Safe, But Still Very, Very Out

My dad, a man who captained his cross-country team in high school and even flirted with the idea of continuing his running career in college, has adopted the exercise mantra of "Five miles or five minutes, whichever comes first." Somehow after 20 years of strict adherence to this policy, he still maintains a rather slim figure and a full head of hair. OK, that last part may just be a personal grievance. Anyway, I bring all this up because, sadly, I'm falling into Middle Aged Man's (fellow Founts of Useless Knowledge will recognize this Mike Myers "SNL" character from the early '90s; my dad and I watched one of the skits together and the nickname stuck) mindset. Especially after having my right knee scoped back in 2001 as a result of the pounding my legs took running track and cross-country in college, I just have not been able to get myself back in the exercise routine that characterized my younger days. I played all kinds of basketball, soccer, and baseball growing up and then ran track and cross-country in high school and at Ohio University (hey, Coach Banton needed somebody to pick up all the cups out of lane one at the end of practice at OU, and I was happy to oblige.......hahahaha). The surgery helped put the final nail in my running coffin, and so I've really only had sporadic addictions to exercising on the bicycle and putting in laps in the pool. Well, a couple of years ago, I began a seasonal series of once a week exercise excursions as part of an adult softball team. No, not "adult" as in we had to wear special plastic covering before each game began, but "adult" as in, "Yeah, I think I could make it over to catch that ball, but it would require diving, and, well, I'm not 18 anymore and I make it a practice not to dive unless the landing area is a pool of appropriate depth."

Even though this exercise was weekly, I was always quite humbled and a bit ashamed at how easily winded I would get just playing softball. I mean, come on, we weren't exactly giving ol' Jennie Finch a run for her money. Anyway, I had been playing with the same group of guys for a couple of years, and toward the end of the second spring session this year, I had somehow convinced our coach/manager/supervisor to let me play catcher. Indeed, the only left-handed catcher in the whole league. Again, with a piece of Useless Knowledge: when I took my turn as the backstop, my mind wandered back to a guy named Benny Distefano who caught a bit for the Pirates back in the early '90's and was, like me, a southpaw. Well, as luck would have it, I really felt like I was coming into my own on the last day of the season. We always played a doubleheader each Monday night, so I was especially jazzed that I was playing so well in just the first game of the evening. I still remember the foul ball sent straight back from a batter early in the game that came precipitously close to eliminating any hopes of fatherhood I might still have. Of course, I was caught (pun intended) off guard and didn't make the play. Shortly after said foul ball, another ball came back, and with visions of testosterone-mad Kevin Mitchell dancing in my head, I snatched the tip bare handed to end the inning. Yes! I thought, Katybaldcoach has hit the big time! I legged out a single in our half of the inning. Riding my newfound feelings of softball uber-grandeur, I went to third on one play, and sensing a close play, executed one of the ugliest slides ever seen in any level of softball. My left foot was actually perpendicular to the ground. I look back and wonder how in the world I contorted my body into such a position. Anyway, as I slid into the base, the ball was overthrown, so officially, I was declared safe. However, just after the ball passed, I felt a sensation in my lower left calf that could be best be described as someone beaning me with the ball even though I knew the ball was nowhere near me. Inexplicably, I blurted out, "Who hit me?" reminiscient of Forrest Gump when he got shot in the buttocks. Why did I say this? I haven't the foggiest. The first thought I had was of Middle Aged Man circa 1991 when he and my sister and a couple of other kids were fooling around on Memorial Day playing softball. After scampering/running/moving with purpose to second base, MAM pulled up lame. On the morrow he knew something was definitely wrong, and sure enough, the good doctor had ripped his Achilles. Surgery followed, several weeks of crutches, and of course, MAM being MAM didn't do his part on the whole rehab thing, and thinking of the oh, so attractive scar he still bears just added to my mind's ominous meanderings. Anywho, since I didn't have a full time job this year, and since I don't live in Canada, I have no medical insurance. So as I'm flashing back to that not so frabjous day in '91, I'm also thinking, "How in the world do I pay for a surgery with no insurance? Is it time to give up a kidney?" Somehow I hobbled off the field and took refuge in the bathroom. With all these not so happy thoughts running through my head, I came the closest to blacking out than ever before in my life. Looking like I had taken shrapnel from an enemy mortar attack on the streets of Kabul, I dragged my leg back to the dugout and mumbled something to the coach about taking myself out of the game so I could get home and give myself the Old Yeller treatment. I decided to try and drive myself home from the ballpark. I called Pops as I began the commute, and Dad, who will never be employed by the Hallmark company, seemed quite certain that I had ripped my Achilles as well. Honestly, no pain was ever felt, just some really strong stiffness. Somehow I did complete the drive home and did so without ever taking off my cleats from the game. Cleat driving is never advisable even on two good legs, so I was really red-lining on the Stupid Meter with that decision. Of course, I'm not exactly the greatest when it comes to being proactive with any situation regarding my health, so I had no ice packs or heating pads at home. However, I did have a large cooler, and decided to draw on my knowledge gleaned from therapy sessions with the good folks of the Ohio University athletic training staff. I dumped all the ice I had in my freezer into the cooler and filled the rest of the cooler with water. My very own ice bath was born! Ah, sweet numbness settled in within minutes.

