recently we watched a documentary about two kids from inner-city Chicago who had aspirations to make it to the NBA. The film sparked some discussion about whether or not kids from wealthy neighborhoods have a better chance to be successful than poor kids. The students in my class said things like:

*The kids in the film are able to deal with more adversity as a result of their surroundings.
*It doesn't matter if you're from the upper, middle, or working class; it's your work ethic that makes the difference.
*Kids raised the middle class have it easier. Rich kids have more support and more options, but they still have to work to make things happen in life.
*Rich kids tend to get lazy, because they know everything will be taken care of.

I was surprised by the variety of responses that I got from this group of kids, some of which do not understand the head start they have. I was also shocked by how many of them do understand the advantages they have.

Anyway, that's not he point here. The point of it all is that yesterday I met two women who want badly for their daughters to be great basketball players. I met them during a skills clinic at my school that my varsity girls coach offers every Saturday. In a brief conversation the women informed me that they both drive 2 hours each way every Saturday to bring their daughters to our gyms. That was astounding, but what they said next is stuck in my head:

"It's worth it!" they both said with smiles on their faces. "It's worth it."

I walked out of the gym thinking, "Is it really worth it?" I go to some extreme measures to make sure my kids are competitive and that they have access to things to make them better. But would I drive four hours round trip each week for a 90-minute skills clinic? I thought about it, then I felt a twinge of guilt. I knew that my ten-year-old daughter was at home eating chips and dip, watching Hannah Montana. DAMMIT!

I thought about the number of people that do not have the resources to drive their daughters on 4-hour excursions every week. I thought about the single mothers out there who may have the desire but not the time. Then I thought about every great basketball player that I knew as a teenager. 85 percent of them figured it out on their own. They got up early and worked on ball handling. They played all day anywhere there was a game. They put up hundreds of shots everyday. Their parents didn't drive them to clinics every Saturday. They had a fire burning inside of them that poverty could not extinguish. In my neighborhood we put on our own clinics. But sadly enough, my transition into middle class America has taken me further away from that mindset than I would like to admit.

Everything in this new world is "organized." Kids have trainers and year-round competitive teams. Everyone goes to camps and personal workouts. Parents spare no expense to make their kids dreams come true. My problem is that I still have the North Toledo mentality: if you want to be good, you have to fight for it. But I do understand that there has to be a balance. But where do I draw the line? How much is too much? I will let you know when I figure this one out.

who's gonna keep it real?

I cruised around itunes today trying to find a decent podcast about family life. I was pissed after about 15 minutes. Here's why:

I was looking for anything interesting on parenting, being a father, or raising a family. It's just interesting to get someone else's take on this stuff from time to time.

What I found was
1. a bunch of nonsense about how to manage your child's text messaging.
2. a couple women talking about their weekends.
3. some dude trying to be funny by making crude jokes.
4. a Christian values podcast.

I'm all about managing texts, and I've been known to make a crude joke or two. But I was looking for something that relates to a 30-something dad.

Is there anybody out there keeping it real? It really pisses me off that it's so hard to find anything interesting or enlightening for somebody who just wants to raise my kids, love my wife, and make a decent living. But if I wanted to figure out how to get more women to have sex with me, then I would have a shitload of stuff to choose from. I don't want to hear more about famous people. I'm not trying to learn how to pick up women, not trying learn how to "make more money now", and I'm sure as hell not interested in how some 45-year old lady spent her weekend. So I guess I'm S.O.L.

Baby D steps it up

Baby D is the wild card of the family. Baby D is the one who still gets carried around at the age of five and receives more free candy, popcorn, and milkshakes than any child I have ever seen. My co-workers make over her like she's a precious gem, and the students at my school treat her like a celebrity.

I can look at all four of my kids and make a few predictions about what they will do over the next ten years. Mack Attack (14)struggles in school, is a solid athlete, and spends too much time talking to girls. Kenzer has a heart of gold, breezes through school, struggles in sports, and she aims to please. She is a father's dream. Young Pog is me reincarnated. He doesn't warm up to people too quickly, but when he does, you have a friend for life. He operates above the curve both athletically and intellectually. Pog wants to be good. He loves to win, and he will kick some ass when push comes to shove.

