Funny Guy Friday... All grown up! Happy Birthday Grace...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     This past week was a tough one for me.
     The funny thing about little girls... they grow up.
     I recently had a front row seat as one of the sweetest little girls that I have ever seen grew up right before my eyes. Seems like just yesterday she was a cute little round-faced girl, singing cute little songs that stuck in my head for hours on end. Those little songs kept us together at all times. I remember days when I would be driving alone in my car, and I would turn off the radio and hum along to the songs that were rattling around in my head.
     Even though she was not with me, she was with me. We were always connected.      
     I considered making a CD of her music to keep with me, so I could listen whenever I wanted... but thought better of it. I mean, what if my brother found out? He has four sons and would not understand my love and my loyalty to my girl. I can hear him now... You have a CD of what?
     What can I say? Maybe it was just me, but I loved my little singer.
     That was then. This is now.
     On August 27th, everything changed. I was checking my facebook and I saw it.  Some crude comment about my little girl dancing in her underwear. I was outraged and immediately called Gracie to come and explain this obvious lie. Alas, she could not deny it.
     The facebook post that I read... it was true... and my heart was broken.
     Hannah Montana was all grown up... dancing in her underwear... making suggestive movements ...  with a foam finger... to a married man.
     What happened to her? Where did she go wrong?  Why would she do this? Do I have to state the obvious...
     SHE HAD THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS!
     Oh yeah, in other big news that same day, our daughter Gracie turned seventeen!
     That's right, my real baby girl is 17 and starting her senior year of high school. Not only that, she is taking a course at the local community college. She is a college girl. I am not old enough to have a college girl. You should have seen her on her first day, she was beautiful... and fully dressed, I might add... in a stylish tee shirt and skirt. I presume she had on underwear, but it was clearly under her clothes, and not in lieu of the actual outfit.
     Cheryl and I are very proud of her... and not just because she knows how to dress herself without looking like a tramp. Grace is becoming a wonderful young lady.
     I think about my little girl and compare her to little ol' Miley Cyrus.
     Why would Grace develop into such a beautiful person, while Miley plays "dress up" pretending to be an adult. Note: I have met a lot of actual adults and have yet to see one of them shake their stuff like that.
     I have a few theories:  
     First, one of these young ladies grew up with a handsome and popular father, who was used to being a star and the center of attention. Long before his daughter came along, he was a great success in his own career and was loved by his many adoring fans. On the other hand, I have no idea what Miley's dad did for a living. I know one thing, he wasn't home watching over his daughter. My guess... he was some kind of traveling salesman.
     By the way, the guy that Miley was jiggling around with is married with a young child. What are the chances that his daughters end up as big a train wreck as young Miley.
     On a side note: Cheryl always tells me that women often marry men quite like their fathers. She has said many times that I am a bit like my father-in-law. I can't really see it... I mean, I am way younger than Cheryl's dad. But I digress...
     Second, there was one episode of Hannah Montana where Hannah's evil twin cousin came to town, and the evil Hannah/LouAnne locked the real Hannah in her bedroom and then pretended to be the real Hannah. (From a pure acting standpoint it was Miley's most challenging role as she played a double dual role). Anyway... Perhaps, Miley has an evil twin cousin that locked the real Miley in her bedroom, and the evil Miley and her foam finger are pretending to be the real Miley!
     For the record, there is only one Gracie! She is always good... never evil!
     Third, one of these young ladies is talented, smart, has a beautiful voice and has all the riches in the world. Not sure what Miley has going for her! She does not appear to be very smart, her voice is okay, and yes, she has a lot of money... but when all is said and done, she does not appear to have any of the riches that really matter. As for talent, I am not sure that shaking your rear end in some man's lap really counts.
    Who knows why Miley Cyrus does the things that she does in her life. Frankly, who cares? I hope that she figures out what is... and what is not important... and straightens out her life.
     If she doesn't, God help her.
     Here is what I do know: Grace is a growing up to be a beautiful, decent human being. She is funny. She is smart. She is respectful of others and of her parents. Most importantly, she is respectful of herself.
     There may not be millions of young girls looking up to Grace, aspiring to be just like her. But I do know this... based on the alternative... we'd all be better off if there were.

       Part of what I wrote in the first few paragraphs is true. I did turn off the radio and hum Gracie's songs that were rattling around in my head. Sometimes I even sang them to myself just like I used to do when I was rocking Gracie to sleep.
    Oh, the Cannibal King with the big nose ring
    Fell in love with the dusty maaaid 
    And every night in the pale moonlight
    Across the river he'd waaade
    He hugged and he kissed
    His pretty little miss
    In the shade of the bamboo treeeee
    And every night in the pale moonlight
    It sounded like this to meeee
    Harummph kiss kiss, Harummph kiss kiss
    Harummph diddly yaddy yay!
    Harummph kiss kiss, Harummph kiss kiss
    Under the bamboo tree! 

    Gracie, you are the best... the B E S T... best.
    I love you... Happy Birthday!

