What did you do for Spring Break?
This question was asked of me several times earlier this week, as I ran into various people I had not seen for seven to perhaps ninety-nine days. In the few weeks before last week, I was asked by several people, "What are you doing for Spring Break?"
The answer is and was...nothing.
I wish I had known what last Tuesday was going to be like. I would have answered "Watching the final wintry precipitation of the winter of 2013-14, as ice falls on my deck on April 15." I could have answered "Doing taxes." Truthfully, we did not do "nothing". We went to the Stonewall Jackson Shrine and the Chancelloresville Battlefield to learn more about where Stonewall Jackson was shot and where he died. If you want to count the weekend before and after Spring Break, we cleaned the house and went to the National Zoo. Other than that, I went to work and coached soccer. I do that every other week in the spring, so I consider the answer above to be, more or less, accurate.
I have few memories of doing anything for Spring Break growing up. I remember going to Valley Forge one year, on a school sponsored trip. I went college visiting a few times, twice for me and at least once with an older brother. My boys are a little young to start visiting colleges, so that isn't an option for us, yet. I write this while laughing at the email received from our elementary school today promoting college week, when the boys should wear a college t-shirt to school and teachers will tell stories about college and high school students will come to the elementary school to talk about college. I wish I were kidding.
The point of this post is supposed to be about Spring Break. I have to, pardon the pun, take a break to explore this college thing. My boys are in 4th and 2nd grade. They have been to two colleges so far in their lives. We went to William and Mary during a Thanksgiving in Williamsburg, so they could see where Dad went to school and Dad could see how much more fun college looks today than twenty years ago. They have been to George Mason a few times for a basketball game, a swim meet and to take the security tag off a sweatshirt mail ordered from William and Mary. In case that wasn't clear, The Wife bought me a sweatshirt from William and Mary for Christmas a couple years ago. She ordered it in the mail and the geniuses at the William and Mary bookstore didn't take the security tag off before they shipped it to us. William and Mary has a pretty good reputation as a school. This little incident won't help that reputation.
Notwithstanding taking my children onto two college campuses, the idea of a college week in a Fairfax County elementary school sounds ridiculous to me. I grew up in Fairfax County. College is not a question of "if". College is the thing you do after high school. You go from elementary school, to middle school to high school to college. Then you figure the rest out. I understand that not everyone in the county automatically plans to go to college, but most do, and you don't need to start pushing the benefits of college to a bunch of ten year olds. They are going to get it non-stop from 7th grade through senior year. Let them enjoy being a child for a few years. Of course, my boys will be wearing William and Mary shirts.
My boys also don't need college week. Middle will be going to the University of Miami, because LeBron James lives in Miami and LeBron James knows Middle because a babysitter tweeted LeBron about him in 2012. I have no idea if LeBron really lives in Miami. The tweeting thing is real, but I doubt LeBron even saw it amongst the millions of tweets he probably gets every year. We haven't raised the "possibility" that by the time Middle goes to college LeBron will be retired or that he may leave Miami next summer to go to another city where he can win a title. We also haven't told him that Virginia has some really good state schools and we aren't too keen on paying a private school's tuition in Florida, when he can probably get a "more distinguished" degree from a school right here at home for about 1/3 the price. That won't matter to him because he will be on a basketball scholarship, like every other average sized, suburban white kid in America. So we just let him have his dream.
Eldest is going to William and Mary or George Mason, because he understands the benefits of a good state school and wants to be close to home. After college he will be moving in next door to us. Eldest really knows how make his Mom smile.
Youngest hasn't made his college decision, yet. That pre-school isn't doing their duty. We need a college week for the pre-K crowd immediately. Time is running out.
Wow, that was a distraction. My original point was supposed to be about taking the family on educational trips, like Civil War Battlefields and the zoo. I was going to talk about fun trips, family trips, educational trips, torturing children with museums and long walks through the woods. I got distracted by the college thing. This is poetic, because during my four years in college, I got distracted by everything except the college thing. I wonder if the teachers will tell stories about their distractions during college. Somehow I doubt that they all spent all their college time in the library. What do you tell elementary school kids about college? Studying? Learning? Fun? Parties? I wouldn't even know what to say. The best part of college is something you don't want to reveal to a bunch of 5th Graders. All the more reason this is ridiculous.
