No. 58 -- Fussin' At The Ballgame

I darn near started a riot tonight.

For those of you who know me, you know that 999,999 times out of 1,000,000, I'm as mild-mannered as they come. But flip that switch -- and I can count on the fingers of both hands the times in my life that it's happened -- and I get truly angry. Tonight was one of those nights.

For the last several years, I've been helping coach Adam's baseball team. We were getting a no-hitter pitched against us tonight and they were scoring a lot of runs. That's fine. That stuff happens. The son of the other team's head coach hit a shot back to the pitcher's mound, and our guy made an amazing diving stop. I still don't know exactly how he came up with the ball.

After making the stop, though, he threw the ball over the first baseman's head. Safe. That's fine. That stuff happens. But this is where it got ... well ... interesting.

The other team's coach marched to the third-base line and started berating his son for not hustling down the line to first base. The kid was safe and we were getting trounced already, but he wasn't quick enough to suit his father. The guy was screaming, just like he did last year when he shoved -- yes, shoved -- his son into the dugout after walking a couple of our guys.

Did you hustle?!? 

Did you hustle?!?

 And before I knew it ... before I had a chance to fully consider what I was going to do or say ... I was screaming right back at him from our dugout. 

He was safe! Now shut up!

I think I surprised him. I know I surprised myself. He yelled back and said that he was just trying to get some effort out of his player. A woman on their side of the field shouted that if we had better coaching, we might win a game once in a while. A few on our side of the field started firing right back. His third-base coach told me to mind my own business, that they would coach their team and that I should worry about coaching mine. Good point. But in that particular instance, the way their team was being coached stunk.

To be honest, I respect the fact that their team knew exactly what to do with the ball when they got it. They fielded like Gold Glovers. Some of the balls they hit traveled so far that they should've had flight attendants. But for the sin of not hustling, this one kid got screamed at by his coach.

And the coach was his own father.

Here's the deal. I love Adam with every ounce of my being, but if he inherited even a fraction of my athletic ability, he'll be lucky to run to first base without tripping over his own feet. That said, I also love Jesse with all my heart and he couldn't care less if he ever attends another sporting event, much less plays in one.

Should the kid have run to first as hard as he could? Sure, he should have. But if the effort wasn't there, the time and place for correction was in the dugout, out of earshot of his teammates and certainly everybody else who happened to be at the game. There was no good reason whatsoever to show the kid up like that. The young man may make the major leagues some day, and he may not. My hope is that he enjoys the game.

Adam had the last word on the matter after we got home. He came up to me and hugged me as hard as he could.

Dad, he said, I'm glad you don't act like that guy.

That's good enough for me..

No. 57

It seems that Jeanie doesn't want to go out to eat because she's already hunkered down for the night. She's taken her makeup off, brushed her hair out and broke out the ol' sweatpants.

The rest of us have voted for Mexican -- no surprise there, we always vote for Mexican -- and she still doesn't want to go because, in her words, she'll "have to get fixed up again." As always, Adam came up with a solution.

C'mon, Momma. Just go like you are. People have seen you lookin' funky before.

No. 56

Eleven years ago today, Jesse and Adam Houston entered the world. My life was about to change in ways that I could not possibly have imagined.

I'm afraid that they've taught me a lot more than I've taught them. They've taught me the difference between being a father and a daddy. They've taught me that the things I once thought most important aren't really that big a deal after all. They've taught me that no matter how badly things might otherwise seem to be going, there's always hope in a hug.

They've taught me what a farmer must feel like trying to herd chickens. They've taught me the value of teamwork with a spouse ...

If you don't come get these kids and do something with them, I swear I'm gonna pinch their ever-lovin' heads off ...

More than anything else, Adam and Jesse have taught me the meaning of a deep and abiding love that's far beyond description. They are my heart, my reasons for being. Happy birthday, boys.

No. 55

After my run this morning, I got back to the house and Adam greeted me at the door with one of those kinds of wicked giggles that makes it oh-so clear that he's up to something. He handed me a piece of paper that he'd been holding behind his back.

You might want to sit down for this one ...

Yeah ... so ... it's a good thing that he considers me a "super daddy." Past that, I'm pretty much at a loss for words!

No. 54

Let it be here and forevermore known that I might just very well be the greatest father in the world. You ask why? Fine. Here's Exhibit A, my friends.

The boys didn't want to go to bed Friday night, so I made them a deal. As long as they watched "The Andy Griffith Show," they could stay up as late as they wanted. At first, my bright idea went over like a lead balloon. Words can't fully describe their horrified reactions, and when I announced that the shows were in black and white, it really hit the fan.

Still, the deal was on the table. Andy Griffith or bed.

For a little perspective, most of you know that I truly do love TAGS. After Jeanie and I were married, I made it my mission in life to tape every episode. I had it down to a science. I'd check the TV listings a week in advance and set the VCR accordingly. It took more than two years to track down each show, and to this day I can remember the show that completed my set -- it was the one where Opie was conned into selling the miracle salve.

When the DVDs came out in season sets, I bought them -- and when the complete series came out in a mega-collection, I got it, too. I've made the pilgrimmage to the Andy Griffith Museum in nearby Mt. Airy, where I met Betty Lynn, the actress who played Barney's love, Thelma Lou. She's the cats.

I won't even go into the summer I taught Sunday School lessons centered around various episodes of the show, or how I've offered to trade almost anything up to and including my children for a radio once owned by Frances "Aunt Bea" Bavier. So far, no dice.

So, yeah, I kind of like "The Andy Griffith Show."

Still fussing, Adam loaded the DVD. Any show that centers around Barney is pure gold, so I started off with the one where he joins the choir. Within minutes, Adam and Jesse both were laughing and giggling like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen on television. Come to think of it, it probably was.

The show ended, and I asked if they wanted to watch another one. They couldn't wait, and I knew, right then and there, that I had 'em hooked. Best of all, when they finally did go to bed Friday night, Adam had one last parting request.

"Can we watch more Andy Griffith tomorrow?"

Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss ...

No. 53

Adam has won a nationwide writing contest sponsored by Scholastic!

He wrote a letter from the viewpoint of a child who had gone through Hurricane Katrina, and the details he used impressed the judges. Just imagine ... someone, somewhere within Scholastic, publishers of Harry Potter in the United States, has heard of my son! I wonder if he could possibly put in a good word for me?

Believe it or not, when Jeanie texted me to absolutely, positively head to school to have lunch with the boys -- Adam had something REALLY big to tell me -- I was working on putting together some writing contest entries of my own. Hopefully, some of Adam's winning mojo will rub off on his old man.

That's not all. Jesse has started a newspaper for his class. Other kids in Mrs. West's room submit stories, and he has placed himself in charge of laying it all out. When he has a "good" day, Jesse gets to work on the paper.

How about that?

No. 52

After very nearly forgetting my Friday lunch with the boys at school last week, Adam left me this reminder over my computer monitor this morning:

Adam and Jesse are 10 and in the fifth grade. There's coming a time, sooner rather than later I'm afraid, when having dear ol' Dad show up at school for lunch won't be the cool thing to do any more. So while I'm still welcome, I'm still there!