Funny Guy Friday... Be nice... oh... and clean the kitchen...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Let me start by saying that I have been blessed with three great kids and a beautiful wife that I often describe as the nicest woman that God has ever put on this Earth. However, they all have their moments... take tonight for instance.
     We just came home from dinner with some friends, and Cheryl asked the kids to empty the clean dishes from the dishwasher and load the dirty dishes that were sitting in the sink. Now we do not ask much of our kids, so you would think that this would not be a problem. However, it is a problem... it is always a problem.
     You see, when dishes sit in the sink day after day, they tend to get nasty and stinky. The kids could just load the dishes in the dishwasher after every meal, but that would require that they first run the dishwasher and then empty the clean dishes after it has run through the wash cycle.
     They don't, so as a result, they treat our kitchen as if it were a nuclear reactor leaking radioactive goo. No, I take that back... radioactive goo would be better than sour milk. My three kids would welcome radioactive goo.
     Anyway, they all went into the kitchen and Cheryl and I retired to the living room. There were some heated discussions coming from the kitchen, but I could not make heads or tails of it. Alright, truth be told, I was concentrating on level 96 in Candy Crush. On a side note, if you have not started that silly game... DON'T! It is like crack cocaine. Once you start, you cannot stop.
     Sooo, Cheryl had heard enough and called all three into the living room. She asked me if I wanted to handle this. I said that I would leave this one up to her. Again, truth be told... I had no idea what Cheryl was upset about, so I might have yelled at them for the wrong reason. Besides, I did not want Cheryl to know that I did not know what was going on because she thinks Candy Crush is a big waste of time. Obviously, Cheryl has never used crack cocaine.
    As they entered the room, Cheryl once again asked if I wanted to handle the discipline. I declined... but I did position myself in a prime spot so I could see the whole thing develop. I get a kick out of Cheryl when she calls team meetings to address stuff that I'm not even aware has happened. In fact, although I always side with Cheryl in these situations... so as not to show a chink in our unity armor... I do often wonder if Cheryl was ever a kid.
    Did she ever fight with her siblings? Did she ever curse? Did she ever scratch her name in her mother's new bar stools, and then in an effort to divert attention elsewhere, carve his brother's names into the other stools? I mean... who didn't do these things?
    By the way, my mother was not fooled, she knew I was the one.
    Well, it appears that our three little angels have not been treating each other very well of late. They have been mean and nasty and disrespectful to one another, and Cheryl has had enough.
    Mind you, there was no punching! No cursing! No destruction of property! Just not being nice to each other.
    Grace immediately lodged a protest that I quickly shot down. Although I was not aware of the aforementioned meanness. I am capable of recognizing a child interrupting a parent. But my irritation with Grace was quickly supplanted by shock. You see in the middle of Cheryl's lecture on niceness, Matthew was standing behind Gracie... making faces at her.
    Now I was fully engaged in the process.
    Grace was happy to be off the hook and was even supportive of my anger towards Matthew.
    As we ended our "discussion," the kids each went their separate ways. I ended up with Noah in the kitchen... ironically, doing the dishes that had never gotten done. He asked what I was going to write about in Funny Guy Friday. When I told him I might just write about mom's lecture, he wanted to know who was going to be the child least written about. 
    Of course, our sweet boy Noah avoided even one mention.
    So, I am happy to report that the kids have all made up. The kitchen is clean, and everyone is watching TV. My only concern right now is that my mother is coming to spend the weekend with us and she has always vowed revenge for my little bar stool stunt.
    If she is smart, she will carve Noah, Matthew and Grace into our bar stools.
    I would never suspect!

Funny Guy Fifty... I mean... Friday...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Cheryl and the kids went to Newport, Rhode Island, last weekend, so I was home alone. I hate being home alone, so I did what I always do when I am alone... I try to find people to hang out with.
     On Saturday, I had a date with my mom. I called her and told her to pick any restaurant that she wanted, and I would pick her up and show her a good time.
    You may be thinking... any restaurant, huh? What a great son! This could cost him some big bucks!
    If you're thinking this, you don't know my mother. She was going to pick either the Outback or Panera. We always go to the Outback or Panera.
    Sure enough, she picked the Outback because she had a coupon.
    I said, No, Mom, we are not going to the Outback. We are going to go some place different. Do you like crab cakes? 
    Yes, but that can get expensive... I have a coupon for the Outback.
    No, we are going to a little place called Stoney's.  It's on the water, and I hear that they have good crab cakes. 
    Do you have a coupon?
    No Mom! No coupons. Get in the car.   
    But Stoney's is far away.
    We can talk. 

    As we started down the road, there was a short period of silence, but I came prepared with a great ice-breaker.
    Mom, isn't it hard to believe that your baby is turning fifty this week?  
    You?
    Well, I am your youngest.
    Your oldest sister is going to be 62.
    Whatever! Doesn't it seem like yesterday that you were taking care of me... cooking for me, cleaning for me?   
    You know... I never had to do your sister's laundry.
    Yes, I have heard that. I have heard that you never had to do Michel's laundry, Joe was your beautiful baby, Sheree was like a second mother, Paul is your favorite, Jeff is your best athlete, and I was adopted from the Indians. I have heard it all before. But I am turning 50. How does that make you feel?
     Oh, you were not really adopted from the Indians. Happy Birthday.

     That is right boys and girls: I am fifty years old today, and apparently, I did not come from an Indian Reservation.
     Ah, fifty.
     I have confirmed my age with my wife. A couple of years ago, I kept saying I was 48, and then on my birthday, Cheryl pointed out that I had only been 47, so I got to be 48 for two years in a row.
     See, you can cheat Father Time.     
     The thing is... I don't feel like I am 50. I still go out and do the same things that I did when I was 25. I can still throw batting practice for hours at a time.  I play basketball and softball each week. And I still wrestle with the boys. I do all these things and I feel great.
     Well, let me walk that "feel great" comment back a little bit. My neck and shoulder are both killing me... I get depressed thinking about how much better I used to be at basketball and softball... and most of the time when I am wrestling with the boys, I am lying in bed... hiding... under a pillow... playing possum.
     Oh, and let's not forget that I have to get up to... ahem... "evacuate my bladder"... three times a night. Other than that... I'm in pretty good shape.  
     But still... fifty.
     I was 14 when my father turned 50.
     He seemed so old to me. He didn't like any of my music. He didn't know any of the major league players, much less their batting averages, home run totals or how many runs they drove in. He insisted that I keep my hair short. He listened to talk radio before it was really even invented, and he wore thick-rimmed black glasses that were out of style even then.     
    Oh my gosh... I just realized: I don't like any of my kids' music. I don't know many of today's major league players, their batting averages or their home run and RBI totals. I make my boys get short haircuts. I listen to talk radio. 
     Well, at least I don't wear those silly black-framed glasses! That has to count for something.
     What's that? The dark-framed black glasses are in style now? You mean my Dad was uh... a... uh... uh... MY DAD WAS A TREND-SETTING HIPSTER? 
     Let me repeat that... My dad, with his thick black glasses, was a trend-setting hipster. 
     Cool.

     Well... my date with my mother went great. We enjoyed some delicious crab cakes, saw a beautiful sunset, and to cap off the evening... I smoked my last peace-pipe.
     My mom asked if she could come spend the weekend with me. I advised her that she probably didn't want to come home with me because I was just going to do some laundry and clean up before Cheryl and the kids came home.
     But then I thought... My mother can do five hours of laundry in fifteen minutes... She can still cook... She seems to like to clean... Who am I to deny her this simple request?
      Sure Mom, come on over... and as an added bonus... I will try not to wake you up when I get up to pee!
      So, the week I was turning fifty, my mother cooked for me, cleaned for me, and took care of me. Just like when I was a kid. What a great present!  
      Now, if I can only score some goofy black-rimmed glasses, I'll be set!

Funny Guy Friday... Keeping the Faith... and Korn Hole...