However, since the school is doing it, I better get on board. I am already planning our college trip for next Spring Break. Eldest will be in 5th Grade. It's never to early to start looking at those Virginia state schools. Charlottesville, Richmond and the 'burgs: William, Black, Harrison and Fred. At least I will have a better answer to "What did you do for Spring Break?" I've got a year to come up with an answer to "Why?"
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Potpourri...or He's Back
One of the problems with doing this in my spare time is that I don't do it all the time. When work, life, kids, parental obligations, volunteer activities and spousal obligations conflict with my writing, I miss things I want to write about. Then I have to decide whether to give it no attention, little attention or untimely attention.
The past few days I have thought of several things I wanted to "observe". Unfortunately, I took our "off weekend" (meaning all we had was a soccer game on Saturday and a flag football game on Sunday) to help put the house back in order, somewhat. I also went out to dinner with the Wife, sans children. That was a rare treat. Oh, yeah, taxes were also due Tuesday, so I had to work on those a little. The end result of all this is that I find myself with several things to say, and limited time to say them. If I ignore the timing of the events that sparked my thoughts, I could probably pull off setting a couple aside.
My thoughts are on various subjects, making them even more difficult to fit into one cohesive post. I have thoughts as an individual, as a spouse, as a parent, as a sports fan and as an amatuer Olympic Blogger. I am already somewhat untimely on a few of these, and the clock is ticking on the rest. I could try to cover everything, but I would miss something. Instead, as the Olympics have been my most consistent muse for this blog, I'll go with the big Olympics story.
He's back.
"He" is, of course, Michael Phelps. The eighteen time Olympic gold medalist and twenty-two time Olympic medalist has un-retired and is swimming in competition again. To many, this is a surprise. To a few, this is expected. I fit somewhat in both categories. When Phelps retired in 2012, I believed him. He was a multi-millionaire, he had a golf show and he had spent the better part of the previous 12 years being little more than a swimmer. Sure, he had a dalliance with a bong and an education in camera phones in 2009. He also had a drinking and driving arrest in 2004. All in all, though, this is a person who needed to learn what it was to be a human, not an Olympic medal winning, world record breaking, dominant machine.
Six months ago, Phelps re-entered the US Anti-Doping Agency testing program. For a guy who had his picture taken with a bong after the 2008 Olympics, this was a pretty good sign that he intended to compete again. In that sense, his decision to enter a meet six months later is not a surprise.
Indecision on retirement is a pro athlete staple. The gold standard recently is Brett Favre. The constant yes and no from Favre for the last several years of his career, plus dalliances with the New York Jets and Minnesota Vikings, turned him into a bit of a national joke. Of course, Favre was joining a fairly large and non-exclusive club. Sugar Ray Leonard, Michael Jordan, George Foreman, Roger Clemens, Lance Armstrong, Deion Sanders, Muhammed Ali are just some of the numerous athletes who retired, then returned to the field of play. I read an article once stating that John Elway called the Broncos halway through his first year of retirement to ask if they wanted him to come back. All he did was retire after two Super Bowl victories. Not everyone can be Mike Schmidt.
Even in the world of swimming, retirement is a hard thing to do. Mark Spitz came out of retirement in 1992, but failed to qualify for Olympic Trials. Dara Torres came out of retirement in 2008 and won three silver medals. Anthony Ervin came out of retirement in 2012 and qualified for the Olympics. Janet Evans came back to compete in the 2012 Olympic Trials.
There are several theories why athletes can't just retire. One is that the "high" of competition is addictive, much like a drug. I think this explains Michael Jordan. He isn't happy unless he is crushing someone in something. He was better at basketball than anyone else, so he wanted to keep crushing people in that.
Another theory is money. Athletes stop making money when their playing days are over, unless they are in the rarified air of Michael Jordan, Arnold Palmer and George Foreman. The rare few continue to make money off their fame, most need to "get a real job." Real jobs aren't as much fun as jobs playing sports. I know, I have one. When faced with the prospect of "a real job" and getting back in the pool, or on the field or court, most people would choose the field or court. Plus, "real jobs" typically don't pay what athletes are used to, so they also have to change their lifestyle. That sucks.
