Feeling the Road as I Do

“Sing with me, sing for the years
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears
Sing with me, just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away…”

—Aerosmith, Dream On

The San Francisco Giants overcame a 0-5 first inning deficit to ultimately beat the Los Angeles Dodgers 9-6. And we were there.

Well, at least for the first five innings we were there. At that point the score was tied up at 6-6 and the girls made it as long as they could before we headed home.

It was an amazing experience for all us – especially the girls – since it was Little League Day at AT&T Park and Santa Cruz represented well among many other Bay Area cities. Beatrice and I wore our team’s shirts and hats (the Rockies) and Bryce wore the hat and shirt from our T-ball team last year (the Reds). The Mama wore the Reds hat as well.

The Little League teams and their families got to march through the stadium before the game started. The girls were thrilled looking over the field and up at the surrounding stands.

“Where are we going to sit?” Beatrice asked as we walked along the stadium’s perimeter.

“Way up there,” the Mama and I answered, pointing to the upper deck above the third base line.

“Mama, I don’t want to sit up there,” Bryce said. “That’s too high up. I don’t want to fall.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You won’t fall. We all have seats to sit in.”

“It’s too high!”

Our parade ended and we exited the field. We then proceeded on the winding upward walk to our section. The girls ran ahead of us, energized by the ballpark and all the people and kids. The Mama and I walked behind deciding on what we wanted to eat for lunch. We rounded another bend in the walkway and fell silent.

Maybe I have another 20 years of good road ahead, I thought. Twenty healthy, productive years where I can provide for my family so that we can do things like this. The Mama probably has even longer, being five years younger than me and statistically speaking outliving me in the long run.

Maybe I’ll be able to keep running after them, at least until they’re out of the we-need-to-run-after-them phase. Maybe later on in my 70’s, 80’s and beyond, I’ll be in good health still. Maybe at some point I’ll see them start their own families if they so choose and still be able to shuffle after grandchildren. 

Maybe. God, I hope so. 

Man, what a buzz kill I am. Let’s play frickin’ ball!

The week before we had family visiting during Spring break – Amy’s Dad and Step-mom – and the girls were so excited. They couldn’t wait to show them they’re favorite toys and games and anything else they could think of in the moment.

The day before they arrived, Beatrice said, “Wait, how come they’re still alive? They’re so old.”

Beatrice is our literal inquisitor, not meaning any harm, but sometimes hitting the big-question sensitivity from out of the awkward blue.

“They’re not that old, Beatrice,” the Mama said. “They’re doing fine and will be here tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. I can’t wait to see them!”

We all hugged and laughed and I thought, Daddy’s old getting older too, Bea. Mercy me…

Having children later in life and being older parents has never bothered me that much, only because we’ve worked hard to take care of ourselves and so far benefit from the best of our gene pools. And we both feel great. However, the imaginary infinite road we told ourselves we had throughout our 20’s, 30’s and even in our 40’s, is now gone for good.

Gone like the crushed cartilage cleaned out from my right knee when I had torn meniscus surgery nearly two years ago. I feel the difference every single time I work out, especially when I do my once-per-week beach run. It doesn’t hurt, but it’ll never be the same again either. And I certainly don’t want a complete knee replacement anytime soon (reminds my lovely physical therapist, the Mama).

Yes, I feel every inch of the finite road these days, my suspension nearly shot. And with more friends and family losing loved ones of late, mortality is a familiar tune hummed frequently to myself.

I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, although feeling the road as I do, I take nothing for granted. When even dropping the girls off at school before leaving on a business trip becomes as much as a memorable moment as walking in a Little League parade at a big league ballgame. Or when Beatrice hits the ball off the pitching machine during a Little League game and Coach Daddy’s arms fly into the air to cheer, overcoming her fear of playing. Or when Bryce shouts “winner, winner, chicken dinner!” when playing family bingo, but later on leaving poop in the toilet -- again.

All that has happened and all that is yet to be. Taking the scenic route makes it all worthwhile. The laughter and the tears. Until the Good Lord will take us away. Amen.

In and out of the strike zone: the mindful presence of parenting

Second to football, I really miss playing baseball. I only played it as a child from the minor leagues through early high school, and then many years later was a player-coach for a co-ed softball team, where we stunk up the field with more fun than you can shake a Lupus-booger-covered finger at (Bad News Bears reference).

Ironically though I'm not really a sports fan as an adult male. Love sports, not a sports fan. But when I read great stories about a down-and-out pitcher like Jonathan Sanchez who throws the Giants' first no-hitter in 33 years, it's pretty dang exciting and I want to be a fan.

Really guys, I do.

As of this posting, the Giants are only 6.5 games in back of the Dodgers, not bad for a motley crew that wasn't supposed to mop the on deck circle with anyone this season.

So many lovers of the game have written about it metaphorically, how the game mimics life; so much nothing and then "pitch-whack-run-slide" and it's a ballgame.

I've been a busy little "bea" the past two weeks with the SHRM conference and then our fun-filled-family 4th extravaganza in Carson City and Lake Tahoe.

But when we got back, my Comcast high-speed Internet connection pitched me a change-up and then a slider.

It frickin' killed me basically. It's my lifeline to work and play and when it's down I'm crippled. And here's where I'm going with this post: I wasn't proud of how I reacted to it, particularly in front of Beatrice.

Yes, she's only 9 1/2 months old, but as she sat there playing with her toys, Daddy K tried to fix it after spending two hours on the phone with Comcast. Then he laid on the living room floor, punched it repeatedly, sweating and cursing like an Oakland Raiders fan.

I like to talk about myself in the third person for the prouder moments. Hey, everybody needs to vent a little, but every parent needs to keep themselves in check.

Especially parents for the sake of their perceptive modeling children. The same kids who hear their father say the "f-word" and start dancing madly around the house like a happy fan after a three-run homer, repeating it over and over again.

We have a conscience. We are the role models. We have a higher power. We are the parents. We are personally responsible. We have spiritual guidance to keep us focused in the present on being present and reacting more appropriately for situations out of our control.

Let's use the baseball metaphor here however weak it may end up being (sigh). Each and every moment has a strike zone and you're in the batter's box.

Inside the strike zone - if things are in your control, and you can remain in the moment and stay focused, then you can connect bat to ball and get a base hit or even hit the ball out of the park. Otherwise if you strike out, then at least you can go down swinging with family pride.

Outside the strike zone - if things are out of your control, and you can remain in the moment and stay focused, then you can take your base and wait it out, whether the ball equals four balls or it hits you. Otherwise if you charge the mound and clear the benches, then that's what the family is going to remember for years to come.

In parenting as in life, it's not just whether you win or lose - which I would argue certainly has it's place - it's how you play the game.

Go Giants!