But what about Baby D? She is the cutest child I have ever seen...no bullshit. She's really that cute. She runs like a track star from trying to keep up with Pog since she could stand. But she doesn't seem to love sports. She has quick wit from verbal confrontations with Kenzer, but she's not a book worm. She has thick skin from having a 14-year-old brother who's just too cool, but she's not mean. She just takes it as it comes...usually with a smile.

Just recently, she's been showing more of an interest in hanging out with me (which I love). I have a Saturday (not every Saturday)tradition of waking up early and taking Pog to the donut shop to pick up donuts for the fam. It just happened that way, because he usually is the first rugrat to wake up on the weekends. I woke up a little late this morning, thanks to dinner guests and a bottle of rum. Baby D comes into the room and asks if she can go with me to the donut shop. I'm like,
"Of course you can go with me!"
"You want me to get my shoes on?"
"Yep, go get your shoes on and we will leave."

We get to the donut shop and I tell her that it's her job to pick the donuts. She nods calmly and I'm prepared to step in when she gets nervous. The woman behind the counter says, "Can I help you?" I look down at Baby D, and all of a sudden she opens her mouth and a voice comes out that I have never heard before. It's not the voice of a baby! It's assertive, polite, and articulate. It knows exactly what it wants and is very comfortable expressing it. I watch my youngest offspring, with a feeling of pride and shock.

"I would like two chocolate donuts with sprinkles please...and two strawberry. I would also like three glazed please..."

A woman at a nearby table chimes in and says, "She's so polite! We're working on that!" she says as she gestures towards her own kids. The woman behind the counter says, "mom and dad are doing a great job! Better than I did." Instead of basking in the moment, Baby D just continues ordering...just taking it as it comes.

It's a beautiful thing when your kids surprise you. Selfishly, it's also a beautiful thing when they surprise others. The thing with Baby D is that she never seems to surprise herself. It's like she already knows how everything is supposed to turn out.

the little things

After I sent the kids to get their PJ's on for the night they came into my room to say good night. Baby D says,

"Dad, I want to hear that song that you were singing today. It's stuck in my head."

It's an established fact in my house that music is a major part of my life. Almost every time period in my life has been accompanied by a soundtrack of sorts. At the age of 5 I was listening to the Temptations, Jerry Butler, and Bill Withers. My older sister says I was an old man by 7. I listened to ABC, Kwame, Hammer, and all the rest, but something about that old soul music was a part of my soul. I inherited that love from my dad and his old school music collection. We would sit in the basement listening to old records. I saw the way he felt the music and I wanted to understand. When things were going wrong, as they often did, he would throw on something sad. I would dribble the ball around the basement singing along to songs that none of my friends knew about. Eventually I grew to love it on my own level, and my understanding of my dad's music grows with each day that I live.

As I type this blog, Frankie Beverly is in the background singing about being back in stride. Whether it's the Wu-Tang Clan, Jodeci, Coldplay, or BB King, there's always a song in my head and in my heart. It seems as though I've managed to pass this love on to my kids. When I get new CD's they are eager to hear what they're all about, and they have fallen in love with some of my favorite stuff.

So Baby D wants to hear the song of the day. She's usually the one that's brave enough to make requests at bedtime...more about that later. I fire up my ipod for the song of the day, which just happens to have significant meaning to me. As the song is playing, Kenzer asks,

"Daddy, is this your favorite song?"
"Actually, it is" I respond.
"But it will change eventually. Your favorite song changes depending on where you are in your life" Logan says, quoting me directly from a conversation we had earlier this week.
"That's right. It will probably change soon, but for now this is number one."

They all look pleased.

Legacy is a powerful thing. I always say that you never know what your kids are going to remember. You cannot predict what they will take with them, what they will forget, or what they will pass on. It's an awesome thing to give them something that my dad gave me: a love for music. That love for music is also something that links us. It gives us something to talk about and it gives me another way to let them know who I am. As parents sometimes we spend so much time teaching, scolding, praising, feeding, and clothing our kids that we forget to show them who we are. Of all the directives I've given them today, (at least 100) the one thing they will actually remember is a song. With all that we work so hard to make sure they remember, sometimes it's the little things that never die.

btw...