Going along with the previous theory is the "love of the game" theory. Most athletes get to where they are going through natural talent and hard work. It takes a lot of hard work to be one of the best in the world at anything. You have to be motivated beyond a normal level, and most of them actually love the game. Sugar Ray Leonard was a boxer. I don't understand it, but I am sure he loved to fight people. Michael Phelps is a swimmer. He loves to swim. I understand this, because I was a swimmer once. When I exercise, I prefer to swim. It is boring, it hurts and my ego makes it difficult for me to allow anyone at the rec center pool to swim faster than me, whether or not they are wearing fins, so it exhausts me. It also makes me feel good. I feel in control in the water. As dumb as this sounds, I feel like I am where I belong. I feel free. If I could become a multi-millionaire doing it, I would not want to stop either.
The problem is that time is the only undefeated opponent in sports. Eventually, time beats everyone. Mike Schmidt retired mid-season (well, early in a season) because he couldn't play up to his standards. Michael Jordan, Brett Favre, Sugar Ray Leonard all eventually had to admit that they couldn't do it anymore. Dara Torres showed us greatness into her forties, as did Nolan Ryan. Dara failed to make the 2012 Olympics and Ryan is now the owner of the Texas Rangers. Jack, Arnie and Gary are the Ceremonial starters at the Masters. One shot each, then let the tournament begin without them.
The problem for fans is that we love greatness. No one wants to see Michael Jordan get outplayed by Tracy McGrady, or Brett Favre throwing 4 interceptions in a game. Wait, that probably wasn't the best example. You get the point, though. We want to see the great perform at their peak, then leave before they become average. Well, average for a professional at least. Fans want the Mike Schmidt ending, where the player decides he isn't great anymore and can't live with being an OK baseball player; or the Elway ending, with two Super Bowls and a Super Bowl MVP to close out nearly two decades of greatness. Fans want to see Phelps finish with four new Olympic gold medals and two new silver medals. They don't want to see him finish 7th in Olympic Trials and be "just another guy".
That ignores the love of the game. Dara Torres wanted to make the 2012 Olympics, but she was swimming to swim. Janet Evans swam in the 2012 Olympic Trials just to swim. She finished 80th in the 400 freestyle and 53rd in the 800 freestyle. She swam to swim, not to win. Maybe Brett Favre isn't just an egomaniac who needs 60,00 people screaming for or against him. Maybe he just loves to play football. I was never a football player and I love to play football.
Michael Phelps is a swimmer. I want to see what he can do. I want my boys to be able to watch the most decorated Olympian of all time compete again, just so they can remember it. I want to see the greatest swimmer ever continue to swim. I believe he could win as many as six more Olympic medals if he puts his mind to it. I also believe he could finish 7th in Olympic Trials in two years. That is fine. There is a lesson in failure, especially when someone who has been more successful than anyone else in history tries and fails.
Two years ago I started this blog and betweeen jokes about US dominance and medal counts I waxed poetic about the pursuit of excellence. That pursuit should exist in any form. I pursue excellence by writing this blog, and I believe it has improved over two years. I'm not saying it is excellent, I am saying the pursuit matters and I believe I am moving in the right direction. Others pursue excellence on the golf course, on a soccer pitch, in the kitchen, on the road, designing a website, in their office, and any number of other places. Michael Phelps has achieved excellence. He is going to have to retire, soon. Father Time will make sure. For now, I plan to sit back and enjoy the ride.
The past few days I have thought of several things I wanted to "observe". Unfortunately, I took our "off weekend" (meaning all we had was a soccer game on Saturday and a flag football game on Sunday) to help put the house back in order, somewhat. I also went out to dinner with the Wife, sans children. That was a rare treat. Oh, yeah, taxes were also due Tuesday, so I had to work on those a little. The end result of all this is that I find myself with several things to say, and limited time to say them. If I ignore the timing of the events that sparked my thoughts, I could probably pull off setting a couple aside.
