A Baseball Story

  On a cloudy, cold spring day in Phoenix, I watched the tryouts for the Arizona Diamondback “Golden Gloves.”  These men and women snag foul balls and toss them to fans.  Most teams employ boys and girls, but seniors fill this role for the Diamondbacks.  A friend invited me I and thought I might find a story worthy of telling.  I wasn’t disappointed, but the story was not one I anticipated.

  Seventy hopefuls convened on a Little League field to demonstrate their baseball prowess in a series of skills tests.  It rained the night before, the grass was wet, the warning track muddy and the balls dirty, but they didn’t care.  They were at baseball tryout camp.

  The youngest were in their 50s and the oldest, Dominic, 78.  He grew up in Brooklyn, a Dodgers fan.  He got his first uniform in the 1940s from the Police Athletic League, but didn’t play games because there was no field.  It wasn’t until later in the navy that he learned the game.  When I asked why he was there he replied, “I love the game and just want to be down on the field again.”

  Joachim learned to play from his mother.  Some like Bob, 74, a self-described “light-hitting catcher” and Paul, who played through high school are still playing senior softball.  Bob has four senior softball national championship rings.  Shirley, the sole woman in the group, volunteers for the team and wanted to try something different.  Each came with a desire just to be part of the game.  Each expressed their love of the game, and collectively the 70 showed enthusiasm worthy of little leaguers.

  They cheered each other in success or misplay.  They yelled each other’s names and high-fived every attempt ignoring the competitive aspect of the trials.  The club selects only twelve. That didn’t matter; it was a game, the game.  They had one more chance to don a baseball uniform and in this case a big league uniform.  It is a chance to walk onto major league field and once again be part of the game.

  This story, however, isn’t about the “players” but one of the coaches, Sean Payton.  I can only imagine the players’ excitement and nervousness.  He set them at ease.  He spoke of the importance of their role in “keeping the game moving” and “adding to the fan experience.”  He related his enthusiasm and spoke of his responsibility to “pass the baton of enthusiasm” to them.

  They cheered because he cheered.  He supported each of them and rallied their support for each other.  In less than two hours they transformed from a random assemblage of aspiring Golden Glovers to a team.  One of the D-back’s staff remarked, “He should be a motivation speaker.  I would go to one of his speeches.”  I replied, “He is, and you are there.”

  In his book, The Mentor Leader, Tony Dungy states that everyone has a platform, no matter how large or small, from which to speak.  He writes, “Building a life of significance … means being willing to step out in your life and onto the platforms of influence you’ve been given and touch the lives of people in need.”

  Sean uses his platforms to touch others.  He does not measure the moment by the size or age of his audience.  He spoke of being a role model.  He spoke of the values instilled through the game and the role of relating those values to kids and adults alike. Was he preaching baseball?  Yes, but more than that, he was teaching baseball.  He was teaching what America’s pastime offers, and what each of us can offer to everyone with whom we interact.  He lives his love of the game, and he lives his belief in the importance of each of us.  St. Francis of Assisi said, “Preach the gospel at all times; when necessary, use words.”  Sean does both.

  Throughout the morning a D-Backs photographer captured the event.  Just before the “team” picture, as though on cue, the sky cleared. The picture taken, the group gave a final cheer and disbanded.  It was a bright day in their week. 

  Most of them will not tread the foul lines of Chase field, but every one of them will remember their moment in the tryout camp.  They will attribute part of that memory to a man who knows what is “right” about baseball.  He made their presence important.  He was their coach for a morning.

          He reminded them of the joy of the game and the joy of playing.  He reminded all of us of our responsibility to teach playing the game of baseball and the game of life the “right way.”  Years their junior, he is a teacher they will remember as Coach Payton.

Fifty Ways to Love Your Leaver

  A scene in Out of Africa depicts Baroness Blixen pecking a kiss on the Baron’s cheek as he is leaving on safari.  When he remarks, “That is not much of a goodbye kiss,” she replies, “I am better at hello.”  It seems we are better at welcoming than “welgoing.”

