Lunch Meat

This is a true story.

It’s about 12:15 in the afternoon on a Tuesday in May 1988. A TV News Reporter and Cameraman are sitting in the station-issued Chevy Blazer news vehicle in the drive-through lane of a fast food restaurant. One of the major chains- I can’t remember which one – aren’t they really all the same anyway? They’re ordering lunch – the typical meat-on-a-bun fare. A staple in the diet of a mid-market news crew that’s always on deadline. It has to be quick as they are on their way to yet another boring interview on another boring story.

A call comes in over the two-way radio (this was in the day before cellphones were standard issue). “Unit six, please respond.”

The cameraman picks up the radio. “Unit six, go.”

The guy on the news desk on the other end of the radio says, “Fam, we need you to head up to Belmont, we have a report of a vehicle hit by a train.”

“Roger that,” the cameraman says. “Do you have the coordinates?”

“Not yet, we’re working on it,” the desk responds. “Start rolling that way and we’ll get back to you.”

“10-4,” the cameraman replies. “You’ll have to reschedule our interview.”

“Got it,” says the desk.

The cameraman sets the radio handset in the cradle as they pull up to the window and pick up their lunch.

The reporter says, “I’d rather do this anyway than interview that city councilman.” A pause. “It’s a good thing we got something to eat first.”

The cameraman replies, “Belmont is about 45 minutes from here. If we spend 30 minutes at the scene and take 50 minutes to get back to the station, we’ll be fine for the early news.”

They head out toward Belmont. It’s mostly on the freeway, out of the city and into the rural area north of town. Mid-day there isn’t much traffic. It’s a nice spring day, a bit on the cool side but with the promise of summer just around the corner. Bright blue skies. A nice day for a drive – albeit toward what is probably a tragic incident.

Along the way the news desk calls back with two pieces of information. First are the coordinates – the crew now knows exactly where to go. The reporter pulls out the map (again, this is the pre-GPS era) and becomes the navigator for the cameraman.

The second piece of information is the outcome. “This one’s a fatal, guys,” the news desk says. “One victim.”

“Roger that,’ says the cameraman. The mood turns somber, but the sense of urgency increases. Now this will probably be the lead story on what had been, to this point, a light news day.

The crew drives on, exiting the freeway and turning toward Belmont, ending up on a two-lane blacktop through gently rolling, wooded hills. After 10 minutes or so, they crest a small rise and see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles ahead. As they get closer they can see the train crossing. The arms are down, lights still flashing. Two police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck are off on the shoulders of the road.

The cameraman parks the vehicle, goes around to the back and pulls out his gear. The reporter joins him, notepad in hand, and together they walk up to the crossing. Glancing about, the cameraman notices they are the news first crew to arrive.

They approach a police officer standing at the crossing. There are two tracks that cross the road here. There is not much traffic on this road, but occasionally a car will approach from one side or the other. The officer is here to wave the cars through, after looking down the tracks, as the crossing arms are locked down while the scene is investigated.

There’s no elegant way to ask. The reporter says to the officer, “What happened?

This is background only. The crew wants to get a sense of what’s going on before taping any interviews. The cameraman has set up his camera on the tripod and is getting some establishing shots of the scene as the reporter talks to the cop.

The officer says, “A vehicle was hit by a northbound train going between 55-60 miles an hour. There was one occupant in the vehicle, who is deceased.”

Hearing this, the reporter glances up the tracks to the north. The cameraman swings his camera up that way, resets his focus and zooms down the line. There’s not much to see, though, as the tracks begin to curve to the east and out of sight.

The officer continues, “The train had no warning. The vehicle pulled onto the tracks while the arms were down. Impact occurred before the engineer could hit the brakes.”

The cameraman is beginning to see, through the camera lens, debris along the side of the tracks. It’s difficult to tell exactly what he is seeing. Nothing he’s seen so far appears to be parts of the vehicle, but there is definitely ‘stuff’ along the tracks, beginning about 50 yards from the crossing and continuing until the track bends out of sight into the trees.

The reporter asks the cop, “How could the driver not see the train coming? The crossing arms were down at the time, weren’t they?”

The officer responded, “According to the train engineer, the arms were down. The vehicle was going around the arms when it was struck by the train.” He paused, the continued, “Apparently another train was on one of the tracks as the vehicle approached the crossing. The first train passed, but the crossing arms did not go up. The driver of the vehicle tried to go around the arms and was struck by a second train, coming from the other direction, on the second set of tracks.”

