Go Hoos

I’m a Demon Deacon living in the land of the Wahoo. It’s not a new situation for me – as I recounted in another post a couple of years ago, though I’m a certified Charlottesville “townie”, I guess I’ll always bleed gold and black.

Ironically enough, a friend of ours owns the unrivaled mecca for all things U.Va. Mincer’s is a U.Va institution right up there with the Rotunda and the White Spot. My earliest memory of Mincer’s was when U.Va won the men’s ACC basketball championship in 1976, and “ACC Champion” t-shirts from the store flooded the halls of my middle school (and claimed a prize spot in my dresser drawer). It’s now thirty-odd years later, and with four kids who are as firmly ensconced in their allegiance to U.Va as I was at their age, we’ve given the store our fair share of business over the years. We therefore didn’t think twice when Mark asked us if we wanted to be in a commercial.

We showed up at the store at the appointed time, and were all given different U.Va shirts to wear. Actually, the kids got shirts – despite the muggy temperature, I was handed a heavy hooded sweatsht. Maybe it was payback for my asking if it would be OK if I wore a Wake Forest belt for the shoot!

When the time came for what the kids and I were convinced would be our quick ticket to Tinseltown, we were told to stand in a clump outside the store, and “act natural”. How do you get a 6-year-old to act natural when he has a big television camera pointed at him? We did our best, taking comfort in the assurances that they would only be using a few seconds in the commercial, if that. And then, it was over, and they were on to the next group. No one even asked for our autograph….

We were all prepared to wind up on the cutting room floor. But, we did wind up getting our 1.5 seconds of fame (upper left-hand corner):
I’m not quitting my day job, and the phone hasn’t exactly been ringing off the hook with agents wanting to sign on the next child star. But, it was fun.

So head on down to Mincer’s, or check them out online. Just don’t buy any of the “No Wake Zone” buttons!

Hard to Believe

How did I ever get so lucky?

I don’t know.

Sometimes she doesn’t either.

Maybe someday we’ll figure it out.

But today, I’m just grateful for 18 years and looking forward to a lifetime more.

Happy Anniversary.

Mr. Empathy

Despite a work day filled with meetings and deadlines, my mind last Thursday kept coming back to two more important things – passing the learner’s permit test, and making the lacrosse team. It was, of course, my 15 year old daughter and not me who was actually having to go through these trials. And, I had every confidence that she would do just fine. My thoughts, though, kept going back to 1980….

I showed up for varsity football tryouts my junior year of high school knowing that I had my work cut out for me. While I had done fine on the 9th grade team two years before, I had decided (for reasons I can’t begin to explain) against playing JV my sophomore year, so I was an unknown quantity for the coaching staff. Lacking that year of experience and visibility, and without the size, speed, or talent to make up the difference, the results were predictable. After two weeks of two-a-day practices in the steamy August heat, the head coach called me into his office, thanked me for my efforts, and told me there weren’t enough jerseys to go around.

One of those “character building” experiences, I guess.

Several months later, shortly after my 16th birthday, I arrived at the DMV to take my road test and get my license. I didn’t expect any problems. With all of the misplaced confidence typical of a 16-year old boy, my plan was to do the test, smile for my picture, tuck my newly-minted license into my wallet and hit the road.

Funny how running one little stop sign during a road test can put a crimp in one’s plans. I was one of several who was cut from the football team. I was the only one I was aware of (the only one in the history of the world, as far as I knew at the time) who failed his road test. More character building.

Fast-forward to last week. I dropped my daughter off at school on Thursday knowing that the day would have her facing both her learner’s permit test and the announcement of lacrosse “cuts”, and I knew from my own experience how she might be feeling when I picked her up after practice. Just call me Mr. Empathy. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to relate my own experiences to help her through hers.

As it turns out, my worries were misplaced. She aced the test and made the team. So, I can safely shelve the memories of my high school traumas – at least those two, anyway – for another couple of years.

Her 13 year old sister will be at the DMV before we know it.

Anchor Leg

My alarm clock is going to ring in 5 hours and hopefully I will get up (and stay up) and run. There are only 54 days left until my next running adventure, and I need to make use of every one of them.

The highlight of my running day tomorrow, however, will be my daughter’s first cross country meet of the season. She has been tapped to run the anchor leg on one of the relay teams, and I don’t know which of us is the more nervous.

Probably me.

Once in a Lifetime

The first day of school, 2008.

Kindergarten to high school, with a couple in between.

I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but how did I get here?

What Language Do You Speak?

And now for something completely different:

A few years ago, my wife and I participated in a session, along with other couples from our church, on Gary Chapman’s “Five Love Languages”. The gist of the concept is that people in a relationship primarily express their love (and need love expressed to them) in one of five ways – words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, or physical touch.* While we all need and use all five languages, one of the five is typically our primary language – we need it above all others. If your primary “love language” is quality time, all the gifts in the world aren’t going to be enough. If your primary language is physical touch, acts of service just aren’t going to cut it for you.

My primary language, far and away, is words of affirmation. Mark Twain once said “I can live for two months on a good compliment.” I can’t last nearly that long. This isn’t based on a sense of insecurity; rather, I think it is grounded in an appreciation for the power of words. I have always found words, particularly sincere words of affirmation (or condemnation) to be exceedingly powerful. I’m as guilty as anyone of dashing off a flippant comment or engaging in inane small talk, but if I pay someone a compliment, it’s sincere. And, I receive compliments (and condemnation), rightly or wrongly, in the same fashion.

