We went to the first home football game of our college today. Now, I'm not a huge football fan,but you've got to make a showing and you've got to root for the home team, right? Besides, I have a special relationship with fall. It's been under my skin for a long time now. So much of what I do is wrapped up in fall.
For years, I been in love with fall. I think- no, I know- it is my favorite season. I love it when you feel the air getting a bit crisp. I can't wait each year to pull out the woollies and sweaters and start dressing like the stereotypical "professor" with the cardigans and corduroys! (I know-I've got geek written all over me- sorry.) I love the athletic endeavors of fall. I coached for so many years; the smell of freshly mown grass and newly painted lines on the field just take me back to wonderful times pacing the sidelines and trying to encourage young people to be their best. I love the thrill of soccer games and especially the first ones you need to wear your jacket to or your long sleeve shirt under your jersey. I remember those triumphant times when, win or lose, personal bests were attained and spent players gloried in their own victories of the day. I also remember the tears shed and voices lost and blood spilt in beautiful striving for an honor unobtained at times. But it was in that valiant striving that the best lessons are learned.
I've been an educator for 24 years, and fall is obviously a time of renewal in that arena. In college, you get to meet a whole crop of newly minted freshmen every year. Some year's cohorts are clearly better than others. Well, this year, we've got a good one. They are enthusiastic, energetic and sincere. I have already immensely enjoyed working with them and getting to know them. They have brought a willingness to serve and a passion for life which renews me and my faith in mankind at every turn. I am constantly humbled and amazed by how ready they are to learn and much they have to teach.
And I love the breathtaking beauty of fall. I live in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, arguably the most beautiful spot on earth,and it reaches its zenith in the fall. The Blue Ridge turn from their palette of blues to a symphonic overload of reds, oranges, burnt umbers and fiery yellows. The irony of the dying leaves bursting into such beautiful colors, and, in turn, giving life and happiness to those who see them has not been lost on this Virginia boy. What a way to go- in a burst of passion and flame!Oh that I may do likewise and give happiness and joy to those who encounter me before I drift to my next estate.
I do so love the fall.
By the way- the game-- we left at half time- we were winning 42-7! But fall is here!!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Bucket of Balls
The description of his reaction I received was "His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree!" I had called home on a Friday afternoon, said I was leaving work early and asked my son if he wanted to go hit a bucket of balls. (Working what have been 60-70 hours weeks of late has made that VERY unusual!)
Now, HE'S a golfer- shooting in the 80's or sometimes 90's. But for 16 that's great. He wants badly to play more. I should have helped that happen more. I'M a hacker- shooting in the realm just past embarrassment. But we went and we got the LARGE buckets and we started hitting.
It was a blast. He can drive the ball almost 300 yards. It's that whole control thing that he....and I.... struggle with. Just like when he was pitching in baseball or trying to score a goal in soccer. Plenty of power- plenty of skill- trying to harness all that and bring it under control.
We bonded- but I believe men bond differently than women. I don't mean this as some sexist rant at all, I just think it's different sometimes. We didn't say a lot. The act of asking had said so much. His excitement at going had also said so much. A couple of "wows!" from me interspersed by the old Dad willfully accepting coaching tips from the more experienced son did quite a lot. After about 20 balls, I broached, "So when is Homecoming?" He responded with the date. "Gonna go?" I asked. And there he went- talking about the young ladies he likes and who he might go with and who broke up with who and all the things a dad loves to hear but sons don't always want to say.
It was an incredible afternoon- and long overdue. I don't really like golf all that much, but I can tell I'm going to be playing more and more.
Now, HE'S a golfer- shooting in the 80's or sometimes 90's. But for 16 that's great. He wants badly to play more. I should have helped that happen more. I'M a hacker- shooting in the realm just past embarrassment. But we went and we got the LARGE buckets and we started hitting.
It was a blast. He can drive the ball almost 300 yards. It's that whole control thing that he....and I.... struggle with. Just like when he was pitching in baseball or trying to score a goal in soccer. Plenty of power- plenty of skill- trying to harness all that and bring it under control.
We bonded- but I believe men bond differently than women. I don't mean this as some sexist rant at all, I just think it's different sometimes. We didn't say a lot. The act of asking had said so much. His excitement at going had also said so much. A couple of "wows!" from me interspersed by the old Dad willfully accepting coaching tips from the more experienced son did quite a lot. After about 20 balls, I broached, "So when is Homecoming?" He responded with the date. "Gonna go?" I asked. And there he went- talking about the young ladies he likes and who he might go with and who broke up with who and all the things a dad loves to hear but sons don't always want to say.
It was an incredible afternoon- and long overdue. I don't really like golf all that much, but I can tell I'm going to be playing more and more.
Friday, September 5, 2008
The River- again
It's truly amazing to me how much symbolism lies in the rivers of our lives. Perhaps it's because I've spent most of my life living in close proximity to, and often nestled in a bend of, assorted rivers. Perhaps it's because I'm looking for symbolism now in everything from my walk to the song on the radio to the prophetic formations my cheerios make in the morning.