The cameraman picked up his camera and tripod and walked back to the spot where the vehicle would have parked as it waited for the train to go by. He panned his camera slowly, from what would have been the driver of the vehicle’s point of view. It became clear to the cameraman what the vehicle driver must have seen. The first train, heading south, passed on the near set of tracks. As it went by, it screened the driver’s view of a northbound train as it approached. He wouldn’t have heard it, assuming what he was hearing was the sound of the train that just passed.

The cameraman picked up his gear, walked around the crossing arm, and stood in the road between the two sets of tracks. Looking south, where the train would have been approaching, he tried to imagine the surprise, shock and horror the driver of the vehicle must have felt as he saw the train. He realized he was standing in precisely the spot where the train would have struck the vehicle.

The death zone.

This was the first time, he realized, the cameraman had stood in the exact spot where less than two hours ago another person had lost their life.

He was no stranger to death, of course. He had come to learn the old adage, ‘if it bleeds, it leads,’ is true in local TV News. He had seen his share of dead bodies, crime scenes where murders and grisly accidents had taken place. But this was the first time he stood on the exact piece of ground where someone took their last breath, saw their last sight, thought their last thought – in this case, most likely, “oh, sh--!!”

This cameraman was an introspective, contemplative sort. It was a sobering experience to stand here and record the images that would tell of the last moments of this person. At the same time, he had been around the block long enough to have developed a method of coping, of doing his job and not letting his emotions get in the way.

He finished getting his shots, picked up his gear, and made his way back to the reporter who was still talking to the cop. The two had been joined by the Lieutenant, who was supervising the scene. He agreed to speak on camera, giving the crew the requisite ‘sound bites’ that would be used to tell the story. He repeated the basic facts – a vehicle went around the railroad track crossing arms, which were functioning and in the down position during the accident. One train had passed the crossing, the crossing warning sign arms did not go up, the vehicle attempted to go around the crossing arms and was struck by a second train coming from the opposite direction. One vehicle occupant, killed on impact.

The reporter asked, “What type of vehicle was it?”

The police Lieutenant said, “I can’t release that information until the victims’ next of kin has been notified.”

After a couple of additional questions the interview was completed. The cameraman turned the camera off and asked the cop, “Can we hike down the track and get some footage of the scene?”

The officer replied, “You can go as far as you like, but the train is almost a mile away. This train was heavy and traveling at a high rate of speed. It takes a train like that a long time to stop, even when the brakes are locked up. It’s quite a hike to get to the engine.”

The cameraman and reporter conferred. “We don’t have time to get that footage and still make the early news,” the reporter said. “Let’s just go a little ways doen the line, get some debris footage and head back to the station.”

The officer said, “Be my guest, but watch where you step.”

The reporter said, “What do you mean?”

The officer said, “Off the record?”

“Sure,” said the reporter.

“The vehicle that was hit was a catering truck,” said the officer, “one of those ‘mobile lunch wagons’ that visit factories and manufacturing sites. It basically exploded on impact. There’s all kinds of lunch meat and food scattered down the line.”

He paused, took a breath and continued, “We aren’t sure we’ve found all of the body parts of the victim. We don’t have enough to make a positive ID. We assume there was only one victim because the company dispatcher told us who the driver was. We’re looking right now for something we can make a positive ID with – some dental work, a hand we can get a finger print from, something like that.”

“So, if you want to go down there and shoot some video, go ahead. But please don’t touch anything. And as I said, watch where you step.” He paused, and said, “and I wouldn’t do any snacking if you find something you think came from the truck.”

The cameraman and reporter look at each other.

“Let’s just get some shots from here and get going,” said the reporter to the cameraman. “Do you have enough footage?”

“I need a bit more. Give me a minute or two,” the cameraman replied.

The reporter went back to the news vehicle and got inside. The cameraman took his camera and shot for another two minutes or so, packed up and went back to the news vehicle. After stowing his gear, he got into the driver’s seat, started up, turned the car around and began to head back to the station.

They drove in silence for awhile – the reporter thinking about how to tell the story, the cameraman thinking about what he had seen and felt.

After a few minutes, the reporter reached into the lunch bag he got at the drive through earlier that day. He reached into the bag and pulled out his half eaten sandwich. He looked at it for a moment – the cameraman wondering if he would actually take a bite of the cold, soggy meal. Instead, the reporter looked up and said, “There’s a moral to this story, you know.”