My thoughts are on various subjects, making them even more difficult to fit into one cohesive post. I have thoughts as an individual, as a spouse, as a parent, as a sports fan and as an amatuer Olympic Blogger. I am already somewhat untimely on a few of these, and the clock is ticking on the rest. I could try to cover everything, but I would miss something. Instead, as the Olympics have been my most consistent muse for this blog, I'll go with the big Olympics story.
He's back.
"He" is, of course, Michael Phelps. The eighteen time Olympic gold medalist and twenty-two time Olympic medalist has un-retired and is swimming in competition again. To many, this is a surprise. To a few, this is expected. I fit somewhat in both categories. When Phelps retired in 2012, I believed him. He was a multi-millionaire, he had a golf show and he had spent the better part of the previous 12 years being little more than a swimmer. Sure, he had a dalliance with a bong and an education in camera phones in 2009. He also had a drinking and driving arrest in 2004. All in all, though, this is a person who needed to learn what it was to be a human, not an Olympic medal winning, world record breaking, dominant machine.
Six months ago, Phelps re-entered the US Anti-Doping Agency testing program. For a guy who had his picture taken with a bong after the 2008 Olympics, this was a pretty good sign that he intended to compete again. In that sense, his decision to enter a meet six months later is not a surprise.
Indecision on retirement is a pro athlete staple. The gold standard recently is Brett Favre. The constant yes and no from Favre for the last several years of his career, plus dalliances with the New York Jets and Minnesota Vikings, turned him into a bit of a national joke. Of course, Favre was joining a fairly large and non-exclusive club. Sugar Ray Leonard, Michael Jordan, George Foreman, Roger Clemens, Lance Armstrong, Deion Sanders, Muhammed Ali are just some of the numerous athletes who retired, then returned to the field of play. I read an article once stating that John Elway called the Broncos halway through his first year of retirement to ask if they wanted him to come back. All he did was retire after two Super Bowl victories. Not everyone can be Mike Schmidt.
Even in the world of swimming, retirement is a hard thing to do. Mark Spitz came out of retirement in 1992, but failed to qualify for Olympic Trials. Dara Torres came out of retirement in 2008 and won three silver medals. Anthony Ervin came out of retirement in 2012 and qualified for the Olympics. Janet Evans came back to compete in the 2012 Olympic Trials.
There are several theories why athletes can't just retire. One is that the "high" of competition is addictive, much like a drug. I think this explains Michael Jordan. He isn't happy unless he is crushing someone in something. He was better at basketball than anyone else, so he wanted to keep crushing people in that.
Another theory is money. Athletes stop making money when their playing days are over, unless they are in the rarified air of Michael Jordan, Arnold Palmer and George Foreman. The rare few continue to make money off their fame, most need to "get a real job." Real jobs aren't as much fun as jobs playing sports. I know, I have one. When faced with the prospect of "a real job" and getting back in the pool, or on the field or court, most people would choose the field or court. Plus, "real jobs" typically don't pay what athletes are used to, so they also have to change their lifestyle. That sucks.
Going along with the previous theory is the "love of the game" theory. Most athletes get to where they are going through natural talent and hard work. It takes a lot of hard work to be one of the best in the world at anything. You have to be motivated beyond a normal level, and most of them actually love the game. Sugar Ray Leonard was a boxer. I don't understand it, but I am sure he loved to fight people. Michael Phelps is a swimmer. He loves to swim. I understand this, because I was a swimmer once. When I exercise, I prefer to swim. It is boring, it hurts and my ego makes it difficult for me to allow anyone at the rec center pool to swim faster than me, whether or not they are wearing fins, so it exhausts me. It also makes me feel good. I feel in control in the water. As dumb as this sounds, I feel like I am where I belong. I feel free. If I could become a multi-millionaire doing it, I would not want to stop either.
The problem is that time is the only undefeated opponent in sports. Eventually, time beats everyone. Mike Schmidt retired mid-season (well, early in a season) because he couldn't play up to his standards. Michael Jordan, Brett Favre, Sugar Ray Leonard all eventually had to admit that they couldn't do it anymore. Dara Torres showed us greatness into her forties, as did Nolan Ryan. Dara failed to make the 2012 Olympics and Ryan is now the owner of the Texas Rangers. Jack, Arnie and Gary are the Ceremonial starters at the Masters. One shot each, then let the tournament begin without them.