By the way, our varsity basketball team lost in the sub-state. To make a long story short, we didn't make it to Nashville. We came up one point short, and I still can't decide if it was because we didn't score enough points or if we ran out of precious time. Either way, it was a heart-breaker. When the final buzzer went off I felt the hopes of the State Championship crumble. I watched our seniors walk off the floor with their heads bowed, headed to the locker room for the last time. I thought about how those boys would remember that walk for the rest of their lives. I knew that someday years later they would drive home from work and out of nowhere they would hear that buzzer go off. I wondered if they would tell their kids about the game, like I tell my kids about the last high school game I played in. I wondered if they would sit in the locker room wondering how they could replay the game.

I also thought about how I refused to take my uniform off after my last game in high school. When my coach was finished with the post-game speech my teammates showered, changed, and boarded the bus. I remained seated, planted in the moment. I replayed the previous four seasons and I thought about all the times when I didn't give it my all. I thought about the times when I didn't want to listen to my coach and I wondered if I would do it all differently if I had the chance. I sat in my uniform with my high socks, one blue and one gold, and for the first time in my life I knew what it meant to have a broken heart. I somehow thought that if I could figure out a way to keep that uniform on, I wouldn't have to give up the experience. I had been through so much: homelessness, family turmoil, winters with no heat, summers with no water, and many days with no food. I was a kid that knew what it was like to eat at soup kitchens and what it felt like to wake up in a shelter. I had seen so many things go wrong that I started to think that life was nothing more than a series of unfortunate events. But through my sport, I finally got to have the feeling of being a part of something bigger than myself. I got to see what it was like to be hopeful. I realized that I had finally found something that I believed, and it was over. Just like that...it was done.

I replayed the images in my head and at the age of 31 I stepped back into my 18-year-old shoes. I sat in a corner of the gym consumed in my thoughts. I must admit that I was lost in the moment. Then something caught my attention. I saw Lori sitting in the bleachers with tears in her eyes. She believed. On her lap sat Young Pog, who was sobbing uncrontrollably. I walked over to them and she gave me a look that let me know that she wasn't sure what to say. I took Pog into my arms and I asked him what was wrong.

"I thought we were going to win" he said. "I wanted to win."

I thought I would cry. My boy was 7 and he already knew what it was to believe. It took me 18 years to get there. I took a seat with him on my lap and we talked. I talked to him about how important it is to prepare. We talked about how it was ok to lose a close one if you had done everything in your power to prepare every day. I told him that we would have a chance to make another run. It's never too late to make another run. I told my son that in life it's impossible to acheive your goals without proper preparation. Then I told him that the same holds true for everything in life. It's important to put your best foot forward every day, because you never know when it could be your last. He looked me in the eye and said that he understood. I pray that he does.

Cat's in the cradle

A guy by the name of Harry Chapin wrote a song about being a dad. It just happens to be one of the most profound songs I've ever heard. It's about a man who has a son, and he never seems to be able to find enough time to spend with his boy. As a child the boy wants to be so much like his dad that he emulates his every move. But at every turn there's always so much for the dad to do that he constantly tells his son that they will get together "soon." Not now, but "soon."

As all boys do, the son gets older. He graduates from college and eventually has a family of his own. The dad (Harry Chapin) is retired and longs to spend some time with his grown up son. However, the tables are turned, and son is the one with bills to pay and a job to work. He takes on his dad's montra, and tells him that they will get together soon. The dad then laments in the final verse, "and as I hung up the phone, it occured to me...my boy was just like me...the boy was just like me". Something about that song gets me every time. It makes me proud, sad and scared at the same time.

My boy Pog has been wearing button-down shirts and ties to school lately. He says it's because he wants to dress like me. You already know, this is the stuff that dreams are made of. Of course this has me thinking that I'm the shit, and I plan on going to the store with him this week to beef up his tie collection. I can't have him out here looking like Poindexter, or like one of these dudes who has no clue as to how to put together a basic shirt and tie combo. But I digress...

It is so gratifying to have a son that thinks I'm the man. I love it when he says things like, "Dad knows what he's doing" or "Dad doesn't forget things" with unshakeable certainty. Like Harry Chapin, I think that one day I will hang up the phone with my son and say to myself, "he grew up just like me." I keep it in mind that someday my boy will be a man and there is a pretty good chance that he will have many of the same characteristics that I have. I continue to be amazed at how quickly they grow up, and I fear that it will all happen just as quickly as a four-minute song. There is no way to stop time or to even to slow it down. I'm not even sure if it's worth trying.