     Let's play that old game of what does not belong...Which of the following items does not belong: clothing, food, water, beer, wine, ice, fans, extension cords, sleeping bags, pillows, bathing suits, towels, more fans, scooters, korn hole, basketballs, baseballs, footballs, frisbees, more ice, art supplies, coffee makers, flashlights and rosary beads.
     If you guessed any of these items, you would be wrong. These are all items that make their way down to Camp Maria for our yearly Catholic family retreat. Every vehicle that arrives is filled from top to bottom with stuff. Every man has to be proficient in packing, and the expert packers are even able to carve out a sight line for the driver. The more cautious families pack two vehicles.
     We arrive on Thursday and leave on Sunday, and every minute is filled with some activity. We wake up to the rosary, take part in hourly group discussions, attend Mass each day, and go to adoration one night. In and among all of this, we swim, canoe, run races, have egg toss competitions, frisbee competitions, belly flop competitions and korn hole competitions. Unfortunately, I am not a competitive guy so none of these games really appealed to me.
     Okay, I may be a little competitive but not so much that it ruined my weekend when Cheryl and I lost to Tim and Nicole in the semi-finals of the First Annual Sacred Heart Retreat Group Husband/Wife Korn Hole Contest. Although the game is under protest due to what everyone...and by everyone, I mean I...would agree was a blatant foot fault by Tim on the last and decisive toss. They denied that they cheated...but God knows. After all, it was a Catholic retreat!
     This year we introduced a new activity...skunk hunting. That is exactly what it sounds like...hundreds...okay maybe not hundreds, but tens of skunks came out each night to terrorize the camp grounds. I liken it to the time that God sent the terrible plagues to punish the sinners...only these guys were bigger...and potentially stinkier. Now that I think about it, I bet He sent those skunks to punish Tim...and Nicole because she married Tim. I could be wrong, but I don't think so.
     This year, the first day's theme was evangelizing. How can we as Catholics evangelize to others? First of all, the opportunity has to present itself. Some people can create their own opportunities and others have it thrust upon them. Some people, including me, find it difficult to talk about their faith, and others come by it naturally.
     I think one easy way to evangelize to others is by the example that you set on a daily basis. How do you treat others, how do you raise your kids, do you attend Mass, do you pray on a regular basis, do you have a relationship with Jesus? Believe me, people notice these things. I know because I notice these things in the families that attend Camp Maria.
     Although it may sound simple to say, just go and live a good life and have a strong relationship with Jesus, it is not simple. Our culture often has a different opinion of what is right and what is acceptable. If you are not sure about that, watch the commercials that play at any given moment on TV. Should we really have to turn the channel or hit mute during most of the commercials aired during a baseball game?
     Perhaps, at a retreat, it is preaching to the choir. You would suspect that retreat-goers would be leading a lifestyle that would be an example to others. And I think you'd be correct. But it is great for our family to get away and be surrounded by these people and in some way get some validation that what we are doing in our family is the right thing. I suspect that most of us on this retreat feel the same way...with the possible exception of Tim...and Nicole because as I mentioned earlier, she married Tim. They just live their lives doing anything to win. There is a special place for them in Korn Hole Hell.
     You know, it is a good thing that these silly competitions don't really matter to me.
     In one way or another, each of these families evangelizes to me. I see it in the way they love their spouses and their children. I see it in the ways that they treat each other, whether it be listening to a friend's problem, sharing a personal story, or kneeling down and talking to a small child.
     These are faithful people and they are devoted to Jesus.
     The second day's talks centered around the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I am always moved when I look up at the cross hanging over our altar at church and I think about the suffering that He went through for us. I also think of the Blessed Mother and how she must have suffered. I know that if an angel came to me and said...Your son will suffer a horrible death so the whole world will be saved...I would have two thoughts.
     First, Mr. Angel, you got the wrong kid because both of my boys are knuckleheads. Saviour? I don't think so. I would be happy if they would just remember to brush their teeth every morning...with toothpaste. 
     Second, Mr. Angel, that suffering thing is only going to happen over my dead body!  I just don't think that I would have the ability to watch that happen.
     Mary was a strong and faithful woman. I am not...strong...or a woman!
     The other thing that I took away from the weekend was this: despite what He has done for us, Jesus really does not ask for much. In fact, it is we who ask the most from Him. He just wants us to love Him. Perhaps every once in awhile, we should treat Jesus as our friend.
     In most of our prayers, we ask for Him to intercede and we need Him to intercede. But perhaps, every once in awhile, we should request that He just join us. Join us in a game, a walk or a canoe ride. Join us as we look up at the stars and marvel at His creations. He is the perfect friend...if He is with you, everything is good...and as an extra bonus...he will never try to cheat you in Korn Hole.  
     On a side Korn Hole note...it was fascinating how excited the wives would get when one of the other wives would have a good round, or how consoling they would be if one of them had a bad round. It was like they just wanted everyone to have fun or something, and winning the game didn't...really...matter. I don't care how silly that sounds, it mattered...the winners get to brag for a whole year!
     A WHOLE YEAR!
     Oh, it mattered.
     It was another great retreat at Camp Maria. We will be back again next year. I am hoping that the theme will be...Forgiveness. I must learn to forgive Tim and Nicole...but mainly, Tim.
     Alright, full disclosure...a confession of sorts. We lost in the semi-finals because I gave up two points in my final round and Tim and Nicole did not really cheat. There, I said it.
     I can't even blame Cheryl; she was outstanding. In fact, I told her the next morning that I would not have traded her for any other woman in the competition...except for Maria, the wife from the winning team. Man, if I had only had Maria, I would not have had to score any points on my my final throw. Maria would have already won the stupid game for us.
     You know, a thought just occurred to me. If I could have just ignored the whole Korn Hole debacle in this week's Funny Guy Friday and just talked about the retreat, I kind of, sort of...would have been evangalizing.
     I feel good. I feel energized. I am ready to carry on.
     Most importantly, I have a renewed hope...that next year WE ARE GOING TO WIN the Second Annual Sacred Heart Retreat Group Husband/Wife Korn Hole Tournament.
     Hey, I admit it, I am a work in progress.    