The problem for fans is that we love greatness. No one wants to see Michael Jordan get outplayed by Tracy McGrady, or Brett Favre throwing 4 interceptions in a game. Wait, that probably wasn't the best example. You get the point, though. We want to see the great perform at their peak, then leave before they become average. Well, average for a professional at least. Fans want the Mike Schmidt ending, where the player decides he isn't great anymore and can't live with being an OK baseball player; or the Elway ending, with two Super Bowls and a Super Bowl MVP to close out nearly two decades of greatness. Fans want to see Phelps finish with four new Olympic gold medals and two new silver medals. They don't want to see him finish 7th in Olympic Trials and be "just another guy".
That ignores the love of the game. Dara Torres wanted to make the 2012 Olympics, but she was swimming to swim. Janet Evans swam in the 2012 Olympic Trials just to swim. She finished 80th in the 400 freestyle and 53rd in the 800 freestyle. She swam to swim, not to win. Maybe Brett Favre isn't just an egomaniac who needs 60,00 people screaming for or against him. Maybe he just loves to play football. I was never a football player and I love to play football.
Michael Phelps is a swimmer. I want to see what he can do. I want my boys to be able to watch the most decorated Olympian of all time compete again, just so they can remember it. I want to see the greatest swimmer ever continue to swim. I believe he could win as many as six more Olympic medals if he puts his mind to it. I also believe he could finish 7th in Olympic Trials in two years. That is fine. There is a lesson in failure, especially when someone who has been more successful than anyone else in history tries and fails.
Two years ago I started this blog and betweeen jokes about US dominance and medal counts I waxed poetic about the pursuit of excellence. That pursuit should exist in any form. I pursue excellence by writing this blog, and I believe it has improved over two years. I'm not saying it is excellent, I am saying the pursuit matters and I believe I am moving in the right direction. Others pursue excellence on the golf course, on a soccer pitch, in the kitchen, on the road, designing a website, in their office, and any number of other places. Michael Phelps has achieved excellence. He is going to have to retire, soon. Father Time will make sure. For now, I plan to sit back and enjoy the ride.
Monday, April 7, 2014
And a Decade Later...
Last night was the ten year anniversary of the best night of sleep of my life. I still vividly remember laying down after watching the end of Tango and Cash. Yes, I remember watching the last hour of Tango and Cash. My head hit the pillow and I was asleep almost instantly. Nothing happened until I was awakened about nine hours later by the recycling collection truck outside my house. One full night of sleep.
I remember this night because ten years and one day ago, Eldest was born. The best night of sleep in my life was the night after Eldest was born. This is mainly because I was exhausted, having been awake for about 18 hours and was coming down from a fairly intense adrenaline high. It is also possible I remember this night as the best night of sleep, because I now have three children, and for the last decade I have been consistently awakened by babies needing feeding, sick children, someone needing to be "tucked in" again, a cat randomly yowling, or any of numerous other nighttime events occuring in suburban households across America. Ten years ago last night was the second to last night I had by myself, in my house. For some reason, maybe because it was my birthday, I didn't sleep as well the next night.
Eldest was kind enough (as were both of his brothers) to be born in the late afternoon. Unfortunately, Eldest let his mother know he was going to be born at about 2 am, a mere 3 or so hours after Emeka Okafor led UConn over Georgia Tech for UConn's second Men's National Basketball Championship. That is one of many details I vividly remember from the 18 hour period before Eldest was born.
The Wife and I arrived at the hospital, through the Emergency Room door due to the time, at 5:30 am. We then spent the whole day in the room, waiting for something to happen. As soon as I turned on the Baltimore Orioles' 3 pm home game, the Wife told me to turn off the TV, because things were heating up. I was offered a ticket to that game, which I turned down on the off chance that the Wife would go into labor while I was at Camden Yards. That is another random detail I remember with great specificity.
After Eldest was born, and checked out, and toasted to an acceptable temperature, and we had a few visitors, the Wife decided to try nursing him for the first time. The two of them struggled with it for a few minutes, and I started giving advice, telling her what to do, and was about to attempt to physically assist in the process. Luckily, something in the back of my head screamed "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!" At that point, I recognized my frustration, my complete lack of helpfulness and the time. I said good night to wife and child and went home for that glorious night of sleep.