  Life is a perpetual circuit of going and coming.  For an event as frequent as leaving or its partner sending, you would think we would give it more attention.

  We do have grand sendoff events: our children’s first day of school, first overnight at grandma’s, the prom, off to college, honeymoon, a plane flight or ship sailing.  Some are fraught with anxiety like our teen’s first solo drive or our children moving away.  These are unique milestones while most of our departures repeat uncounted times.  Where is the grand sendoff?

  We have few words in our language for sending someone off well. There is no word “welgo.”  The French have bon voyage, the Spanish vaya con Dios and in Hebrew there is tsetchem leshalom, go to peace.  We have Godspeed, but when was the last time you said that.  Mostly we say something like bye, goodbye, happy landing, the nearly dismissive ta-ta, or the slang seeya.  The trifling nature of our word choice seems expressive of our regard for the moment.

  I was in college when I first noticed that my father watched me leaving.  He would watch me drive down the street until I turned the corner out of sight.  He didn’t call out or wave.  He simply stood there cleaving to me until the last glimpse expired.  Only after years of visits did I realize that a piece of me remained until I returned.   It was a piece from my heart.  It was as much a gift to a man silently bidding me Godspeed as anything he kept.

  Each morning I get to watch as my wife leaves to work.  It is a fitting way to pay homage to someone I love and an opportunity to extend the moment.  I have seen my sons do it and their wives as well. 

  There are moments like that when people linger with their loved ones.  Mothers watch until their children are inside the school gate.  Young lovers walk backward as they part.  In a bygone era, teenage boys gazed longingly from the street until their dates entered their homes or until their bedroom lights turned on.  My carpooling friend John waits until my car starts before he drives off.  Just as that moment of caring makes me feel more secure, our loved ones watching us depart make us feel more loved. Our elders understand lingering far beyond our comprehension.

       Are there fifty ways to love your leaver?  Certainly, and many more, but I have no laundry list; you don’t need my advice.  Few things top a lingering hug and passionate kiss.  Adding “I love you” is an obvious exception.   If you are both leaving you could double the lingering but multiplying the passion might cause you both to be late for work.  Now you see why I am not quick to give advice.

  It is hard to leave sometimes, but in the anticipation of our return we find joy in leaving and joy in others’ departures anticipating their return.  My wife describes a childhood visit to her grandfather’s farm shortly after his wife died.  Her memory is of him standing at the gate in his hat and coveralls, pipe in one hand, and waving with the other as they drove off.  If we could read his mind, I would wager saddened and lonely he was anticipating their return.

Does absence make the heart grow fonder?  Maybe, but more so I think it is anticipation that warms our heart and hastens our return.  What is a comfortable three-day drive to visit my family, I complete in two days because the nearer I get the sooner I want to arrive.

If I were a man to give advice, I would say “No deposit, no return;” linger in life’s departures and be intentional in creating anticipation for the return.  Maybe it is time to start your list of “Fifty Ways to Love Your Leaver.”

Godspeed!

To Eros Is Human

   Valentine's Day is such a great holiday.  The problem is that it is a holiday.  A holiday is a day away from something or a designated day to commemorate special events or people.  The English use the word in place of vacation.  They go on holiday from work; this makes sense.  We all need a holiday from work.  Labor Day is a day off from work; Memorial Day is a day from work and a day to commemorate those who have served our country. 

  We have days celebrating religious events, cultures, nationalities, the beginning of the year, the beginning of our country, ends of wars, and national heroes.  It seems right to set aside special days to memorialize events and people we don’t want to forget.

  We are a celebratory culture, and we have days to celebrate everything from avocados to zippers.  (Yes, Dorothy, there is a National Zipper Day.)  Valentine’s Day shares its day with seven commemorations including Ferris Wheel Day and there are twenty-five others during the week.  By the end of February there will be forty-one more celebrations including Presidents Day, Mardis Gras, Single-Tasking Day, and for Pete’s sake “For Pete’s Sake Day;” and oh come on: National Spay Day?  (Get real!) 