Funny Guy Friday... Happy Birthday to the cute one...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     Just about every day, I snuggle up to Noah and try to cut a deal with him... if he agrees to stop growing, I will take care of him for the rest of his life. Sounds like a win win for both of us.
     He never takes me up on it, but if he were ever to say yes, I would do whatever I could to make it happen. Unfortunately, he just keeps growing up, and this week he turns nine years old.
     I am not sure if it is because he is our youngest or that it's because our Matthew and Grace have become more independent as they get older... or perhaps because I, too, was the youngest and cutest kid in my family... and I certainly do not mean any ill-will to my other two children... but Noah is just way cuter than the other two. I try not to play favorites, but it is hard when one out-cutes the others by such a wide margin.
     I will give you an example.
     I cannot stand when kids call other kids names... or tease them about what they eat, how they act, or how they look. I just don't like when kids are mean to other kids. The other day, Noah was on the verge of tears because Matthew told him that he was getting kind of chunky. I inquired of Matthew, in a mean fatherly tone, as to why he would say such a thing and why he would not stop when he saw how upsetting it was to Noah.
     Matthew explained that Noah calls him fat all the time and refers to Grace as a hippo (okay, maybe Noah is not as sweet as I think he is).
     I called Noah over and again asked, in a mean fatherly tone, why he would say such things. This brought him much closer to the verge of tears. He tried to tell me that he was only kidding, but he had a hard time getting the words out from behind the tears. 
     Look, as a lawyer, I am fully aware that the only kidding defense creates an absolute bar to any punishment... especially for the youngest/cutest member of the family... like Noah... and me.
     The only kidding defense is like a get-out-of-jail-free card. 
     His reaction broke my heart, so I did the best thing a dad could do for his young son.  I turned to Matthew and told him he was fat, and I turned to Gracie and called her a hippo. There, problem solved and the tears turned to laughter. My little boy's smile lit up the room.
     I had Cheryl smooth it over with the other two... um... the older boy and the girl. What are their names?  Oh yeah, Grace and Matthew.
     They often ask why I always side with Noah, and the answer is simple: he is still cute!
     Just to show that I do not really favor the cute one over the other two, less cute ones, I did explain to Noah that I was only having fun with Gracie and Matthew, and he needs to watch how he talks to them, even if he is only kidding.
     He understood... so we celebrated with some ice cream! I think the punishment fit the crime.
     So without any further ado, I give you the top nine list of things we love about Noah that you may not know:
     9. He works his hair until it is perfect with the flip in the front... even when he is going to bed. You never know when you might meet the girl of your dreams... in your dreams.
     8. He is a super-talented artist who encourages others... I can see how people might think that your picture looks like a pumpkin! I mean, I kinda see it.  
     7. He is funny. When Cheryl asked him if he remembered where he put her phone the day before, he told her that he remembers it as if it were yesterday!
     6. He is a great little brother... when he is not calling his siblings fat hippos.
     5. When he grows up, he wants to be a cartoonist at Busch Gardens or a door man at an apartment in New York. I am all for it, as I don't think either profession requires an expensive college education.
     4. He watches too many crime shows with his sister and brother, as evidenced by the fact that he points out great places to hide bodies... and he displays a keen ability to distinguish between murder and manslaughter.
     3. He turned an unassisted triple play this past baseball season. There was already one out when he did it, but we are counting it as a triple play anyway.
     2. He has the best "smolder look" that you have ever seen... when you see him, ask him to show you. Ladies... be prepared to swoon! Don't say I didn't warn you!
     1. He is smart. He is funny. He is talented. He is stinky... Noooo not stinky! He is a great son, a great brother, and one really sweet kid!

     I always ask Noah if he knows how much I love him, and he always answers To the Moon and Back, once, twice or three times. No matter how many times he says to the Moon and Back, I tell him he is wrong... I love him to the Moon and Back... at least one more time. 
     Happy Birthday buddy! 
      
 
 

       
   

Funny Guy Friday... Mr. Romance...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark.  So, I married a funny guy...
     When Cheryl and I were first dating, I was living in Riva and working at the State's Attorney's Office in Upper Marlboro... and Cheryl was living in Bowie and working at the Labor Department in Washington D.C.  On most nights, we would hang out at my house until after midnight... even on school nights... then she would make the twenty-minute trip back to her house. We got into this nightly routine almost immediately after we met.
     We only dated for six weeks before becoming engaged so we were on the dating fast track.
     In those early days, I would go out to my car, in the morning, ready for work, and would often find a love note or better yet, a homemade crossword puzzle. Cheryl made the effort to drive home, prepare her note or puzzle and then wake early the next morning, drive in the opposite direction of where she worked, in order to leave me a surprise. A love surprise... if you will!
     The poor thing got no sleep. That's okay, she didn't need sleep. She was in love!!!
     I had her hook, line and sinker!!!
     Then we got married.
     Those first few months of marriage, we would wake up together every morning and prepare for the day. She would make my lunch, and she would always sneak in a little surprise. Every time I opened my lunch bag, I not only would I find my favorite foods, but I would find a napkin with a little love note or a romantic drawing.
     She was truly in love...with me! Just so we are clear,  
     I was telling my kids about how much their mother loved me and about how she took such care to prepare and leave these beautiful notes. Their response was a bit surprising.
     Oooh, oooh, oooh, gross! Stop, I don't want to hear that! La la la la la, I'm not listening!  
     Why is that gross? It is romantic! 
     It is only romantic when it is not your parents!
     I asked them why they would say such a thing... they see us everyday... they know that we are still romantic. More specifically, that Cheryl is still in love... with me!  Just to remain consistent about whom she loves.
     Then I had a rush of realization of the way things really are today... after twenty years of marriage... after three kids...
     There have many been nights... where... Cheryl falls asleep on the couch or in Noah's bed. When she does manage to make it to our bed, she takes all of the covers and most of the pillows. She rarely wakes up with me in the morning, unless I "accidentally" turn on Sports Center. If that happens, she rolls over, glares at me with one eye open and asks... Really? Really? 
     I am not even sure if she is awake or not, but I am sure that I had better turn off Sports Center.
     Many days, she is still in bed reading when I leave, so she never makes me breakfast; in fact, I have not eaten breakfast in more than fifteen years.
     I eat out for lunch every day, and no waitress has ever slipped me a love note or a romantic drawing  on a napkin. I have had a few smiley faces on my bill, but I am not counting those as anything more than pandering for a better tip.
     When I get home from work, Cheryl typically is wearing a tee shirt and a pair of sweats or shorts... and she almost always has her hair up in a pencil. That's right... I said pencil.
     As this flood of reality smacked me in the face, I turned to Cheryl and asked... What have you done for me lately?... in a romantic sense.
     Her response was touching.
     I sometimes iron your shirts... now be quiet!
     Of course, I threw the "be quiet" part in for comic relief, but the occasional ironing of the shirts part is true.
     That's it, you iron my shirts?
     I also bought you some socks that time.
     So that is what we have been reduced to.. shirts and socks?
     How come you don't stay up late with me, anymore? How come you don't send me love notes or make crossword puzzles, anymore? How come you don't make me lunch and send notes or drawings, any more?   
     You're lucky I iron your shirts and buy your socks.
     Seriously. I am asking you, why don't you ever do those things?
     Seriously? Let me ask you... have you ever (and she said "ever" in what I interpreted as a kind of a mean, accusatory voice) done any of those things for me?
     Huh? 
     Do you stay up late with me every night? Have you ever (the mean, accusatory "ever") sent me a love note... or made me a crossword puzzle... or ever (again... mean, accusatory) made my lunch and sent a note on a napkin? 
     I... I... I don't want to talk about it anymore!
     That's what I figured (and she said that in what I interpreted as a confident, victorious kind of voice).
     You know it is not a contest of who does the most romantic stuff for the other.
     If it were a contest, I would crush you... you don't do anything romantic.
     Oh yeah? That's all I had.
     I've done some romantic stuff for her.
     I know I've done stuff.
     I think I have done stuff.
     I am pretty sure that I have done some stuff.
     I have to have done some romantic stuff.
     I know. I buy her flowers whenever I go grocery shopping. Although to be honest, I only do that when Noah is with me. It is always Noah's idea to buy her flowers, and I just try to glob onto it. In fact, if truth be told, Noah always picks out the really expensive bouquets, and I end up steering him over to the cheapos or the "on sale" items from the flower department.
     But still, it is the thought that counts... even if it is Noah's thought.
     Okay, maybe I have to work a bit on the whole romance thing.
     Look, this is what I have learned, romance is not a contest and life sometimes gets in the way. I can accept that.
     I love Cheryl and she loves me... that should be enough. And if I can get my shirts ironed and get a nice new pair of socks out of the deal, I am good with that.
     Wait, wait, wait... forget all that.
     I just remembered; I give her massages. Massages are way more romantic than shirts and socks.
     I think I win.
     I win. I win. I win.
     I wonder if Cheryl will think that my winning is romantic.