The next morning, I returned to the hospital, refreshed and excited. I was a father for the first time. I walked into the Wife's room and was met with, "YOUR SON CERTAINLY KNOWS HOW TO EAT!" Apparently, while I was watching Tango and Cash, having the best night of sleep of my life, and enjoying a relaxing breakfast, the Wife and Eldest figured out the nursing problems and he let her know that he loves to eat, for very long periods of time and quite frequently.
About nine and a half years later, we started joking with ourselves about having a "double digit" child. What does it say about us that our oldest child is now 10 years old? The Wife was a little concerned about her "baby" turning ten. I have a few friends with older children, and my nephew is going to be...REALLY? 13?...ummm, 13, in a couple of months, but I have never talked to anyone else about how it felt to have a child hit double digits. Yesterday it came and went, without incident. Even the Wife felt like it was pretty much a non-event. I guess I never talked to anyone about it, because it really isn't a big deal.
Today, I turn 42. Yes, my birthday is the day after Eldest's. The one moment that made the Wife really think yesterday was when she was reminded, by Middle, that I was 31 when Eldest was born. 42 seems a lot older than 31. It has been a decade. I didn't even put that together until Eldest pointed out that he was a decade old. I am a little over 4 decades. I don't know what I think about that. I think the last ten years have flown by, even faster than previous years. Fast enough that I don't have much time to think about it.
Ferris Bueller said, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." Pretty astute for a high school senior. He didn't even have kids. He did, however have a writer.
Happy Birthday Eldest. I look forward to the next ten years, and the next, and the next...
I remember this night because ten years and one day ago, Eldest was born. The best night of sleep in my life was the night after Eldest was born. This is mainly because I was exhausted, having been awake for about 18 hours and was coming down from a fairly intense adrenaline high. It is also possible I remember this night as the best night of sleep, because I now have three children, and for the last decade I have been consistently awakened by babies needing feeding, sick children, someone needing to be "tucked in" again, a cat randomly yowling, or any of numerous other nighttime events occuring in suburban households across America. Ten years ago last night was the second to last night I had by myself, in my house. For some reason, maybe because it was my birthday, I didn't sleep as well the next night.
Eldest was kind enough (as were both of his brothers) to be born in the late afternoon. Unfortunately, Eldest let his mother know he was going to be born at about 2 am, a mere 3 or so hours after Emeka Okafor led UConn over Georgia Tech for UConn's second Men's National Basketball Championship. That is one of many details I vividly remember from the 18 hour period before Eldest was born.
The Wife and I arrived at the hospital, through the Emergency Room door due to the time, at 5:30 am. We then spent the whole day in the room, waiting for something to happen. As soon as I turned on the Baltimore Orioles' 3 pm home game, the Wife told me to turn off the TV, because things were heating up. I was offered a ticket to that game, which I turned down on the off chance that the Wife would go into labor while I was at Camden Yards. That is another random detail I remember with great specificity.
After Eldest was born, and checked out, and toasted to an acceptable temperature, and we had a few visitors, the Wife decided to try nursing him for the first time. The two of them struggled with it for a few minutes, and I started giving advice, telling her what to do, and was about to attempt to physically assist in the process. Luckily, something in the back of my head screamed "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!" At that point, I recognized my frustration, my complete lack of helpfulness and the time. I said good night to wife and child and went home for that glorious night of sleep.
The next morning, I returned to the hospital, refreshed and excited. I was a father for the first time. I walked into the Wife's room and was met with, "YOUR SON CERTAINLY KNOWS HOW TO EAT!" Apparently, while I was watching Tango and Cash, having the best night of sleep of my life, and enjoying a relaxing breakfast, the Wife and Eldest figured out the nursing problems and he let her know that he loves to eat, for very long periods of time and quite frequently.
About nine and a half years later, we started joking with ourselves about having a "double digit" child. What does it say about us that our oldest child is now 10 years old? The Wife was a little concerned about her "baby" turning ten. I have a few friends with older children, and my nephew is going to be...REALLY? 13?...ummm, 13, in a couple of months, but I have never talked to anyone else about how it felt to have a child hit double digits. Yesterday it came and went, without incident. Even the Wife felt like it was pretty much a non-event. I guess I never talked to anyone about it, because it really isn't a big deal.