The challenge, of course, is in making sure that you are using the right language for the right person. For example, my wife and I speak different “languages” – she thrives on acts of service, while I need words of affirmation. The compliments that I pay her are frequent and heartfelt, but they may be received as just “words” if unaccompanied by action. Similarly, I know of no one who “does” for others like my wife – whether it be for me, our kids, friends, the PTO, or whoever else she may come in contact with – she has a well-deserved reputation for going above and beyond. If the recipients’ primary language is something other than acts of service, however, they may not recognize the meaning behind the action.

So why am I writing about this? Mainly as a reminder to myself. But, I think it’s worth sharing as well. Here’s a quiz if you want to see what makes you tick.

*With the possible exception of physical touch, I believe the “love languages” idea extends beyond “love” relationships – it’s valid for our communications with friends and co-workers as well.

6 Things

I’ve been in a blogging drought lately.  If good intentions counted for anything, I’d be on my second or third book by now.  But, they don’t, so I’m not. 

To break the dry spell, I’ll hit each of the 6 topics in the masthead – family, faith, politics, current events, career, and outdoor adventures. 

Family first.  As it should be.  On Sunday we took our 3 girls up to Pennsylvania for two weeks of summer camp.  We couldn’t be any more pleased with this camp.  The girls love it, and have a wonderful experience there every year.  That said, while they are away my thought patterns tend to run something along the lines of how-are-they-doing-what-are-they-doing-will-there-be-any-letters-in-the-mailbox-today-how-many-days-before-we-pick-them-up.  I should really be a joy to be around in 3 years, when our son is old enough to join them.

Faith.  There’s an interesting flap brewing between James Dobson and Barack Obama. It seems that Dobson has taken issue with a 2006 Obama speech in which Obama pointed out that Leviticus suggests that slavery is acceptable but eating shellfish is sinful. Obama also noted that Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount isn’t exactly in line with Defense Department policy. Expect finger pointing and mischaracterizations to ensue – on both sides.

Politics. Obama has asked his contributors to help Clinton retire her campaign debt. Sorry, no can do.

Current Events. George Carlin’s passing over the weekend reminded me of going over to my neighbor’s house to listen to his new Class Clown album. As the album was released in 1972, this meant that I was somewhere in the neighborhood of 9 years old at the time. Suffice it to say that my friend’s parents ran a somewhat looser ship than mine did.

Career. I learned today that a former colleague has moved his family to one of the area’s most exclusive country club communities. His reputation, at least when I worked with him, was that of a mediocre performer who exceled at playing the corporate game. I’d like to be able to congratulate him on his success and move on, but this is going to take some time to digest.

Outdoor Adventures. I sent out my annual email to organize a whitewater rafting trip to the Gauley River. I have a talent for making things more complicated than necessary, and I did a bang-up job this time by inviting input on changing some of the aspects of the trip. I wish I hadn’t opened that Pandora’s box because predictably, responses are all over the map. It’s hard enough to find a weekend that suits everyone; I can’t imagine what possessed me to add additional variables to the mix.

Well, that’s it. All 6 topics covered. I’ll try for a less disjointed post next time.

Run Like a Girl

My daughter, not me!

It’s been hard not being able to run over the past few weeks. Fortunately I can run vicariously through my daughter. She ran an 8K last weekend which I couldn’t have run even if I was healthy – an all-female event aptly called “Run Like A Girl”.

As with most races, there were many shapes, sizes and experience levels represented. There were, however, some clearly fast runners there, and this combined with the unfamiliar course had Morgan a bit nervous at the start.

 

 

 

Once they took off, though, Morgan looked strong and determined, and I had a feeling she’d do well.

It was a trail race on an out-and-back course though the woods, largely inaccessible to spectators, so for half an hour or so after the start it was just a bunch of guys (husbands, boyfriends and dads) milling around the finish area. Before too long, though, the lead runners started emerging from the woods. I was a vocal cheerleader, and yelled extra loud for several women who (like Morgan) were wearing Charlottesville 10-Miler shirts.

Then I saw her, in the middle of a small clump of women coming around a bend out of the woods. “C’mon Morgan, you’re looking strong! Push hard for the final kick!”

She gave a wave without breaking stride and turned on the jets. One advantage to being small is that it’s easy to squeeze your way through a crowd! Squeeze she did, passing all of the women in her pack, and came in 3rd in her 19-and-under age group.

 

 

 

Run like a girl indeed!

Last Lecture

Perhaps you have already seen Randy Pausch’s “Last Lecture”.  Millions have.  If not, I encourage you to do so.

The video below is an abridged, 11-minute version.  If you want to see the original 76 minute version, go to his web page.

 

Too Quiet

The old cliche in the Western movies, typically uttered before the bad guys attack, is that “it’s quiet … too quiet.”  I’m not expecting an attack, but “too quiet” describes my house right now.  Jennifer and the kids are up at her mom’s in Pennsylvania for spring break, so it’s just me, the dog and the cat. 

That means no chattering, no squabbling, no Hannah Montana music, no Rescue Hero videos, no reminders about getting homework done or putting clothes away, no piano practicing, no “vroom vrooms” or lego towers crashing down the hall, no calls of “Mommieee” from across the house. 

Just the clicking of the keyboard and the hum of the refrigerator.

Too quiet.