Funny Guy Friday... We got next!

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     When we were growing up, my brothers and I played three sports... baseball, football, and basketball. We played baseball during baseball season and football during football season. But basketball was a different story... we played basketball all year round. Besides playing on our organized teams, we would play a lot of pick-up games in the summer.
     Two of my fondest memories were summer basketball-related.
     The first involved games played during the summer months on the eight-foot baskets at the local elementary schools.
     The schools would place permanent low baskets on their blacktops, so the little kids had a chance to shoot it up and into the basket. That also provided opportunities for the bigger kids to kick the little kids off of the court so the bigger kids could dunk... and ultimately tear down the eight-foot baskets.
     It was the little guys' first life lesson and first basketball lesson. The life lesson was survival of the fittest: the bigger, stronger kids always prevail. The basketball lesson was don't bring that weak stuff into the paint, or it, too, will get rejected... Shorty!  
     Obviously, the eight-foot summer basketball season was a short one, lasting only as long as the basket remained on the backboard. Since the schools were not in session, they did not fix the shorter baskets until September.
     My second great summer basketball memory was playing ball at the pool.
     Play three or four games, and then jump in the water. Dominate the paint... dominate the pool.  I am sure all the moms appreciated the large school of stinky basketball-playing fish jumping into the water in lieu of taking a shower. Kinda gross, but on the other hand... kinda awesome!
     So, when I recently received an e-mail from a friend trying to organize a group of guys to play some weekly summer pick-up games, I must admit, I was intrigued by the idea. The typical trash-talking emails ensued. I hate getting fifty emails on one topic going back and forth clogging up my inbox. On the other hand, I don't mind sending clever retorts to the fifty emails clogging up my inbox... but mine are pithy and funny. None of these other losers offer the same clever responses as I, and they offer even less to the stream of smack talk.
     Anyway, one of the guys has a beautiful backyard... with a nice court... and a pool... so the idea was to play some three on three and then jump in the pool... in lieu of a shower?  Still kinda gross, but on the other hand... still kinda awesome!
     When the email went out, the temperature outside was a balmy 81 degrees, and it seemed like a great idea. On game day, it was a horrific 95 degrees with 100% humidity... and it seemed like a heart attack waiting to happen.
      No problem... Game on!
      I arrived at 7 pm, mistakenly thinking that was our start time.
     They had been playing since 6:30.
     Now, I must admit, I watched with great trepidation. First, I had not played basketball against anyone over the age of twelve in more than fifteen years, and these were grown men. Out of shape grown men, but still grown men all the same.
     But worse than my hesitation to play against stiffer competition was the fact that everyone was just so sweaty.
     I have heard people say that they were sweating so much it was like they just got out of a shower. Well, these guys were wetter than that. Did I really want to get involved in something like that?
     Of course, the answer was yes.
     Once I got into the game, it was clear that I had been the latest to arrive. I was a little bit quicker than most, and by far the least winded... for, oh, about ten minutes.
     After ten minutes, I was equally slow and equally winded. Funny thing about being out of shape, you get this pain in your chest and your body refuses to respond to your mind's commands. You would think that a ten-minute rest would solve the problem for at least a few minutes, but you would be wrong. The moment that you get back on the court and make your first move to the basket, the chest pain returns and your body remains belligerent.
     Personally, I have decided I need a complete 24-hour rest period in order to fully regenerate. And by regenerate, I mean getting back to the point that I can play comfortably without chest pain... for oh, about ten minutes. So my personal playing rotation is ten minutes in the game, twenty-four hours of rest, and then ten more minutes in the next day's game.
     If NBA players had similar requirements, each team would require a fifty-five man roster.  
     When I played real basketball back in high school, the coaches would always say... Don't rest on defense, take your rest while we are on offense. That was great advice when I was fifteen. At pushing-fifty, I just want to rest on both offense and defense.
     In fact, five minutes into the second game, guys were shamelessly working their way to the corner of the court that had shade and waving off the ball yelling isolate on the other side and take him to the basket, you can take him!
     I know this because, I, too, was shamelessly working my way over to the shady corner and waving off the ball and yelling isolate him on the other side and take him to the basket, you can take him!
     We weren't basketball players, we had become hot, sweaty, and in some cases, large-breasted cheerleaders.
     *Author's note... There was a day when that last sentence would have elicited a completely different response than "Eewww yuck!" 
     As we wrapped up the third and final game, we took inventory. Not of who won or lost, or how many points we scored, but of who was injured. One twisted knee and one twisted ankle.
     Not too bad of a night.
     Next Monday. Same time. Same place.
     We got next...
     I'll bring the first aid kit and the defibrillator.