“What’s that?” said the cameraman.

Taking a bite, through a mouthful of food, the reporter said, “It’s better to EAT the meat than BE the meat.”

It’s Great to be The Family Man.

If you enjoyed this post, visit The Camping Machine)to read more like it.

Cool Summer

It’s been quite a summer for The Family Man as well as for the Mann family. How to recap an entire summer in a blog post? Let’s try.

In my last post I described our first trip of the summer in The Camping Machine. Over the rest of the summer we took six additional trips. When all was said and done we visited three National Parks and four state parks, a beautiful mountain lake and a very nice local campground. Chris and Tommy really enjoy camping and have become very good travelers in the car, as many of these trips required several hours over the road. For those of you who have not pulled a large trailer over mountain passes, it adds quite a bit of time to the journey. The good news is you can make a ‘pit stop’ almost anywhere – and believe me, we have.

We took quite a few pictures, but I’ve become a bit leery about posting photos of the boys on this site. Without going into much detail, a couple of emails I’ve received have made me reconsider posting those photos. Which is sad, because I’ve taken some very nice pictures that would add interest and context to this post, but you’ll just have to use your imagination.

Some of you may remember I signed up to coach Chris’s soccer team. We had a great spring soccer season. Chris had a lot of fun, he scored a dozen or so goals and his team went (unofficially) 6-2. I say unofficially because this is a recreational league, and no scores are standings are kept. Still, it’s hard not to keep a running mental tally as the games go on of the score and which team had more goals.

But there’s more to the soccer story. Tommy turned four years old this summer, making him old enough to play in the city rec soccer league just like his older brother. Chris also has a summer birthday, and he turned six. So just as Tommy finally became old enough to play, Chris turning six moved him up into the next age group in the same program. That means both boys were going to play soccer in the fall session, running from mid-August through mid-October, but they could not be on the same team. Chris asked me if I was going to coach his team again, and of course I said yes. Then Tommy says, “You’re going to coach my team too, aren’t you, Dad?”

Well, how could I say no?

So the past seven weeks I’ve coached two soccer teams. Two different weekly practices, two games on Saturday. It’s been very busy. It’s also been a lot of fun, even if it has been hectic at times. This Saturday will be the last game of the season for both boys, both teams. Form a win/loss perspective this ‘season’ has been a disaster. Chris’s team won their first game 2-0, and has lost every game since. Tommy’s team has done even worse- they have not won a single game, and they have failed to score a goal in 6 of the seven games. They have been steamrolled every time. Now I see why we don’t keep an official score and standings for these leagues – the teams that are just aging into a new age group get crushed during that first season.

I took a new job over the summer. It’s a much better position for me, a much better fit for my skills and temperament than my last position. The unfortunate thing is that this new job requires a 30-mile commute each way. So I am enjoying my work more but I am missing out on family time. Not the happiest situation, but life is a series of trade-offs.

We had to spend a small fortune to have new windows installed and the stucco finish on our home removed and replaced. We were having some leaks around some of the windows. Once the windows were installed and the stucco removed we discovered the builders had used substandard material when building the house, so we had to replace nearly all of the wood outside the frame of the home. The project took six weeks and completely emptied our savings account. The good news is we prevented serious mold problems from developing in the home – which would have exacerbated Tommy’s asthma problem significantly.

MBW had one of those ‘zero’ birthdays last month – you know, a birthday when you turn a year that ends in a zero. I won’t way which one, but you can probably guess. Actually, if you were to see her you would guess 10 years to low, so she continues to look fabulous. I will be the first to admit that I am the last person you should ask for advice regarding the big issues of life, but guys, listen to me on this one – choose your life partner carefully. If you marry well, anything else that happens to you will be easier to deal with if you have selected the right partner. Conversely, if you choose your life partner poorly, no other run of good fortune will compensate for a bad marriage.

I continue to struggle with the same themes/issues I have talked about in this blog for the past year or so. A middle-aged man on the downhill side of life expectancy, working in Corporate white-collar America, blessed with good health, a wonderful family and a decent income; but feeling trapped in the industrial bureaucracy, beginning to think he has forfeited a chance to do something he is passionate about. Wondering, in fact, what he is passionate about. Between the job, family responsibilities and a failing struggle to stay in shape, finding there is not any time to ponder what he really wants to do. Worried the sand is slipping ever more quickly through the hourglass, trying (sometimes unsuccessfully) not to dwell on the many missed opportunities in his life and hoping not to miss the next opportunity that may or may not present itself. Comforted by the fact he is doing the right thing (most of the time) for his family, wondering if that is all there is left for him.