  Sword swallowers have an international day, and there is “Open That Bottle Nite.”  For some folks I think that is every night.  We even have a day to celebrate a big fat, homely, rat-looking, burrowing animal – Groundhog Day.  When will it end?

     While I accept our national holidays commemorating people and the reasons for them, I do not quite understand creating holidays setting aside days to commemorate people who are near and dear to us.  Along with Valentine’s Day we have mothers and fathers days, grandparents day, kids day, grandkids day, bosses and secretaries days, teachers day, and who knows how many more.   Are we worried we will forget them, or is it just a greeting card conspiracy?

     Now, don’t take me wrong.  I love Valentine’s Day; I just don’t like the idea that we think we need it.  If it is a day to take off from something, what is it? Concealing our affection for our loved ones 364 days a year?  I certainly hope not.   Are we setting aside a day to remember them because we are afraid we will forget them?  Again, I hope not, and I don’t think it is so. 

  If it is simply a designated day to commemorate our love for them, shouldn’t we be doing that every day?  If we are extolling our love to our “loved ones” every day, do we need a holiday?  Isn’t that redundant?  Maybe, that it isn’t redundant is the problem.

     My friend Dick Clark (No, not that one.) once told me, “Don’t start anything you don’t plan on doing forever.”  Well, this holiday thing has been going for quite a while.  It isn’t going to stop, but there is an alternative:  celebrate your love for your husband, wife, lover, mother, father, children, grandchildren, family and friends tomorrow, the day after that, and every day.  Tell them you love them every day; make Valentine’s Day truly redundant.  Make it a celebration of round-the-clock daily experience.  Give them a truly yours message every day. 

  If that makes sense, if it works for you, try making Sunday, Christmas and especially Easter redundant as well.

  To Eros is human; to agape is divine.

Senior Moments: Standard Songs Stymie Seniors

I Remember It Well - Lerner and Loewe -”Gigi” - “We met at nine.”   Are you sure?

Things you don’t think about until you get older:

v  Hey You by Pink Floyd works better for seniors than Hey Joe, Hey Jude, Hey Little Minivan, Hey There Delilah and certainly Hey Nineteen by Steely Dan.

v  When Creedence Clearwater asked Have You Ever Seen the Rain, they knew we had to be reminded with Here Comes the Rain Again and Here Comes the Sun.

v  The Rolling Stones had a premonition when they wrote I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.

v  I Could Have Danced All Night is at most a fleeting thought and the only thing I could have done all night.

v  The Beach Boys may get around, but I Get Around in a motorized chair.

v  The Beattles’ I Feel Fine is an obfuscation. Look that up in your Funk and Wagnalls.

v  People who say I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing or I’d Love to Change the World haven’t lived very long. 

v  Lerner and Loewe likely were very young when they wrote I Remember It Well. 

v  There are lots of “I Want To” songs: I Want it Now, I want to Hold Your Hand, and I Want To Know What Love Is.  Well, don’t we all?  For seniors the Ramones romantic classic I Want to Be Sedated trumps them all.

v  Carole King wrote It’s Too Late.  How did she know?  Queen knew something when he wrote Keep Yourself Alive.  The Doors knew someone would need to Light My Fire.  

v  Who beside the Tokens care if The Lion Sleeps Tonight.

v  How cruel was it when Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote Memory?  

v  Songs written to help us remember our loved ones include: Annie, Lucille and Peggy Sue; and songs to remember what time it is:  Tonight’s The Night and The Mammas and the Papas’ Monday, Monday.  The Beatles were a sheer menace with The Night Before, and Nineteen Forty-One by Harry Nilsson just confuses us.  

v  Bob Seger befuddles us with Night Moves.  When did nights start moving?  Paper Lace thought we should know about The Night Chicago Died.  I thought Chicago was still alive.  The Eagles’ One of These Nights causes me to ask which one.

v  Some songs help us know who we are such as Particle Man, Piano Man, Mr. Soul, Misters Tambourine Man, Spaceman, and Rogers; and how could we forget Mrs. Robinson?  Styne and Merrill’s People and Depeche Mode’s People are People are simply confounding.  No one over 60 should hear them. 

v  Seniors know It Ain’t Necessarily So.