Funny Guy Friday... The one that got away...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband. So, I married a funny guy.
     If you read last week's Funny Guy Friday, you know that Matthew's team played in a baseball tournament at the beach last weekend.
     Like most tournaments, a team will play three or four games, and based on the results of those games, that team will get seeded for the elimination round. Just as the name implies, if you lose in the elimination round, you go home. We had played in four tournaments already this year and had won two of them. Those tournaments were very appropriate for our level of play... good, but not the best of the best!
     This tournament was an open tournament with teams with varying skill levels. We were going to see some very good teams.
     We had a pretty difficult draw in the initial pool play and in our second game, we played a team from Beaver Valley. We learned a lot about Beaver Valley over the weekend. They draw players from three states... Pennsylvania, New York and Ohio. In comparison, we draw from about three square miles.
     In all honesty, they were the best 12-year-old baseball team that I have ever seen. They were big, they were strong, they could hit and throw, and they were well-coached. I got a first-hand look at the size of these kids when they all came out to stand behind their coach at the umpire meeting at home plate. I had never seen a team do that before a game.
     We played them on Thursday, and they beat us 25 to 1. And it wasn't as close a game as the score might indicate!
     As I watched them hit bullets all over the field, I became concerned about my team's safety. This was the first time that I had ever participated in a game as a player or a coach where I was just happy that nobody got hurt too bad. The score did not matter. I was not encouraged by the score, but it did not matter. Our injury report was one bruised back, one bruised forearm and 13 bruised egos.
     After all of the pool play was concluded on Saturday, we got the good news that we were the 8th and last-seeded team in the elimination round. Of course, we were playing the Beaver Vally gang that ripped through everyone on their way to the number-one seed. In all honesty, this was not the news that we wanted to hear, and some even questioned the wisdom of even showing up to play the game. We were tempting fate by sending these boys out in the line of fire for a second time. I was not sure that they were wrong, but when it comes right down to it... you have to play the game.
     Somebody asked me my strategy and I decided that we would stall. Take our time between innings, make a few pitching changes, maybe a catching change or two, and several mound conferences. So many mound conferences that I might pull a hamstring on the way back to the dugout! There is a two-hour time limit on every game, so if I could stall for an hour of that, they would only be able to clobber us for an hour.    
     Saturday evening, before our Sunday game, we all got together at the home of one of our other coaches for a cookout and a pool party. The evening ended with a wiffle ball game in an open lot next to our hosts' home. I watched as each of our kids and their sisters and brothers took swings at that ball as it was lobbed across the plate. Some hit it well, but many did not. They all laughed and carried on.
     This is when the idea for our game plan was hatched.
     We have one pitcher, Nate, that throws a knuckle ball. Typically he throws pretty hard... but not hard enough to get it past the Beaver Valley boys. I pulled Nate aside and told him that tomorrow we are going to play a wiffle ball game. We will loft nothing but knuckle balls up to the plate, and if I call for a fastball, do not throw it for a strike. I don't care if we walk in ten runs, they are not going to jog around the bases all game. In an effort to convince myself this would work, I assured him that we were going to have fun.
     Just like this wiffle ball game!
     We were going to try and play a different kind of game this time. We were going to slow it down. Well, maybe not quite as I had joked earlier.
     I also pulled Brian aside at the party. Brian is the smallest guy on our team. I told him that I wanted him to accompany me out to the umpires' meeting. Just he and I versus their coach and the 12 Jolly Green Giants. I thought it would make for a nice contrast.
     I did not sleep very well that night. In fact, the air conditioner kept rattling the venetian blinds in the room where I was sleeping and made it sound as if it were raining outside. I remember thinking that a rain-out wouldn't be such a bad thing.
     The drive to the park, in bright, sunny weather, was not pleasant. I kept thinking about the "fun" we were about to have, and kept hoping that we could just keep it close. The first time that we played, they threw two pitchers that threw gas, and I was sure that they had more of those kids just waiting for us in the elimination round.
     As I walked to home plate, a second kid from our team, Alex, wanted to join us. Alex is skin and bones. What the heck, skinny also provides a nice contrast to these monsters. While talking to the other team's coach, he mentioned that they beat what everyone considered to be the second best team in the tournament 16 to 2 the day before. Yeah, they threw some kid that threw nothing but junk. We did not have much trouble with that. Also, I have still not used my two best pitchers.  
     Really, junk. Nothing but junk... what a bunch of idiots those coaches must be. By the way, do you consider knuckle balls to be junk?  
     As I walked back into the dugout, I gave the boys a little pre-game pep talk. This ain't no funeral boys, this is a wiffle ball game. We are the only team playing them, so we are the only ones that can beat them. We are not quitting, and we are not going away. Let's all have fun today... it is just a big wiffle ball game. 
     Let's see, nobody had thrown a pitch yet, and I had already mentioned a funeral and quitting. Not the most inspiring choice of words, but I don't think they really listen to my pre-game speeches anyway. But I will say this, I did feel a little bit better about the game. The kids seemed to buy into the whole wiffle ball game and having fun and were in pretty good spirits.
     We hit in the top of the first inning and as expected, they had a kid that threw pretty hard. Probably not as hard as the first two kids that we had seen previously... but hard enough. He struck out the first three batters. Not the greatest start but I will say, the kids were up there swinging.
     Then, it was their turn to hit. The lead off hitter walked. Okay, I understood that this could happen. Everyone, and by everyone I mean me, has to keep his cool and stick to the game plan.
     The next hitter hit a soft line drive to the pitcher and we doubled off the runner at first. We got the third out and allowed no runs. IT WAS GAME ON!!!
     After a scoreless second, we scored two runs in the third and three in the top of the fourth. A big hit by Anthony scored Brian D, who had walked and home runs by Kyle and Donovan led to the other runs.
     And Nate's knuckle ball continued to keep them off balance. The old saying, Good hitting is good timing. Good pitching is screwing up that good timing, was never more on point. Defensively, we were outstanding. Our middle infield of Sean and Matthew, were all over the place making plays and saving runs. Clearly, Beaver Valley was frustrated.
     Unfortunately, Beaver Valley is also very good.
     The fourth inning had their hitters coming around to see the knuckle ball a second time. They became more patient and took better swings. They got a few runners on and hit two home runs to take a 6-5 lead into the fifth inning.
     Their first base coach yelled that This is no Wiffle Ball game!
     I thought to myself: he doesn't get it.   
     A funny thing was happening as we were going toe to toe with this team. People around the park knew how good their team was, and they were hearing that they were in a real dog fight. People started to come to our field to watch the game. Probably about a hundred-twenty people who had no dog in the fight.
     We weren't done fighting.
     In the top of the fifth, one of our young men, Camden, came up to bat with one out. Before this year, Camden had never really played on a competitive team. There were times when he really struggled because he had never seen quality pitchers before, and he had never really had coaches that expected him to play the game the correct way. A very good athlete, but it was all new to him. This tournament, with these pitchers, had been a real struggle for him.
     With two strikes, Camden took one of his better swings and fouled a ball straight back. I was encouraged by the swing but thought that they are not going to throw that pitch again because he just missed it. They did throw it again, and this time he did not miss it. It cleared the center field fence to tie the game. Camden stopped running as he rounded first and started back to the dugout. Our first base coach yelled for him to run. As he rounded third he was still confused and asked what had happened. You hit it out; it is a home run. Make sure you touch home. I was taking nothing for granted.
     Tie game. My only regret is that Camden couldn't enjoy his home run trot.
     Our next hitter, Kyle, had homered earlier in the game. In fact, Kyle had no home runs all year and already had three in the tournament. What the heck, how about number four.
     Back to back jacks!!!
     Now we were up by one going into the bottom of the fifth.
     It was crucial for us to keep the lead because I had no doubts that they were going to use one of their two best pitchers coming out to start the last inning. We had to hold them.
     Unfortunately, we did not. They tied the game at seven, and, not surprisingly, they brought in one of the two big guns to pitch the sixth inning. He was as advertised. Big, strong and threw really hard. They had a speed count on the board and he was getting clocked in the 70's. Pretty hard to hit from 50 feet.
     Just for statistical purposes, Nate's knuckle ball was getting clocked anywhere from 32 to 45 miles per hour.
     The big boy retired the sides and now we had to hold them to send it into extra innings. Their lead-off hitter had struck out on two knuckle balls in his previous two at-bats. We got two strikes on him and the kid looked bad. I was pretty sure that Nate could sneak a fast ball by him, but I had fought the urge to call fastballs all day. In fact, he maybe only threw five or six the entire game. I told our catchers, Topher and Keaton, no fast balls and if I do call one, make sure it is out of the strike zone.
     I did fight the urge to call the fastball, but I wish I had not. That kid hit a knuckle ball over the fence and we lost 8-7.
     I have played that pitch over in my mind a hundred times. My only consolation is that had I called a fastball and the kid hit that pitch over the fence, I wouldn't sleep for a week.
     Now here is the thing... we lost.
     We were right there and we lost.
     This would have been as big of an upset as you would ever see in sports. You may read this now and think that I am overstating what was going on. Maybe.
     But I don't think so.
     Despite that loss, I have never been prouder of a team that I have coached.
     That Beaver Valley team wins national tournaments. They travel all over the country. They are full of huge 12-year-olds that throw in the 70 mph range along with snapping curve balls, and they are probably the best hitting team I have ever seen. And we were right there tied with them in the last inning. They kept bringing in kids to pitch and each one was better than the last.
     For this game... we had Nate.
     My buddy gave a great description of the game. We had the biggest fish in the sea on the line for two hours, and just as we were reeling it in, the line snapped. The only difference about this fish story is that there were about 120 people around to confirm it.
     My guess is that the Beaver Valley boys may not remember much about that game, but a group of kids from South River will talk about the one that got away for some time.
     A fish story that started out as a simple wiffle ball game.