So you can see it has, in fact, been a busy summer.

One of the other themes I’ve touched on in this blog is the desire for our family to be a family that does things, not one that watches things. That’s why we bought The Camping Machine and made a strong effort to get out and go places this summer. I feel good about what our family did this summer. I really hope that once our kids are off to college (hopefully on some kind of scholarship!) they’ll look back on these years and remember the trips we took and the fun we had. They may not remember this summer specifically - watching Old Faithful erupt, running their hands over dinosaur bone fossils, standing on a ledge overlooking the Colorado River 1,000 feet below. They’ll have the photos, if not the memories. I hope they will look back at what we did, and want to continue to be active and engaged in life, not passively watching life go by.

That’s one reason why I’ve not been a more active blogger. I’m trying to do things, and that leaves less time to write about things. And I don’t seem to be able to sit down and write a quick update post and think anyone will care enough to read it. I’ve tried to make each of my posts substantial, to tell a story, convey an idea or thought. That sort of writing takes time for a blockhead like me. When I first started this blog it was new and exciting, and I was passionate about it. But it has become more and more difficult to keep up, and the passion has waned. While I’m not prepared to give this up altogether, and do hope to post more frequently than I have recently, I really don’t know how often or substantially I’ll be able to post.

So for those of you have continued to check back once in a while, thank you. I’ll keep the blog up on Blogger and try to post when I can. I’ve long since stopped checking the site stats every day like I used to. Way back when, in the days when Waiter Rant linked to this blog, I have about 250 readers a day. It fell off and held steady at about 50 or so a day for a long time. Last week it was down to 8. If I posted more often, it wouldn’t have dropped off so much.

But honestly, I’ve been too busy to worry about that. Still, for those of you who continue to check in every so often, thank you. If I don’t think I’ll be able to post again, I’ll take this down so you don’t have to wonder. As long as it’s still up, it is my intention to try to post something when I can.

So – until the next update,

It’s still Great to be The Family Man.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Yes, it’s me. I know, I haven’t written in a long time. Months. Okay, over a year. I feel bad about it.

But the reason is, well…you’re dead. And it feels sort of weird to be writing to a dead person.

Yes, it’s been just over a year since you died. Memorial Day 2005. Sometimes if feels like it was just yesterday – other times it feels like it was a lifetime ago.

This Memorial Day we visited your gravesite. Yes, you were cremated, and your ashes were scattered into the ocean at sunrise, just as you had asked. I made sure we honored your request. But I kept a small amount of your ashes and had them buried here, so we'd all have a place to go to remember you.

Memorial Day will never be the same for me now, and this year was the first year to actually understand how much it has changed. This year we took the boys camping in The Camping Machine – just like last year. Remember last year? Well, no, I guess you wouldn’t, but I’ll never forget it. We had just returned from camping, our very first trip with the Camping Machine. We were unloading our gear when my phone rang – my sister telling me the doctors told her you had hours to live.

Do you know what it’s like to get a call like that? Not very much fun. Even though I’d sort of been expecting something like that, given how your health had been going downhill, nothing can prepare you for the call when it actually comes. And of course, it only gets worse from there. Wondering if I was going to make it to your bedside, 2000 miles away, before you passed away. Cross-country red-eye flights are lousy anyway – even worse when you’re racing the Grim Reaper. Finally getting there with, as it turns out, 90 minutes to spare.

90 minutes. Do you remember anything I said to you? Did any of it makes sense? By then, or course, you couldn’t talk. The doctor told me you could hear, and comprehend, but I wonder. I wonder if you heard me, I wonder if you understood.

90 minutes should be long enough to say goodbye – well, it is, but it isn’t. Because I can barely remember anything I said to you, my last words to you. I think for a time there I was babbling about inconsequential stuff, just talking, making no sense. How do you prepare to say your final goodbye? How do you sum up a lifetime of shared experience, a lifetime of thanks, in 90 minutes? What can you possibly say?

Well, I don’t know – all I know is that I didn’t do it.