Also going through my head was what to do about work the next day. I had recently begun a long term sub position at a junior high in Katy filling in for a 7th grade math teacher. I knew that if I took a day off, I'd throw out any hope of pulling down long term sub pay and how would this look in the eyes of the school's administration if the sub needed a sub? So, I propped up the leg on a pillow and tried for a good night's sleep. I don't know if "good" could describe that evening's slumber, but I was able to hop into school the next day. I told the students my condition was to be blamed on those stealthy Viet Cong, but I think the reference was more than their 13 year old minds could bear. Of course, as a teacher, there was no chance I was going to be able to rest the leg during the day. I made it through the school day on Tuesday, made it through a shift of tutoring at Huntington, iced the leg vociferously that evening and made it through the school day on Wednesday. However, after another tutoring shift Wednesday afternoon, I thought I was going to have to go all Aron Ralston on my busted leg. It. was. throbbing!!! I think it was Wednesday evening when I finally said to myself, "Self, you can plainly see that this is quite an unpleasant physical condition, so why don't you ask the nice school nurse if she has any ideas or can at least let you borrow a heating pad?" Fortunately, I listened to this wise self-admonishment and was able to procure a heating pad from said nurse the next day. The results of the heat made for an extremely frabjous day! My "shrapnel shuffle" remained quite pronounced through the end of the school year but much more manageable. Admittedly, I did harbor thoughts of getting myself a nice XL 350 scooter with a nine volt a la George Costanza in a memorable "Seinfeld" episode. Alas, I was not working at Play Now but at a public school, so the scooter idea was a no go. Unfortunately, I never was able to give the leg the rest it needed until the school year ended at the first of June.

I did visit a RediClinic in HEB the last week of school for an "official" diagnosis. Fortunately, my near death experience turned out to be nothing more than a strain. The doctor/nurse/shaman just told me to keep icing, heating, and elevating for treatment. Still, it was quite humbling, and, honestly, a bit embarrassing to realize that I couldn't withstand even an hour of sustained exercise without thoughts of a physical armageddon almost knocking me unconscious. I mean, was it really that long ago when I could go out for eight or ten or 12 mile runs or hour plus long bike rides? "Five miles or five minutes?" Really?! Thanks, Dad! hahahaha

I guess the lesson to be learned from all of this is that maybe the vast majority of today's American youth actually have it RIGHT: there's something to be said for consuming large quantities of Chee-tos, communicating willy-nilly with friends and strangers on various and sundry forms of PDA's and cyber resources, as well as enduring mind numbing hours of video games and TV shows. Absolutely none of these activities can even remotely cause a strain, sprain, tear, or break of any part of the body (well, at least not below the waist).

Baytown

It's strange what memories from your childhood stay with you. For instance, even though my family probably only visited our relatives in the tropical paradise of Baytown, Texas, about a dozen times during my adolescence, there are certain parts of the town that still hold a special significance for me.



My parents were authentic high school sweethearts. They both graduated from Lee High School back in the '60's. My dad grew up in Tennessee and moved to Baytown around his junior high years, but I believe all of my mom's time until she went to college was spent in ol' Baytown. For many years, Baytown was a pretty hopping place. Oil was big in town, and the industry employed many Baytown-ites. My mom's dad worked for Exxon and actually did quite a bit of travelling overseas with them. My dad's dad taught English at Lee High School from 1955-81, so both families were comfortably middle-class. Mom's sister and her daughter as well as Mom's grandparents also lived in town as well as her uncle and his boys, and my family's trips to Baytown would usually serve as a mini family reunion of sorts since for most of my childhood, we lived in Alabama and Ohio, and trips to see the relatives were not frequent occurences. Until I graduated from college, I can't remember flying on a plane more than about two times. I guess it's the mind-set my dad was instilled with, but whenever we visited the Baytown Gang, we always drove. Scratch that, I should say, my dad always drove.