Songs written specifically for seniors:

§ Dust in the Wind - Kansas

§ Every Breath you Take - The Police

§ Everything in Its Own Time - Indigo Girls

§ Fooling Yourself - Styx 

§ Fumbling Towards Ecstasy - Sarah McLachlan

§ Help - The Beatles

§ Help Me - Joni Mitchell

Songs with total disregard for seniors:

§ Forever Young - Rod Stewart

§ Fun, Fun, Fun - The Beach boys

§ Get Up, Stand Up - Bob Marley and the Wailers

§ The Best of Times - Jerry Herman

The most insidious songs, however, are those with “remember” in the title.  How despicable can the music industry get?

v  We are pressured to remember others: The First Man You Remember, A Girl that I Remember, and I Remember You.  Sweetheart Will You Remember poses the idea that I might not.  Someone asks Oh! Don’t You Remember Sweet Alice?  Was I once married to her?

v  I am challenged from I Will Remember You to Remember All The People. I don’t even remember you much less all the people?  The question seniors most fear to hear is I’m the One Who Loves You - Remember Me?

v  I’m to make promises in Promise Me You’ll Remember, the love theme from Godfather III. I can’t promise to remember Godfather I or II.

v  The expectations mount in Just Remember I Love You. How can I expect you to remember that when I can’t even remember that I love you?  I don’t remember what I ate for lunch, but someone thinks I’ll Remember April, I’ll Remember Love, I’ll Remember You in My Prayers, Remember the Alamo and Remember Pearl Harbor. Did she live in our neighborhood?  I am supposed to Remember the Teapot Dome and Remember Rockefeller At Attica. Those are very obtuse.

Other things I am to remember:

§  Remember Boy You’re Irish - There’s a chance.

§  Let’s Make a Night to Remember - Oh that I could.

§  Moments To Remember - Possibly.

§  Remember Me - Or the age appropriate variation “Remember Me?”

§  Remember Way Back - Are you kidding?

§  Remember When - When what?

§  A Song To Remember - Oh come on!

§  Please Remember Me - The ultimate geriatric plea.

§  Remember Your Name and Address - Children’s song becoming the AARP theme song.

§  Remember, Sinful Youth - I wish.

§  Remember, Be Sure and Be There (Na Mele O Hawai'i Nei) - Those Hawaiians sure are kidders.

More things you don’t think about until you get older:

v  Berlin must have been older when he wrote I Can’t Remember. 

v  One writer honestly asks Do You Remember, but some Machiavellian fiend had the audacity to pen Did I Remember?  

v  If You Remember Me has a ring of truth.  I Forgot to Remember to Forget and Don’t Forget to Remember are in the dictionary next to “muddled.”

v  Then there is Our Love Affair from “Affair to Remember,” the ultimate chick flick classic.  Wouldn’t you think I’d remember an affair?  Then again, I didn’t remember Sweet Alice.

Some Deep Thoughts (in a sinfully shallow way):

§  The spiritual Do Lord Remember Me asks God to remember. Of course God remembers. Oh dear, what if God asks me to remember Him? 

§  Never Again Remember - There’s a theme song for seniors.

§  It’s Easy to Remember - Easy for you, hard for me!

§  She’ll Always Remember - You better believe it!

§  Something I’ll Remember - Meaningful only if I remember what it was.

§  Something To Remember Me By - Same problem.

§  Something To Remember You By - Say again?

§  Stars Will Remember - Heard an interview with a star over 70?

§  Then You’ll Remember Me - An assumption there is to be a miracle.

§  Try to Remember - A song of encouragement.

§  Will You Remember - The ultimate question.

Remember?   That’s it in a nutshell.

Epilogue:

I guess you could have read the last line and skipped the rest, but what fun is that? 

What?  You forgot?  You don’t remember why you are here? 

Let me remind you.  My father taught me to have a good time whether it is any fun or not.  What I had to learn on my own was to have a fun time whether it is any good or not.  I had fun.  I hope you did, too. That’s all there was.