In the past year I’ve thought of all the things I wish I had said. So many things I wish I could have told you. How grateful I am for all that you did for me over the course of my life. All the times I should have said “Thank you.” All the times I should have said something…but was too busy, too selfish, too preoccupied with my own business.

Yet, somehow, I think that wherever you are right now, you understand. Because you always did understand me. That’s the only thing that gives me some measure of comfort; that because you know me so well, you know that I did the best I could.

So a year has gone by. I still catch myself once in a while thinking, “I’ll have to tell Mom about this,” only to realize I can’t call you or send you photos. It happens less often these days, but it still happens.

Mostly I want to tell you how the boys are doing. I want to tell you about how well Chris did in Kindergarten. It’s hard to believe he’ll be going to First Grade this fall. As a former teacher I know you would appreciate hearing about his time in school. He really is very bright and was near the top of his kindergarten class. He’s a social kid and has made lots of friends. I want to tell you about how well he did in soccer this spring…and how much fun I had being his coach. The Mighty Green Dragons finished 6-2 in the spring season, and we’re looking ahead to the fall season.

I want to tell you about Tommy, our wild child, the boy with the mind of his own. I can almost hear you chuckling now. I know you would admire his spunk. You’d probably say, “That’s the Irish in him,” and I’m sure you’re right. As difficult and trying as he can be, the truth is I admire his fierce independence myself – I’m not going to try to break him. And I want to tell you how excited he is that this fall he will finally get to play soccer too, just like Chris, complete with a real uniform, his own team and real league games. Even though he won’t be in the same age bracket as Chris, he’ll finally get to play instead of watch. And yes, I’ll be his coach too.

I want to tell you about our camping trips. I know you would love to hear the stories from Chris and Tommy, telling you all the neat things they have seen and done on our tips. They really love hooking up ‘The Camping Machine’ and going someplace to see and do new things. They loved our recent trip to Dinosaur National Monument, and in fact they are still roaring like T-Rexes. Now they are anxiously awaiting our trip to Yellowstone National Park over the 4th of July – they want to see the water that shoots up into the air right from the ground. I promised them we would be a family that would do things together, and I think you’d be pleased that we’re doing just that.

I want you to know that I married very well. MBW is a wonder mother to the boys and a great partner for me. I wish you could have had the happy and fulfilling marriage that I am fortunate enough to have. We’re building avery nice life together.

Even my Old Friend is still hanging in there. Can you believe my cat is 19 years old? Sure, he can’t jump up on the bed anymore, and he sleeps a lot, but the vet says he’s healthy and he’ll still take a swat at Tommy if he pulls his tail too hard. You always had a soft spot in your heart for animals – your own and anyone else’s. I’m sure you’d be glad to know my cat gets lots of love.

Yes, I wish I could tell you all these things. But I wonder if you already know. What is it like, where you are? Are you able to look in on what we’re doing? Does it work like that? Does your spirit drop by from time to time, taking a look around, keeping up with how your son and grandkids are doing? Or is it really just over?

I kind of always thought you’d find a way to make your presence known, to somehow let me know you were out there, There was only one time that I had that feeling, and even then I wasn’t sure. I think Tommy got a stronger sense of you. Maybe he has more of that spiritual awareness about him. Or maybe he's more like you - that indomitable spirit. I don't know.

Anyway, Mom, I just thought I’d drop you this note to let you know I’m thinking about you. I just want to let you know we’re all doing well. My knee is healing, slowly but surely. It still hurts but I’m walking around without a brace and hopefully I’ll be mostly healed by this fall. The job is kind of a drag, but it pays reasonably well and, after all, I’m working to live, not living to work. I’m reasonably healthy, the family is healthy, we’ve got food on the table, a few dollars in the bank and health insurance. Life is good.

I’m blessed.

But I still miss you. I hope you can see what we’re doing. I hope you can see that I am trying very hard to be a good dad, to raise my boys right, to be actively engaged in their daily lives. To be a dad that makes a difference. I am an Ordinary Man, mom – nothing special. But I have an extraordinary family, an extraordinary change to make a difference in the lives of two very special kids. And I’m going to do the very best I can.

Someday, hopefully not anytime soon, it will be my time to go. Perhaps then we’ll get together and I’ll be able to tell you all these things. I hope, if it works out that way, you’ll be able to say, “I’m proud of you, son. You were a great dad.”

That would mean more than you could know.

Thanks for everything, Mom.