610 Peggy, 312 Scott, and 1511 Echols: These are the addresses for my great-grandparents as well as both sets of grandparents in Baytown. Until maybe the late 1980's, Baytown was a fairly successful suburb of Houston. However, the last 25 years or so have not been so kind to the old town. During my last several visits, I have seen so many boarded up businesses and store fronts. Most of these are in the older part of town. However, there's a restaurant my grandmother likes to take me to when I visit that is in old Baytown. To give you an idea of the slang Nana still holds on to, she still uses "trades" to describe the purchases she would make when visiting a grocer or furniture store. Sometimes I really have to pay attention to her stories to understand even the context of what she's talking about. Oh well, it makes for an interesting trip down memory lane with her. Anyway, this chicken restaurant is located just a few blocks from where I remember my grandfather taking me to get a haircut maybe 30 years ago. I can't for the life of me remember the name of the salon, but I do recall the stuffed animal heads on the wall. Of course, I remember his car. My family always called it "Clifford," after the big red dog in the children's books. I believe it was a red Ford sedan. I can't remember the exact model, but I do know that it was big, and it was red. He probably held onto that car for close to 20 years.



My mom's grandfather, Pappy, was a self-made man. He had, at best, a 4th grade education. The same was true for his wife, Mamo. They married just before the Depression and struggled to make ends meet just like most Americans. When they finally settled in Baytown, Pappy not only built the house he lived in for 40+ years, but also the house next door to his. I've always had a tremendous amount of respect for the hard, manual labor Pappy did during his life. He was a giving, devoted, family man, and he will always have a special place in my heart. That's probably why it's so disheartening when I drive by his old house and see how unkempt and disheveled it is. It looks like some college frat boys live there. One large tree that not only provided shade in the front yard but also supported a bench swing (the setting for a nostalgic extended family picture) has been taken down. A large tree in the backyard is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The grass is so high it wouldn't be too difficult at all to lose a small child during a game of hide and seek. Of course, the bowling alley where my sister and I and some of our cousins spent part of one mini-reunion is still in business right across the street from Mamo and Pappy's house.



My dad's parents' house held some special memories for me as well. I took after my dad's interest in distance running and ran during high school and college. Pops was captain of his high school cross-country team, and frequently I've in my mind pictured him going off on a long training run from his house around town, or up to the school, or perhaps, over to see my mother. I'd say round trip it couldn't be more than a 10 mile jaunt. Strange what kind of memories I create for my father. I remember my grandparents' house, with the exception of the bathrooms, was covered in hardwood floors. There was a big dining room table in the dining room and a piano (which was unplayed during just about all of my visits) in the front bedroom. I think the piano belonged to my aunt, but when she moved out, the piano did not. When my grandfather finally moved out around 2003, I'm not sure whatever became of it. I also remember their backyard. For some reason, my grandfather showed me how to shoot a BB gun back there during one visit. I believe my parents still have a photo of me with a helmet of hair pulling back on the trigger and aiming at some random target near the back fence. And the kitchen, yes, the kitchen. Both my grandparents were proficient in the kitchen. And one of their favorite dishes was "corndodgers." "Corndodgers" were basically long pieces of cornbread, and I never had them anywhere else. It's one of those things that I'll always associate with my grandparents. Well, over time, especially after my grandfather moved in with my aunt in San Antonio, the condition of the house suffered. In its "heyday," it was painted a lovely, strong white all around. Since Grandy moved out, it's served time in a yellow hue and is currently sporting two tones of blue, one around the house and one for the trim. The fence around the yard is still the same. In fact, I've got a sneaking suspicion that fence has been there since at least the Kennedy administration. Vaguely, I remember a large gate at the end of the driveway that would have to be opened and closed whenever cars would leave or arrive back at the house. However, seeing the house in its current condition seems to somehow distort those childhood memories.

And that brings me to the third house of the mini reunion circuit. It's probably the newest of the three houses because I know my grandmother has told me that one of her first parties in the house was a graduation shindig for my dad when he graduated high school in '66. I always wondered how five people, my grandparents, my mom and her two sisters, could all live together in a house with just three bedrooms. I'm assuming the younger girls shared a bedroom since my mom was only a year behind my dad in school and would be leaving herself for college at Lamar in Beaumont after a year at Lee College in town. Anyway, one of the lasting memories I have of that house is the brown wood paneling used to decorate the kitchen. All the cabinets remained in that faux wood shade until just a few years ago. For some reason, my grandmother decided to go white, all white. I remember the first time I laid eyes on the new kitchen. It was like a piece of my childhood had been taken away from me. Even typing that fills me with a sense of awkwarness. I mean, it was only cheap wood paneling, for crying out loud! For whatever reason, my grandmother worked for years and years in the cafeteria at Sterling High School in town. Both my grandmother and my mom (and dad, for that matter) attended Lee, the older of the two high schools. Well, Grandma's devotion to Sterling became pretty passionate. She'd frequently talk to me about the performance of the school's football team, and she would frequently attend my cousin's functions at the school when she was a student there in the late '90's. Believe it or not, another strong memory I have of that house is a Sterling parking sticker with a picture of Yosemite Sam that has for about 30 years been affixed to the door leading into her "playroom." I don't know why that parking sticker is so significant to me. Out of bias to my parents' alma mater, I always stick up for Lee when my grandmother or my aunt or cousin brag about Sterling's performance in competitive cup-stacking or underwater basket weaving or whatever else their students receive top notch instruction in. I'm now at the point in my life when I can help out my grandmother with her yard work. Sometimes it seems odd when I mow the yard that I used to play catch with my cousin or dad in. I remember one time walking with my cousin to the Little League diamond a few blocks from Granny's house to play some baseball. As is the case with much of Baytown, those fields are overgrown and in pretty poor shape now.