Our boys in blue. Beaver Valley in red.

Funny Guy Friday... Take me out to the ballgame...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     We are at the beach this week with Matthew's team for a baseball tournament.
     I have had the pleasure of coaching baseball for the past twenty-five years at various levels, and my goal has always been the same... don't screw the kids up, and make them want to come back and play the following year. I have enjoyed coaching 95% of the kids on my teams over the years and would love to coach them again. The other 5%; you know who you are. You do not necessarily have to come back and play for me... if you know what I am saying.
     I got involved in coaching as a result of my brother, Jeff. You would think it was as result of a nice long conversation but you would be wrong. Like many things that I do with my brother, it was a monologue.
     Hey, you would agree that you and I benefited from good coaching when we played.
     Sure, we had....
     And you would  agree that a lot of people put in a lot of time preparing us to play college baseball.
     Sure, there was but....
     And you would agree that we should give something back to the community as a result of all those coaches that gave up time for us.
     I suppo......
     Great, I just signed you up to coach a 13-year-old baseball team. Send a letter telling the Boys Club what your coaching credentials are.
     But I have never coached before.
     It doesn't matter, you know more than they do. Besides, they don't have anyone to coach the team and they have a practice tomorrow night. I will come and help get things started. 
     He came to only one or two practices, but I will say, he is a great baseball coach... so I was able to learn a lot from him.
     When I first started coaching, I was single and could schedule practices whenever I had a field. I had a field three or four nights a week with games on the weekends. Then I got married to a very understanding wife and had to sprinkle in a date every now and again.
     Then we had our first child, and Cheryl loved her so much, she didn't care if I were around or not. Then the second one came along, and my very understanding wife required more than a lousy date every now and again... she actually wanted me around to help raise the little guys.
     What's that? The first one was a girl? Oh okay, she actually wanted me around to help raise the little girl and the little guy.
     She and I did have a conversation... not a monologue like with my brother. The bottom line is that I lost the monologue with my brother Jeff... and I lost the dialogue with my wife Cheryl.
     I took a few years off but got back into it when Matthew started playing. Once Cheryl's baby boy was involved, she was all in. Practice, practice, practice. She was crazy... I had to reign her in.
     Matthew was six and was playing coach-pitch. That meant that I got to pitch to a bunch of six and seven-year-olds. Not that I like to relive my glory days... but... I kind of liked the idea of striking out a bunch of kindergarteners. Unfortunately, I learned that I was supposed to let the kids hit the ball. For most of them, I was trying to hit their bat with little success.
     Coaching this age group was a very different experience for me. I was used to kids having skills that we would try to refine. These kids looked at me like I had two heads when I told them to get a partner and start to warm up. But, Coach... it's not even cold out here.
     I asked if they had ever played catch before with their parents in the back yard and got blank stares.  No? Then why are you here?  
     So our first practice we spent the entire time learning how to warm up... i.e. learning how to catch, and showing them how to hold the bat... not swing... just hold the bat. I went from saying things like You are casting your hands... you need to stay inside the ball when you swing... to Are you a rightie or a leftie? 
     When we got back in the car after that very first practice, Cheryl told me that the parents thought I was so patient. I told Cheryl that I was ready to put my head through the window. As always, Cheryl got all religious on me... God put each of those kids with you for a reason. Figure out why, and make it work. 
     Maybe one of those kids knows first aid, and God put them with me so they can treat my wounds when I put my head through the window. Did you ever think of that? 
     I had two girls on that first team, and one of them wore a skirt to every practice and to every game. After each game I would give out bubble gum to the kids for outstanding play... orrrrrr... the best
bubble gum chewer... the skinniest kid on the team... the fastest runner... and then there was Emily's award... the best skirt of the night. She won that award every game.
     I got a piece of gum for being the most creative coach.
     I thought Emily hated me and hated baseball. I thought that because Emily told me, on several occasions, that she hated me and hated baseball. When the season ended, I was surprised when she hugged me an started to cry: Coach Mark, you are the best coach I ever had. Emily was only six at the time, so I was pretty sure I was the only coach she'd ever had. No matter, the best is the best! What can I say, that's how I roll.
     Each year brings different challenges and different personalities... hence the challenges.
     This year was no different. We changed organizations and had to add few new players. One thing that I learned from my brother Jeff... in the two practices that he assisted me with several years ago... the best team is not always made up of the best players. You need to have kids that will work together as a team... that will not complain about their roles... and that will get along.
     We did not have a lot of choices to make this year because we did not have many kids try out. However, the choices that we did make were the correct ones. For the most part, the kids always worked together, they never complained about their roles, and they always got along. In fact, after every practice and every game, I'd ask if anyone had any questions, and someone would always ask, Where are we going to eat? Typically, it was The Greene Turtle.
     Oh, and by the way, they played really well. They finished first in our overall league play, before losing in the final game of the league tournament. They also won two other tournaments.
     All of this, in spite of their coach.
     For a variety of reasons, this was the most fun that I've ever had coaching. Maybe it was the circumstances that brought the kids together. Maybe because the team had success. Maybe because Matthew had some success. Maybe it was just the group of kids (and just as important, the parents, because if they were complaining about me, they were doing it behind my back, so I couldn't hear it. Just how I prefer it to be).
     I suppose, it is for all of these reasons, plus a few more.
     The tournament we are in right now is not going so well. In our second game, we got thumped pretty good by a professional 12-year-old team from Pennsylvania, New York and Ohio. That's right, three states. Did I mention that these kids were all built like men? Six-foot men with broad shoulders. I can tell you this, those kids are not eating at the Greene Turtle every night.
     So what do you say after getting beaten so badly. I tell them what I always tell them: you are playing a game where you fail more than you succeed, so a good baseball player has to have a short memory. Forget about it and get ready for tomorrow.  Then I handed out bubble gum to the player with the nicest skirt. Did you forget that Emily said that I was the best coach she ever had? It had to be the bubble gum.
     The sad apart is that this will be our last time together as a team because we are done after this weekend. Some of the kids will have another year as 12-year-olds, and others will move up, but each one says he will play again next year.
     I suppose I did achieve my goal at the start of the season... I didn't screw anybody up. At least I don't think I did... and none of the parents complained... at least not to me!
     Sad to see another season come to an end, but on the up side... fall ball starts in three weeks.