Today, I turn 42. Yes, my birthday is the day after Eldest's. The one moment that made the Wife really think yesterday was when she was reminded, by Middle, that I was 31 when Eldest was born. 42 seems a lot older than 31. It has been a decade. I didn't even put that together until Eldest pointed out that he was a decade old. I am a little over 4 decades. I don't know what I think about that. I think the last ten years have flown by, even faster than previous years. Fast enough that I don't have much time to think about it.
Ferris Bueller said, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." Pretty astute for a high school senior. He didn't even have kids. He did, however have a writer.
Happy Birthday Eldest. I look forward to the next ten years, and the next, and the next...
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
I Don't Think the Heavy Stuff's Gonna Come Down for Quite a While
It is virtually impossible to play golf in the rain without someone quoting Caddyshack. The title of this post, arguably the most famous quote from one of the most quotable movies ever, is said, by someone, as soon as the rain starts. In the movie, it is an answer to the direct question of whether The Bishop should stop his round due to weather. In life, it is usually the answer to an unasked question.
This past weekend, I played 4 rounds of golf and the only time I heard a quote from Caddyshack was driving to the course. This is probably because "the heavy stuff" started before we did. We left the house before we had confirmation that anyone was even at the course. We were able to contact the course during a stop at WaWa for breakfast, at which time we were told that we could play, "but it's like a swamp out there." That was both obvious and a slight understatement.
I first posted about my golf weekend last year. I have played this weekend for more than 10 years. We play in late March for various reasons. The weekend started as a Masters watching and playing weekend. However, we soon realized (duh?) that playing 2 rounds of golf leaves very little time for watching the Masters. Not to mention that 30-40 X-Box Nascar races also eat into golf watching. So we moved it away from the Masters. We settled on late March to take advantage of the end of "winter" rates and play before spring sports start for the kids. When this started, only one person had kids. Now we all do and we all have various spring commitments.
The biggest problem with a late March weekend is inconsistent weather. I chuckled as I wrote that, because "inconsistent" is a generous way to say potentially brutal. This year, weather ranged from grey and mildly chilly to "Where's Noah and that boat?" We drove to the course in steady rain and chilly weather. We had sprinkles, wind, downpours and cold for 24 hours. It took five runs of the dryer to dry all the clothes when we got home from the course.
Sunday brought a whole new level of inconsistent. We started in cloudy, chilly weather, with some wind, but no rain. For most of the first round I was pleased with the weather. For the last 45 minutes of the first round, I was soaked and freezing. It sleeted for a while. We played the final three holes, including a 560 yard par 5, into a driving rain. When I stepped into the course restaurant to get lunch, the bartender actually gasped. He then asked if we were at the turn. We told him we finished 18 and he congratulated us on finishing. Upon being informed that we were not finished and we had 18 more holes to play, he laughed and said, "You are as crazy as those guys who played 36 yesterday."
"Yeah. That was us."
After lunch, we headed back out in relatively benign conditions. Once again, things picked up on the back 9 and my partner and I finished playing into a cold, driving rain and 20-30 mile per hour winds. There was no reference to Caddyshack. There were no "heavy stuff" jokes or claims that the Good Lord would never ruin my best game ever. There was no mention of the Dalai Lama - big hitter, the Lama. There was no Cinderella story. There were 72 holes. Cold weather. Every shot landing in a splash, whether there was a hazard or not. And animals, scurrying 2 by 2, to some unknown destination, away from the golf course.
As I look back on my weekend, I am amazed at a few things. First, for as bad as the weather was, and at times it was miserable, we were not the only people on the course, either day. Although, we did close the place down both days. The one guy who had to stay until we finished did not look pleased.
Second, under what conditions would they not let us play?
Third, and most amazingly, we spent a great deal of time discussing whether this weekend was the worst weather we have played in. This was not a runaway, as we have played in some pretty tough weather in the past. Sunday night, when only three of us were left, we agreed that this was the worst weather for four full rounds. We've played in colder weather, windier weather and rainier weather. We have never played 4 rounds over two days with this combination and no let up.
