Does anything bring dads and sons together like baseball?

A friend and work colleague called me a few weeks back and asked if he could take me to lunch.  He wanted some coaching advice… for his son.  At a lunch a few weeks back he was talking about a couple of books, one called, Talent is Overrated, by Colvin and The Outliers, by Gladwell.  The premises of these books are that in some cases talent can never overcome repetition.  I’m not trying to argue either way on this, because clearly you could hit a monkey 10 Million ground balls and he probably wouldn’t be a better fielder than a hockey goalie who’s never played baseball, but that is a great bar argument and I don’t have a drink in my hand.  So next time you see me we can discuss. 

The point is, as we were talking about this I told him about how my dad would make me throw 100 strikes every other night that we didn’t have baseball practice.  He’d come home from work, we’d eat dinner, then he’d put on some shin guards and a mask.  I’d go stand 46 feet in little league and 54 feet in Pony and literally pitch to him until I threw 100 strikes.  This was before sabermetrics and moneyball, 100 just seemed like a good number to dad.  In any case as it came up I told him that it seemed pretty reasonable because even without picking up a ball for months I can throw a bunched up sock, can, golf ball, wadded towel, rock, or just about anything and hit my spot.  This is because I’ve thrown about a million rocks, balls, acorns, speargrass lances, etc. 

So my friend calls me up and said his son just finished his first year of kid pitch and his 9 year old was interested in pitching.  My friend wanted advice on how to help guide his development.  First of all, I was honored that he thought of me. Second, what a great flood of memories it brought back.  I thought of the old books dad had around the house, The Art of Hitting 300 by Charlie Lau, with pictures of George Brett and Pitching with Tom Seaver.   Now there are all kinds of videos and dvds, even a crappy one with Fred McGriff.  But I remember holding poses to match the pictures, and my dad moving my release point, talking about the tuck, pointing my glove. 

Again, the point is not to teach you how to pitch or which books to go read, the point is I could see these things like I was watching a friendly movie…. And my dad has been gone for 15 years.  It brought back dozens of games watching UT play at Dish Faulk (where I would usually sneak out of the stands and try to find a cup ball game with the big kids.  Do they even sell paper cups anymore?).  I remember going to high school state championship games with my dad and his friends (when they’d split a six pack in the car on the way, come on y’all it was 35 years ago, and not even illegal, and there were no car seats).  I remember him hitting me thousands of fungos and fly balls in the back yard.  I remember him drilling me on where I was supposed to be for every position for every situation.  (Playing short, man on first ball hit to right… I’m the second cut for a throw to third or cover the bag on a pop fly; same play Left fielder shades to back up errant throw to second or third).  I remember the smell of leather oil when we’d oil up the gloves before the beginning of the new season and he’d wrap a softball in the pocket with a big old rubber band.  I remember hitting soft toss until my hands hurt and putting on my new uniform dying to wear it to the store.  Connor is starting to throw the ball around and hit from his little “swing away.”  One of my neighbors just built a batting cage in his back yard.  Connor also has a Velcro glove with a ball that sticks to it, and we’ve been playing a little catch in the house.  God I love baseball and I love you too dad.  I hope Connor looks at his own son with excitement someday and has the same wonderful memories I do.

Daddy needs a band aid.

What a week.  It started late Friday afternoon when, while waiting to tee off on number 9 tee box, an errant shot from a duffer on the range hit me in the hip and actually landed in my pocket.  Ouch number one.  Then nine holes later while attempting a stupid shot to try to save a dead round anyway I tweaked my left knee. The tweak was so bad that I cancelled my trip to Tampa.  I was supposed to do some booth duty at a show and could not see myself standing for four-six hours a day for three days.  I actually thought surgery might be in my future. Saturday we took Connor to the mall to ride the train and had fun.  Then Saturday night my throat got a little sore.  Sunday around three AM I woke up with a teeth chattering chill.  I put on a long sleeve shirt went back to bed.  Getting up twice more to change the shirts I’d sweat through.  When I woke up, my throat was swollen and had the tell-tale signs of strep.  The worst of it is our family vacation is just one week away.  We’ve got a beach house rented for a week with the Grandmothers.   So Sunday, I’m off to the after hours clinic and get the swab test, luckily no strep but still contagious… and no antibiotic.  (Don’t get me started).  My new job is to avoid the wife, kids, and moms.  I can handle being miserable and alone for a week, but we can’t have two sick kids or two sick 76 year olds (or any combination) and expect any sort of fun no matter your proximity to ocean water.

For those of you who remember, I almost went to med school.  The two things I said I could never do were to be a vet or to be a pediatrician.  The reasons are neither can understand that what you are doing to them are for their own good.  Connor was so excited that Daddy stayed home from work but couldn’t understand why daddy didn’t want to play with him.  Nita explained, “Daddy is hurt, he isn’t feeling well.” To which Connor offered, “Does daddy need a band aid?”  My boy. J

The next phase of my misery was a tooth issue.  Yes, as if enough hadn’t happened, my swollen throat also put pressure on my gums which in turn aggravated a crown.  So now my tooth is pounding, causing a severe headache, and I’m swallowing razor blades and hobbling around on a sore knee.  The hip bruise doesn’t even register any more.  And while I’m avoiding my family for their own good, Nita thinks I’m just avoiding chores.  (She finally comes around when she comes home on Tuesday and I’ve soaked through four pillows, the sheets, my clothes and my eyes look pretty sick).  Luckily my dentist is awesome.  I called and told them of my situation and he had me come in immediately.  He said, “Let’s not do anything until we get that throat settled down, it may take care of everything else.”  So he prescribed amoxicillin and asked, “How’s the pain?” Thanks Doc.  So I’ve been taking my Hydro and Amox and was even felt good enough to pick up Connor from School on Wednesday afternoon.