For most kids, a time comes when boys don't think their dads are so cool anymore. There's a time when they realize that their dads are regular people and that they don't always know what their doing. There will come a day when he realizes that I forget things and that I don't always know the answers. I pray that when that day comes, it's not too much of a shock (for him or for me). I sincerely hope that our relationship is one that leaves room for imperfections and for mistakes. I tell him that he doesn't need to be like me. Rather he needs to be better than me. But I have to be honest. My heart is full when he gives me a look that says, "How is that possible? It doesn't get any better than you." I know it's selfish, but for now I will take it.

Priorities

Last night I kept my kids out late. I took them out of town on a school night and didn't bring them home until 10:30. When we pulled into the garage they were asleep and it took 10 minutes to wake them all up and to drag them into their rooms to put them to bed. I did all of this with full knowledge that they had full days of school, rehearsals, and practices ahead of them the next morning. I did this with the understanding of all of the research on proper rest and nutrition and the benefits of a structured schedule for kids. To make matters worse, this morning I decided that it was ok for them to sleep in for 30 extra minutes which made them a little late for school.

What was I thinking? I'll tell you what I was thinking: IT'S TOURNAMENT TIME BABY! Intitially, I told Lori that it would be best for them to stay home to make sure everyone got to bed on time. But that wouldn't last long. At about 2:30 Tuesday afternoon, Lori walked into my office and said, "I think we're coming to the game." I simply said, "ok" because I already knew what she was thinking.

You see the night before, I had to attend a game out of town and by the time I got home the kids were asleep. We didn't get to see each other at all and it was a night when my job kept me from being dad. So Tuesday night, we had to consider our options:
1. Send dad to the game alone so everyone can get to bed on time.
2. Spend the evening together, witness a championship game, and make some memories (and possibly be exhausted the next day).

We chose option 2. Thankfully we won the Region Championship and after the game my kids took turns holding the trophy. I talked to Pog today about the game. We talked about the feeling of winning as a result of preparation and hard work. We talked about what it feels like to work really hard at something and to see the hard work pay off.

This weekend we play two important games. If we win, we will earn a trip to Nashville to play for the state Final 4 and State Championship. In the event that it happens, I have no question about my top priority. My top priority will be with me in Nashville, cheering on the TEAM. They will miss a day or two of school, but to me it's worth it.

When the shit hits the fan

Ok, I've been reviewing some of my past blogs and I have to apologize. I vowed to "keep it 100" which means 100% real and genuine. But when I look back over my blogs, I realize that maybe I've left a few things out that are important. I find myself saying things like, "sometimes things are difficult" or "marriage is hard work" but I haven't gotten down to the nitty-gritty. Thus I didn't keep it 100.

Here's the real.

Our anniversary just passed. What I find myself wanting to write is that I ordered my wife flowers and had them delivered to her at work (which I did). I want to say that she bought me an ipod and I finally got to ditch my old Ipod shuffle that I've been using since '06 (which she did buy me). I want all my people to know that I made reservations at a fancy restaurant on the East Side (which I did). Those things are true, but there's another side to the story.

To make a long story short, we got into a big ass argument. One of the bad ones where feelings get hurt. It was the kind of argument that makes you wonder if marriages really work or not. It was the kind of argument that my friends who think we have it perfect don't know about. But it's also the kind of argument that lets you know a lot about your relationship.

Let me qualify: it wasn't an argument over a life-changing event. It wasn't an issue of commitment or money. It sure as hell wasn't about something that's a "deal breaker." It started Friday night when we were at dinner with a couple "friends." I say that in quotations, because they also happen to be parents from the school. For me that automatically means that I cannot relax around them, because our relationship is predicated on my job and our professional interactions. To make a long story short, Lori engaged in conversation about matters at the school which made me uncomfortable...well, it actually pissed me off. I didn't mention anything until the next day. One thing led to another and we ended up in an old fashioned blowout. It wasn't a blowout about the conversation though. It was one of those arguments that had been brewing for months. It was about work, stress, kids, and everything else that goes along with raising a family and maintaining a marriage. It was truly a time when neither of us were willing to give.

By 7:00 we had decided (not really but we were both really mad) that we were not going to the East Side for dinner. She stormed out of the house with steam coming out of her ears, and I proceeded to get dressed for a night out. Of course, our babysitter was in place, so I decided to leave before she got back. Not the best idea on your anniversary.