Last year I posted about an "unbreakable tradition." That explains, in part, why we played in such conditions. We also play because that is why we are there - to play golf. If they let us on the course, we will play. Ultimately, though, I think the conditions make the weekend more special. This weekend was brutal. I loved it. Most of the reason I loved it was because I endured it with friends. I endured it with a select group of people who will also endure such conditions. Honestly, other people who played on one of those two days were amazed that we put in 36 holes both days. We went extreme even on other golfers, even on other extreme golfers. There is something special about that. And every year, we get to do it again, compare it to past years, and relive memories...and war stories.
This past weekend, I played 4 rounds of golf and the only time I heard a quote from Caddyshack was driving to the course. This is probably because "the heavy stuff" started before we did. We left the house before we had confirmation that anyone was even at the course. We were able to contact the course during a stop at WaWa for breakfast, at which time we were told that we could play, "but it's like a swamp out there." That was both obvious and a slight understatement.
I first posted about my golf weekend last year. I have played this weekend for more than 10 years. We play in late March for various reasons. The weekend started as a Masters watching and playing weekend. However, we soon realized (duh?) that playing 2 rounds of golf leaves very little time for watching the Masters. Not to mention that 30-40 X-Box Nascar races also eat into golf watching. So we moved it away from the Masters. We settled on late March to take advantage of the end of "winter" rates and play before spring sports start for the kids. When this started, only one person had kids. Now we all do and we all have various spring commitments.
The biggest problem with a late March weekend is inconsistent weather. I chuckled as I wrote that, because "inconsistent" is a generous way to say potentially brutal. This year, weather ranged from grey and mildly chilly to "Where's Noah and that boat?" We drove to the course in steady rain and chilly weather. We had sprinkles, wind, downpours and cold for 24 hours. It took five runs of the dryer to dry all the clothes when we got home from the course.
Sunday brought a whole new level of inconsistent. We started in cloudy, chilly weather, with some wind, but no rain. For most of the first round I was pleased with the weather. For the last 45 minutes of the first round, I was soaked and freezing. It sleeted for a while. We played the final three holes, including a 560 yard par 5, into a driving rain. When I stepped into the course restaurant to get lunch, the bartender actually gasped. He then asked if we were at the turn. We told him we finished 18 and he congratulated us on finishing. Upon being informed that we were not finished and we had 18 more holes to play, he laughed and said, "You are as crazy as those guys who played 36 yesterday."
"Yeah. That was us."
After lunch, we headed back out in relatively benign conditions. Once again, things picked up on the back 9 and my partner and I finished playing into a cold, driving rain and 20-30 mile per hour winds. There was no reference to Caddyshack. There were no "heavy stuff" jokes or claims that the Good Lord would never ruin my best game ever. There was no mention of the Dalai Lama - big hitter, the Lama. There was no Cinderella story. There were 72 holes. Cold weather. Every shot landing in a splash, whether there was a hazard or not. And animals, scurrying 2 by 2, to some unknown destination, away from the golf course.
As I look back on my weekend, I am amazed at a few things. First, for as bad as the weather was, and at times it was miserable, we were not the only people on the course, either day. Although, we did close the place down both days. The one guy who had to stay until we finished did not look pleased.
Second, under what conditions would they not let us play?
Third, and most amazingly, we spent a great deal of time discussing whether this weekend was the worst weather we have played in. This was not a runaway, as we have played in some pretty tough weather in the past. Sunday night, when only three of us were left, we agreed that this was the worst weather for four full rounds. We've played in colder weather, windier weather and rainier weather. We have never played 4 rounds over two days with this combination and no let up.
Last year I posted about an "unbreakable tradition." That explains, in part, why we played in such conditions. We also play because that is why we are there - to play golf. If they let us on the course, we will play. Ultimately, though, I think the conditions make the weekend more special. This weekend was brutal. I loved it. Most of the reason I loved it was because I endured it with friends. I endured it with a select group of people who will also endure such conditions. Honestly, other people who played on one of those two days were amazed that we put in 36 holes both days. We went extreme even on other golfers, even on other extreme golfers. There is something special about that. And every year, we get to do it again, compare it to past years, and relive memories...and war stories.
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