Thanks for listening.

It’s great to be The Family Man.

Dragons devour Tigers

Yes, the sun did rise Saturday morning. The beast did awaken. And the Mighty Green Dragons did roar.

They also fed.

They fed on charbroiled tiger.



Okay, you know I'm kidding here. Just having some fun. But the truth is the Mighty Green Dragons did play Saturday against the Tigers. And even though in this league there is no official scorekeeping, no standings are kept, and coaches are specifically told the point of the game is fun, not winning and losing, it was impossible not to notice that the Tigers did not score a single goal in 40 minutes of play, while the Mighty Green Dragons had half a dozen by halftime.

In my pep talk before the opening kick I told the Dragons we wanted to do two things - do our best and have fun. Not to beat down the other team, not to go out there and win the game - do our best and have fun.


Less than two minutes after the opening kick, taken by the Tigers, Chris scored the first of his two goals, the first goal of the season for the Dragons (yes, as the coaches son he got to be one of the four starters in the opening game). And from there, well, one of my two pre-game objectives had been met - the kids were definitely having fun.

As a parent, much less the coach, it's almost impossible not to be aware of how many goals your kid scores. Chris had two in the first half, I know that. But I'm not sure how many the Dragons had at the end of the half - it was at least six and probably more.

At halftime I told the kids I was proud of them for playing hard and doing their best. I asked if they were having fun and they all said yes.

The second half was more of the same. Chris didn't score, but one boy on our team had four goals himself. As a team we must have had another four on top of that. I'd love to say it was the skill and preparation of the coach. I'd love to say it was the strategic game plan put in by the coach. But the truth is, the kids ran hard, played with enthusiasm - and maybe the ball just seemed to bounce their way. When the game mercifully ended the score, if it had been officially kept, would have been something-teen to zero.

When it was over I gathered the Dragons on the field to lead them in the post game cheer. You know it - "1, 2, 3 - Good Game Tigers!" The kids all shook hands with the Tigers, and parents from both teams made a 'tunnel' for all the kids to run through.

I was wishing I hadn't torn up my knee. While it was so much fun to be out there, coaching the team, coaching my son, I couldn't keep up with the action on the field as much as I wanted to. At this level, the coach is on the field, following the action and calling out encouragement to the kids on the field. The coach has to tell which player to throw the ball in from out of bounds, who gets to do the goal kick, and tell each child where to stand every time there is a stoppage of play. Crutching my way up and down the field made that more challenging.

But I wouldn't have missed this for anything.

And though I write this as though the 'Dining on Roast Tiger' is the thrill of victory, it really is about participating with my son in something he loves. He is excited to have me as the coach of his team. I'm excited to participate with him, to show him that I want to share these experiences with him.

As we gathered for our post-game treat, one of the Dragons asked me, "Coach, did we win?"

"You know, Steve, we didn't keep score," I said, "But I think we did win.'

"Oh," he said, "that's good.'

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

"Yeah!"

"That's great, Steve," I said. "See you at practice Thursday!"

He ran off. I'm glad he had fun.

But I guarantee you he didn't have as much fun as I did.

It's fun to be the coach.

And it's great to be The Family Man.

Game on

Tomorrow morning the sun will rise.

Just another Saturday morning.

The sun will rise over the mountains, keeping our home and others along the eastern bench of our valley in shade in the early morning. The sky will be bright blue as a beautiful early spring day dawns in our fair city. The half-million or so residents of the valley will rise and go about their business - some to work, others to play. All in all, it will appear to virtually everyone another normal Saturday morning, welcome not only for the start of the weekend but also for the return of fair weather after a cold, dark winter.

Yet this particular Saturday will be different.

For tomorrow a mighty beast will awaken. A creature will be unleashed; a creature whose power and might this valley has never seen.

It will appear in a city park, a normal city park where families will gather with their children to enjoy a wonderful spring morning. Among the many youth soccer fields set up in the park on this fine day, the beast will emerge, prepared to devour all who stand in its way.

Yes, the Mighty Green Dragons will take the field in the city 4-6 year old youth soccer league.

Youth soccer will never be the same in our town as the Mighty Green Dragons have their way over all who would stand before them on this and seven subsequent Saturdays.

Mommies, spare your children from the carnage.

We are the Mighty Green Dragons. Hear us ROAR!

It's great to be The Family Man (aka coach of the Mighty Green Dragons)!