We walk earlier now. The kids have an early morning class at 6:45, so we leave at 5:45 for the walk. My bride and I head to the river- to talk and walk and listen to its rumblings. Our conversation follows the vagaries of that first creek which carved a curvy path through our town centuries ago. Plans for the weekend, who are we? how are the kids? how are we? are all up for grabs in the morning conversational melee.
This morning it was dark- and the river lay obscured by the shrouds of fading night. yet the darkness held beauty. I was a step or two ahead when I saw it-- sure enough- a skunk. Now I had seen all manner of wildlife on the walk- deer, fawns, water fowl, puppies, geese, etc. They were all beautiful and added to the magic of the fog lifting off the river.....but I had never seen a skunk before. Luckily we eluded its observation, turned around and headed the other way. Particularly fortunate was the fact that Beau, the 13 year old golden retriever who accompanies us, has lost not only what little killer instinct he ever had, but also most of his hearing and powers of observation. "Skunk? What skunk? Why we turning around?" "Come one Beau- you protector you."
Interestingly, it could have been a bad morning. Here's the funny part- it wasn't . We could have dwelt on the dark morning, the obscured river, the skunk from hades, but instead we looked past the immediate difficulties and saw two people in love having a nice walk. When we came to the stop light that is our demarcation point, my love turned left to go home to the kids, and I turned right to go do a real workout walk and head up the big hill that traditionally finishes off my walks. Yet even our brief parting was not difficult, but just a realization that our needs were slightly different at that time, and we'd be together again shortly.
To overcome obvious symbolism and morning difficulties is a good sign. These days there are lots of them.
We walk earlier now. The kids have an early morning class at 6:45, so we leave at 5:45 for the walk. My bride and I head to the river- to talk and walk and listen to its rumblings. Our conversation follows the vagaries of that first creek which carved a curvy path through our town centuries ago. Plans for the weekend, who are we? how are the kids? how are we? are all up for grabs in the morning conversational melee.
This morning it was dark- and the river lay obscured by the shrouds of fading night. yet the darkness held beauty. I was a step or two ahead when I saw it-- sure enough- a skunk. Now I had seen all manner of wildlife on the walk- deer, fawns, water fowl, puppies, geese, etc. They were all beautiful and added to the magic of the fog lifting off the river.....but I had never seen a skunk before. Luckily we eluded its observation, turned around and headed the other way. Particularly fortunate was the fact that Beau, the 13 year old golden retriever who accompanies us, has lost not only what little killer instinct he ever had, but also most of his hearing and powers of observation. "Skunk? What skunk? Why we turning around?" "Come one Beau- you protector you."
Interestingly, it could have been a bad morning. Here's the funny part- it wasn't . We could have dwelt on the dark morning, the obscured river, the skunk from hades, but instead we looked past the immediate difficulties and saw two people in love having a nice walk. When we came to the stop light that is our demarcation point, my love turned left to go home to the kids, and I turned right to go do a real workout walk and head up the big hill that traditionally finishes off my walks. Yet even our brief parting was not difficult, but just a realization that our needs were slightly different at that time, and we'd be together again shortly.
To overcome obvious symbolism and morning difficulties is a good sign. These days there are lots of them.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Friends
Monday was a rough day for me on many fronts. But the amazing thing was, these friends of ours called and asked us over for a Labor Day barbecue. Now that might not seem like much, but it was truly fantastic. They have a pool, so the kids swam and had a blast. We brought dessert, and some sides, but they provided the chicken and dogs and grill. We "men folk" went out to cook and just talk while the ladies stayed inside and did whatever they wanted. So here's the thing- my mind was occupied, but not by sad thoughts. My family was occupied, but not by sad thoughts. After cooking we went inside and the kids ate in one room, and we four good friends went to another just to talk. We reminisced about good times, laughed, joked, (didn't laugh sometimes) and yes even cried. But we did it within the supporting confines of true friendship, where no offense is given nor taken, and you can let your hair down and just say what's on your mind- well.... most of it. It was just the thing I needed to get through that day. How did they know? True friends just know. That's why we love them so much.
8 year old
This morning as our 8 year old son was doing his best to delay the oncoming morning by snuggling deep in the covers, he sat up and said, "Daddy, why do you go to work?" He does those kinds of things. He is not one for beating around the bush- he says what's on his mind. Like the time he said, "You smell revolting!" to one of our best friends who tends to wear a bit too much cologne. Well....our friend did smell a bit heavy, but his keen olfactory senses and limited vocabulary came out with "revolting." He has been an absolute joy in our lives. He has lifted up in times of trial and, through his innocence, made us realize who we can become. I love the way he likes to eat "cakeses" and watch shows and ride on the "far swing." He is a strength to us far beyond his years or experiences.
Cartharsis
I taught creative writing for years and years, and always encouraged students to continue to write and to journal. It's amazing how we don't take our own advice sometimes. It's also amazing, as I told my students so many times, the power of putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and just getting it out. There's something about the process that allows you to peel the layers from that onion in order to see and say what is innermost in your heart. I already feel so much better. Thank you to my friends who have led me here. Your blogs have touched me deeply, and I hope mine may reciprocate somehow.
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