Funny Guy Friday... Growing pains... not just for kids...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     I was driving Grace to our church this morning where she is volunteering at Vacation Bible School. She was in a bit of a panic because she could not find her phone. Not sure why a person who volunteers to take care of young children at VBS needs a cell phone, but I suppose that the church gets  what it pays for.
     She mentioned that this was the second time in the past few days that she has "lost" her phone.
     Wow, this is kind of like when you are dating someone... and you start doing stuff without him... and you realize that maybe you don't need that boy after all... and you break up with him. Perhaps you and your phone should take a break from one another. 
     This seemed like a perfectly good analogy to me.
     Grace did not like my analogy. In fact, Grace was appalled. Of course I don't need a break. I love that phone more than anything in the world. We do not need to take a break. I need that phone. In fact, I am worried about him... and I want him with me all the time. 
     Him? Really?
     There was a time... way back when... when Grace loved me more than anything in the world. I was the man. I could do no wrong. We danced, we played, and we sang. Now her phone does all that stuff... and more. That phone can do everything. I hate him... er... uh... that phone. I cannot imagine when she brings home some "real life boy" and starts going on and on about how great he is.
     Oh Daddy, he is sooo smart. You will love him... he is going to go to law school... and he is the third best player on his church softball team. 
     Big deal. I am already a lawyer... and was All-Met in baseball... and played at the University of Maryland back in the day... and then I played softball in a real men's league. 
     Oh Daddy, the thing I like best about Frederick (I just made that name up because it annoys me) is that he never takes things too seriously and is not very competitive. 
     Not competitive? I am the king of non-competitive. Nobody is less competitive than I. Call him and get him over here... and we will play a game of one-on-one... and I will let him win. Of course, that is the only way that loser could beat me... and you will see... I am not competitive at all! 
     Oh Daddy, you will love him.
     I doubt it. In fact, I don't even know who this kid will be, but I am going to avoid the Christmas rush and start hating him right now.
     The fact is that Gracie is growing up. She is currently taking driving lessons and will be getting her learner's permit in the next few weeks. She has started to look at colleges and is hoping to leave us next year to live at some far-away campus. She may even be starting a job in the next week or two.
     Yes, indeed, she is growing up.
     I am terrified about her growing up.
     I am terrified about her driving. I have allowed her to drive in the empty parking lot at the local baseball park, and she nearly knocked over a Jiffy John. But that is not why I am terrified. I am terrified because, soon, she will be going out there. Untethered and alone. Without me.
     I am terrified about her going to college. I am sure that she will do fine, but... I won't be there. I want her to stay at home and go to the local community college for a year or two and then go off to the University. In fact, when she was fourteen, she agreed to the community college plan, and now she has changed her mind. She used to always think that my plans were the best plans. Now she is thinking for herself, and as a result, my life is going down the toilet.
     Soon, that dumb-ass Frederick will be making decisions for her. Have I mentioned how much I hate that guy?
     The other night, Grace was a little overwhelmed by the day's events and excused herself from a room full of people. She called me into the other room and kind of broke down and told me what was bothering her. The things that were bothering her were fairly insignificant, but I reassured her, and told her that it would all work out. No big deal!
     This is how it is supposed to be. I assess the problem. I come up with a solution. I reassure her, and everything works out. Problem solved! Then, I hug her and tell her I love her. All is good in the world.
     Now that I think about it, maybe her stupid phone can't do everything.
     What it really comes down to is this... I want my little girl back... forever.
     I know that this is not possible, and that she is growing up no matter what I want. She is now a baby woman, and there are many great adventures still out there for her. I also realize that I will be part of most of those adventures... just a smaller part.
     When people say that growing up is hard, I really think that they are talking about it being hard for the parents, not the kids. Heck, the kids seem to have it pretty easy. I suppose this is something that Gracie will understand when she and Frederick have their own children.
     Wow, the thought of Gracie being married and having her own kids brings one thought to my mind... Have I mentioned how much I hate that guy Frederick?