Extraordinarily ordinary

I recently received the following anonymous comment to a post I wrote a few months ago:

“Ordinary and extraordinary are relative words. For you a house, a happy family and a steady job is an ordinary life. Ask the boat people desperate to come into the USA what an extraordinary life is, and chances are they will ask for maybe a fraction of what you take for granted in your everyday life. Or closer home, ask the dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane - for her, yours is the kind of life she can only live in her dreams.”

When I first read it, I felt bad.

The more I thought about it, the less bad I felt.

But I would like to take this opportunity to explore this idea a bit more.

First, I stand by my post. I am an ordinary man. There is nothing about me that is particularly unique, special, or remarkable. I say that not in a self-deprecating way. I think I have pretty good self esteem. I like myself, I’m proud of who I am. When I look in the mirror I think, other than being old and a bit heavier that I’d like, I’m a pretty decent guy.

My wife and kids love me. I’m reasonably intelligent and hard-working. At every job I’ve ever had, when I’ve moved on people have told me they’ll miss me. So I must be making a positive contribution with my labor in those places I have worked, and gotten along with my peers in the process. In other words, I don’t stick the knife in someone’s back to get ahead.

I go to church on a (somewhat) regular basis. I give a bit to charity. When the neighborhood kid comes to the door selling something for a fundraiser, I buy it.

I live in a modest home in a middle class neighborhood, indistinguishable from any home within 5 miles. Yes, I do have a hot tub and a camping machine – things not found at every house in my neighborhood, but not as uncommon as you might think.

My point in all of this? For where I live, in the time I am living, this constitutes ordinary.

As the anonymous commenter noted, ordinary is relative. I agree with her or her on that point. The ‘boat people’ or the ‘dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane’ would, no doubt, gladly trade places with me and count themselves extraordinarily fortunate.

I’ll take that one step further. It’s my unscientific opinion that if it were somehow possible to quantify the lifestyle of every single person on earth, I would probably be in the top 20% in terms of material possessions and overall quality of life. I don’t mean this in a bragging way. I’m just assuming that my USA middle (perhaps upper middle) class life, in purely economic terms, provides more security, comfort, material resources and opportunity than 80% or so of everyone else on this earth.

Surely, you’d say, that is more than ordinary.

And measured in those terms, I guess I’d agree.

What I was trying to accomplish in the original post was less about material possessions and more about achievement. I began by describing the time I met Peter Jennings, a man I admired and respected. I believe he was an extraordinary man.

Extraordinary is Abraham Lincoln. Mahatma Ghandi. Madame Curie.

Albert Einstein, born many years ago today, March 14.

Pick your hero – we all have them. People who are extraordinary stand above the rest of us – not by the things they have, but by the things they do. They influence more than the lives of family and friends – they change the world, or contribute something meaningful to society at large.

Last time I checked, I hadn’t done anything like that.

In my post I said, “My little life, pedestrian as it is, suits me just fine. There are those moments, and I’ve shared a few in this blog, when the very ordinariness of my family life is extraordinary to an exponential degree. A hug from Chris. A giggle from Tommy. A knowing glance from my wife. Each one, exceptionally ordinary. Each one, exceptionally extraordinary. And absolutely priceless.”

Where I take issue with the comment is the ‘take for granted’ part. I think I conveyed that by calling out the things that mean the most to me as priceless. Not what I own, but what my family gives me.

Sure, it helps that we are economically comfortable. But I don’t take that for granted either. I’m sitting here tonight, one day removed from surgery to repair my ACL and MCL. My knee, quite frankly, hurts like hell. I won’t walk without crutches for about 4-6 weeks, and I won’t jog for four months. Yet I am grateful that I have health insurance. I’m grateful I live in a place with quality healthcare. As I limp around the house, I’m grateful I can walk to the bathroom – unlike my mother, who spent the last 25 years of her life in a wheelchair, unable to use her legs due to an accident in her own home.

I will be the first to admit I am fortunate. I’ve done nothing to deserve what I have. And I could lose it all tomorrow. As I mentioned in this post, I’ve seen a few examples of how quickly fortune can change.

No, I’m not a boat person. I’m not a ‘dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane’ – in fact, I don’t even know what that means.

What I am is ordinary. And very grateful to be exactly that.

You know, by now, what I say.

It’s great to be The Family Man.