So I get downtown and spend the night walking up and down Beale Street listening to the blues (while getting hammered). I walked the streets of downtown Memphis wondering how the hell I ended up alone and drunk on the day when we're supposed to be celebrating our years together. I sent texts to a few of my friends letting them know I was in the midst of a terrible evening. I thought about calling her, but decided that I wasn't going to be the one to give in. So I sat in back of some blues bar at a table by myself, looking like the most pitiful man in Memphis. I wondered how we were going to be a successful couple when we couldn't even make our anniversary weekend enjoyable.

We didn't speak much the next day (which happened to be Valentine's day). She tried to make amends, but I was too stubborn to listen. She gave me my ipod and I said "thanks". The day went on in silence as I am the master of psycological warfare. That's my strength. I'm not so good in the heat of the argument, but I'm a sonofabitch when comes to being silent.

By the time 8:00 hit, I had decided that I wasn't going to sit around trying to be mean for another minute. I got dressed and said, "I'll see you later." I went over the Flying Saucer, a local pub with a great beer selection, and took a seat at the bar. Then I got a text saying "This is worst Valentine's day I've ever had...I tried to apologize and I gave you a gift...you repay by leaving?" I know, it was the wrong thing to do, but what can I say?

I texted back and that started WWIII, "The War of the Texts." We went back and forth for the better part of two hours with all the reasons why the other person was wrong. We traded our thoughts that we'd been harboring for some time on a litany of topics. Every once in a while I paused to say, "give me another" to the bartender. By the end of the night, I felt something that scared me: I didn't want to come home. I drove around for a while and even gave some random dude a ride...after I told him I would fuck him up if he tried anything.

The next day started the same: silence. I was determined that it wasn't my fault and not my turn to break. I told myself that it was on her this time and I would wait as long as it took. But then I realized that I hadn't spoken more than two words to my best friend in days. Folks, I realized that it hurt and it was lonely. So I broke the silence. It wasn't the type of conversation that ends with laughter and a play fight. It was some serious shit. We said things like, "you need to make me a priority again" and "I never thought I would feel like this." It was the type of conversation that defines relationships and through the pain, you figure out a way to get back on the same page. It wasn't fixed, but we gained a common ground.

Sometimes the shit hits the fan. It doesn't go right and people get hurt. The true test of friendship is that you fight through it, together. It takes a lot of trust to spill your guts to someone who has hurt you, but you have to be willing to go there. Even when it's a little scary.

I decided to take the morning off today. I invited Lori to Starbucks and we talked for a couple hours about stuff. Not about the argument. We took some time to connect on the level where everything started: as friends. We just talked about stuff that friends talk about, and it was the best morning I've had in a long time. I'm really looking forward to dinner tonight.

What they didn't tell you about being a dad part 1

Babies are poppin' up all over the place. Something must have been in the water in 09, because I've been hit up by at least 4 phone calls in the last month from friends letting me know they've got "one in the oven." Another 4-5 couples at work have little ones on the way. With all this baby madness surrounding me, I can't help but to get into a little baby talk on occassion. Yesterday I had a somewhat serious conversation with a friend about his baby boy that's due in a few weeks.

"I have to get a few more things ready." Money (my friend) speaks with such authority on the issue.

"Buddy, you're going to be saying that for the rest of your life," I say, trying not to sound cynical and jaded.

"I know...I just feel like I need to get some things in order before he gets here. I gotta get these blinds put up...gotta hang some pictures..." His voice fades and I can see his thoughts wondering.

At that point I wasn't sure what to tell him. A few things ran through my head, but all that I could come up with was, "Money, it's gonna be fine. You're gonna do a great job with this, and there's no way to be more ready than you are right now."

I already knew all the stuff he had read in books and heard from the ladies around the office, so I spared him the detailed advice about swaddling and burping the baby. I thought about some things that I will say next time somebody asks me about being a dad...and I came up with some random things that most people won't tell you (not in any order of importance).