So how was my week?  My knee has gotten pretty close to back to normal.  My hip still has a bruise, my throat is still swollen, my tooth still hurts a little and I’ve got plenty of Hyrdocodone left.  I can honestly say the worst pain was not being able to put Connor to bed or take him out of his crib in the morning.  Not being able kiss my sweet pudgy cheeked daughter Josie until she giggles.  Not being able to hang Connor upside down and play the “where’s Connor” game.  “Here daddy, upside down, daddy, here!!”  Not being able to grab his sweet little face and kiss him on the nose.  Or even kiss my wife.  Time heals all wounds and ills, but you know what?  Daddy needs a band aid.

Moving on up!

Last episode we had Soupy getting used to his new environment. And by new I mean same bowl and same rock just different house. Now since retired people have nothing better to do than obsess, Soupy’s five year habitat was deemed unfit for turtle-hood.  So now Soupy is moving on up, like a Jefferson.  Yep, my mother and her friend the turtle whisperer have decided to deputize themselves the turtle version of CPS and confiscate Soupy.  Now bless her heart she is a big time animal lover and she does have time on her side.  Personally I thought it would be neat for Connor to watch a little turtle grow up, and in fairness Connor ends up at mom’s house at least every other week, so no real harm done.  And, as Christine said when she gave us our little green bundle, other than the ten seconds a day that Connor wanted to hold and kiss Soupy, I was in charge of bowl, rock, and Soupy cleaning…as well as feeding.  Since his digs were so inadequate, mom went and bought a terrarium and had the Petsmart people install it.  This thing is loaded complete with gravel, filter, heat lamp, free range organic turtle chow (okay so I made that part up), and two flat screen TVs looping the tortoise and the hare. 

Concurrently, our new nanny Kara came down and stayed with us for a couple of days.  As an added bonus she brought her dog Ellie with her.  Connor of course went CRAZY with that dog.  After Ellie went back home, she was all he could talk about.  He loved petting her, giving her treats, kissing her, and racing her in the back yard.  He’s such a sweet boy and he loves animals.  Ellie also got along great with Josie.  She’d come up to Josie in her exersaucer and lick her face and was rewarded with Josie’s very boisterous giggle.  I know. It’s time.

Family vacation coming up in a few weeks, after that it looks like we’ll be taking a little trip to the pound to go find us a new Martinez.  I hope we get as lucky as we did with Rio.  In the meantime, good luck Soupy. Enjoy life in first class.

Housewarming for Soupy

Housewarming gifts usually stay with the hosts don’t they?  And I’m pretty sure it’s a violation of all etiquette books to take something home with you isn’t it? 

Well, we received an invitation to attend a housewarming to the home of friends we’ve known for about 20 years.  It was a whole family invitation and we were all excited to see how both kids would do in someone else's home.  So we packed up a nice bottle of wine, and the kiddos.  We got there and mercifully Josie was still asleep from the car ride.  Connor however, saw a puppy dog and was off and running.  Then Josie woke up and we switched off.  Connor and I ran through the house and played with some of the older kids toys.  It was a lovely party with fun crackers and the house was beautiful.  Here is where I didn’t realize I was getting snookered….by a cute little 8 year old girl.  The question, simple and innocuous enough went like this, "Do you want to see my turtle?" 

Connor of course LOVES all sea animals, Nemo, etc.  So Connor just fell in love with the turtle.  Mark, the host said, "Do you want it? Take it!"  His wife Christine said, "Seriously, we've had him five years and I'm the only one who even looks at it anymore." 

I said, "Sure." Nita said, “How hard can taking care of a turtle be?"  We decided to name him Soupy.  Just in case we're really bad at turtle parenting, well there's always ... well you know.  We more than likely wouldn't eat soupy, but it's also very cute the way a 2 and a half year old says, “Good night Soupy.”  So I had to fly out on Sunday, but all he could talk about Saturday and Sunday morning was Soupy, Soupy, Soupy.  We went to mom's house for breakfast and it was Soupy the HUGE sea turtle (he's a little aquatic turtle about four inches or so in diameter). 

Thanks to the internet we all have access to information.  Have you ever noticed that no one gives two hoots about how you raise your dog. You can hit it with the paper, pick it up by the collar, smack it on the butt, crate it, and rub its nose in poop.  But bring home a turtle who has happily been in the same environment for five years... and EVERY one is an expert on how you are doing it wrong.  It’s worse than your first child.  Ever notice how the morning you bring home your bundle of joy (child not turtle) you already have 15 voicemails on how to burp, change, swaddle, raise, discipline, feed, and soothe your baby?  And don’t forget the 200 emails on proper clothing, how to pick a preschool, church, and the proper amount of the first check for their college fund.  I’m telling you only bringing home a turtle comes close.

 I'm not going to name names, but if it gets any worse, Soupy really may end up with some potatoes in a nice broth.  Or we'll have a little neighborhood party, rent a jumpy castle and lure some unsuspecting kids over...... bait and prepare to set the hook, "Hey, there neighbor!  Wanna see my turtle?"