Snow Men Again

We’re continuing the skiing instruction with Chris and Tommy, and we’ve been making great progress.

It’s interesting to me how the boys’ personalities are and are not reflecting in their approach to skiing and their progress. Tommy, the defiant one, the boy who will swing his little fist at you for the slightest perceived transgression or slight, is a cautious, deliberate skier. He goes back and forth across the hill slowly, carefully, really carving his snowplow turns. He listens carefully to our instructions and asks for feedback – “am I doing it right, Dad? Like this?”

Chris, the sensitive, considerate, thoughtful boy, flies straight down the hill, barely turning, on the very edge of control. He cares little for instruction, barely acknowledges it, and is all but dismissive of any attempt to help him.

Since my last skiing post we’ve skied every Saturday and Sunday. We’ve progressed from the rope tow to the chairlift, and we’ve stopped using the ‘racer-chaser,’ the vest/leash device that allows a parent to ski behind a child and keep them somewhat in control. Both boys have mastered the art of the snowplow and can proceed down the easiest green run at our favorite ski mountain. MBW will closely follow one boy; I’ll follow the other, calling out instruction and/or encouragement, as the boys navigate their way down the hill.

Today was going to be our best day yet. In the morning we swung by the local ski shop and bought helmets for everyone – the boys, MBW and me. The boys had noticed helmets on other skiers and thought they were ‘cool’ – something I didn’t expect, but decided to capitalize on. I’ve been concerned that on the green runs served by the chairlift the boys might get hit by someone who’s lost control or is going too fast. Though I’ve never worn a helmet skiing, I think it’s a good idea, and we decided to lead by example and wear them ourselves.

The weather was great as we hit the slopes.

We posed for a photo near the top of the run before heading off. Chris and Tommy picked up right where they left off, skiing with confidence, having fun. The first run was a great success.

The second run started off a carbon copy of the first. Chris led, with me close behind. He smoothly skied the first section of the run, which includes a short but reasonably steep section (for green runs) and headed out to the flatter section. Spying a rise on the side of the run, he headed in that direction, off the groomed portion toward some trees. As he went up the side of the rise he began to lose momentum, so I moved to come up behind him, straddle him, and set him back on the right course. Just as I reached him, my skies wide apart, he turned sharply to the right trying to get off the rise. I turned as well, scooped him up in my arms, but my left ski did not follow my right and we crashed.

As we went down I shielded Chris as best I could, holding him close to my chest. My left knee wrenched hard as my binding did not release. Chris took a face full of snow, but otherwise was unhurt. He dusted himself off and said, “Let’s go, Dad!”

My left knee would not support my weight.

MBW and Tommy were beyond us now, having somehow passed us on the slope without seeing our crash, well on their way to the bottom of the run.

I tested my leg again, hoping somehow I could get down the hill with Chris. The pain was too intense, and I was concerned I’d fall again, perhaps do more damage.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” asked Chris.

“I’ve hurt my leg,” I said. “I’m not going to be able to ski down. Do you think you can follow the trail down to the lift and find Mom?”

“Sure, Dad,” he said with confidence. And off he went.

I wound up riding down the hill in a sled pulled by the Ski Patrol snowmobile. The Medical clinic at the ski resort gave me the happy news – torn ACL and MCL. My ski season is over, and I have orthopedic surgery and several months of rehab ahead of me.

The irony, as I sit here in the La-Z-Boy recliner, ice on my knee in a full length splint, is the safety precautions we took just today. Helmets! We’re the leading edge of safe skiing! Responsible parents modeling correct behavior for our kids! And here I am, a very experienced skier with many double black diamond conquests to my credit, tearing my ACL and MCL on a green run. Excuse me – turn away if you’re offended by profanity, but I have to say it – A FUCKING GREEN RUN.

I’m so disappointed for Chris and Tommy. They had been doing so well, having so much fun, really enjoying the activity and proud of themselves for their improvements. Now the ski season is over for all of us – the best part of the season for beginners/young kids. The weather is nicer this time of year, the snow still good. But MBW cannot take both boys by herself – what if something similar should happen to her while she had both boys? No, we can’t take that chance.

At least we’ve made progress for building on next year. And in a few weeks, soccer will start. Chris has signed up, and as I mentioned in this post, I’ll be his coach.

Which, incidentally, the meeting for rookie coaches is next Saturday.

I’ll look great hobbling in on my crutches.

It’s great to be The Family Man.