1. It's ok to be afraid at first, but not ok to act like it.
2. The woman is way more attached to the baby than you are before it's born. You can't understand why...nothing's wrong with you...it will change the moment you see him/her.
3. The 6 weeks after the birth when you can't have sex really sucks. Get mentally prepared for that shit, because I had no clue and walked into it blindly.
4. Babies never sleep at all (unless you get lucky).
5. The first time you leave the baby (with a sitter or with family) overnight, she will agonize over it the whole time.
6. Sometimes your kids make you feel like a superhero.
7. Whenever you try to take a nap for the next 15 years, somebody is going to walk in and ask for something to eat.
8. They will grow up 10 times faster than you think.
9. One day your daughter will like boys...you will be pissed.
10. When your daughter likes boys you will be pissed at everybody: your daughter, all boys, and your wife. Everyone will conspire against you and you will not like it.
11. I hate boys...someday you will hate boys.
12. You don't know half of what you think you know.
13. Most things will not go according to plan.
14. It's like sports, you get back what you put in. It takes work to be good.
15. It's worth it. Whatever it is...it's worth it.

Fear not, this is not the end of the list...when the moment hits me, I will add to this thing from time to time.

Good Morning

I dropped my kids off today in front of the Lower School, and they all got out of the car smiling. My too cool for school 7th grader, my berzerk 5th grader, my brooding 2nd grader and my "not the morning person" 5-year-old. All four of them got out of the car with smiles on their faces wishing me a good day. I feel very successful as a result of that.

I've worked in schools for 8 years now. One thing I've always noticed is the morning ritual of drop off. I learn a tremendous amount about a family by the way they treat each other in the morning. Some dads shower their kids with hugs and they tell their kids they love them--every single day. With some it's hit or miss, and with others, it's cold and dry. It saddens me to see parents who are already engrossed in the problems of their day by 8:00 am. There are some who don't even acknowledge their kids as they get out of the car.

No matter how hectic the morning is at home, one of my goals for myself is to be in a good mood when it's time to drop off my kids. It's important that I wish them all a good day and that they walk in the front door feeling supported. I don't always make that happen, but it is a goal. As I always say, sometimes I just happen to get some things right. Score one for dad.

snow day

Snow days remind me of hustling. Not the hip-hop glamorized version, but the young, hungry and hard-working kind of hustling. I remember waking up on days with high snowfall ready to work. I didn't want to play in the snow, and I sure as hell didn't want hot chocolate. I wanted to get my shovel and I was out the door. I was the skinny kid knocking on doors offering to shovel walkways, porches and driveways for a few extra bucks. I would leave at the crack of dawn and return exhausted, my hands aching and stiff. But I had a sense of accomplishment when I was able to contribute, even if it was just 25 bucks for some groceries.

Fast forward 17 or 18 years to today. We actually had a snow day in Memphis, and I woke up feeling like I needed to go do something. That snow day feeling kind of hit me out of nowhere. My kids filed into the room one after another asking for stuff. We were all lazy, revelling in the pleasure of an unplanned day off. After the first round of requests and visits--cereal...toast...somebody's messing with me...the list goes on--Lori said, "I'm about to go to the store." There was no way I was going to send her out into this weather. Besides, it's the closest I can get to my days of door-to-door shoveling.

I pull out of my driveway, bumping that Dream remix, and drive down my street looking at all the snow-covered driveways on my block. I bet nobody on my street even owns a shovel. "I could have made a fortune" I think to myself. My next thought is: "My kids have no idea what it's like to be hungry. They don't even have the mindset to "hustle." I'm not sure what I expect them to do. Quite frankly we don't need 25 extra bucks for groceries and if we did they sure as hell would not be expected to chip in. I'm not even sure if I would be comfortable with them knocking on people's doors. I keep driving thinking that maybe I will force Kenzer and Mack to shovel somebody's driveway. That's it, I will make them hit the road on a quest to make some money and gain some valuable exprience speaking to people and doing hard work. I heard Lori's voice saying, "are you crazy?" What a stupid idea. I picture them sitting at home in front of the flat screen, giggling and relaxed. I think about telling them how hard I used to work on snow days, but I decide that maybe it will just sound like criticism. Damn...I'm at a loss for words.

I always thought that somehow I could use my hardships growing up to help them understand the world. I thought in some roundabout way that my kids would always remember where I came from. I walk out of the store feeling like I dropped the ball.

Have I spoiled them? I'm not sure. I worked my ass off to make sure my kids never have to do the things that I had to do as a kid. I don't want them to see what I saw. But I can't help but to wonder what kind of people they will grow up to be if they don't know what it's like to struggle. I've got to figure out a way to keep them "hungry" without being hungry, if you know what I mean. In the meantime, we're going to enjoy a big snow day breakfast with some hot chocolate. I'm not sure if that's what is supposed to happen, but it feels like the right thing to do.

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.