I even remember the preacher of the church my Baytown family attended. If for no other reason, he had a very significant name to a young boy with a strong obsession with sports and a steel trap memory of baseball, basketball, and football trivia. The preacher's name was "Bobby Thompson." For a long time, I thought he might have been the one who hit the "Shot Heard Round the World" for the Giants back in the '50's. Sure, it made sense. Parlay a successful Major League Baseball career into a second career as a preacher. I remember how packed the congregation was for services. I would always be introduced as the "son of..." or "grandson of...". It never bothered me. I always looked forward to it as a time to re-meet the members of the congregation. This past Sunday, Granny and I made it over there for morning services. I'd say the pews were about half full. Now, granted, there are a few more congregations in town since I was a kid, but it just seems like another memory made murky by time and change. There's even a for sale sign at the front of the building.

Like I said, it's strange what you remember about your childhood. I know my family couldn't have visited Baytown more than a dozen times when I was growing up, but there are still seemingly meaningless minor details that I still remember fondly. Now when I go back to visit, I try to just enjoy the time I have with my relatives without getting too caught up in the memories of the past.

Arizona Boycotts

OK, I get it. Illegal immigration is a problem. A big problem. Growing up in Ohio, it was never even a teeny-tiny problem. "Illegal immigration" up there might mean some Hoosier's trying to sneak across the state lines. Since I moved down here in 2000, the issue has grown and grown in importance. For a few years my parents lived in Arizona, so I had at least a passing knowledge of how the issue was affecting that state. However, I will say this new law their fine state has passed does sound eerily reminiscent of racial profiling, but specifically, the road the country went down during World War II with Japanese Internment Camps in the western US. I still remember nary a word about the camps in any of my school textbooks growing up. HMMM! I WONDER WHY? PROBABLY BECAUSE AS A COUNTRY WE WERE A WEE BIT ASHAMED OF OURSELVES!!!! Anywho, illegal immigration is probably going to be a hot topic issue for quite some time, and I haven't the foggiest idea of how to solve it. However, I do know that some of these idiotic protests against Arizona's law make me wonder if our national IQ borders on "special needs." I mean, really, a group is going to boycott Arizona Iced Tea? It's not even made in Arizona! People are protesting where the Arizona Diamondbacks play opposing baseball teams. Really? Remember folks, for most pro athletes, they stick around their team's city during the season and then go "home" during the off-season. And the last I checked, yes, you can hem and haw about "church and state," but there's definitely no such "sports and state." It's almost like these protests will take on a "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" theme.

I'll boycott PGA events where Phil Mickelson plays since he went to college at Arizona State.
I'll boycott the movie Raising Arizona (OK, a friend gave me that one.).

I'll refuse to watch the Seinfeld episode which contains Mr. Costanza's classic line, "I'm like a phoenix, rising out of Arizona!"

I'll "de-friend" any Facebook buddy with a degree from the University of Phoenix.

I will not visit Canada since Phoenix Suns point guard Steve Nash hails from the land of the Mounties. Additionally, I refuse to watch the movie Strange Brew, and I refuse to eat round bacon.

I will not drive on I-10 since it goes all the way through Arizona and ends in California. Likewise, I will not board any commercial flight that travels over the state of Arizona. Also as part of my transportational boycott, I will not travel any interstate that is a multiple of 10 (such as I-40 in Arkansas and I-70 which goes up to Columbus, OH: HMMMM, maybe I've just found an easy way out of visiting my sister in the Buckeye State).

I will not eat Tostitos chips since they sponsor the Fiesta Bowl which is played in Phoenix.

I will not listen to the Steve Miller song "Rockin' Me" since it contains the line, "I went from Phoenix, Arizona, all the way to Tacoma..."


This has taken stereotyping and racial profiling and all kinds of other societal fears to a new level. I sure hope someone is keeping track somewhere of all these lamebrain boycott/picket ideas. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to change the channel on the telly. I've accidentally been watching Reno 911 this whole time. Oh, wait, no, that's for when I protest against NEVADA. Each of the continental 48 better beware. You're next!!

Roommate Ministry, Part II

Oh, frabjous day!! I know, I know, I get a little carried away with my affection for the Lewis Carroll poem "Jabberwocky." I remember learning it when I was in fourth grade and acting it out for a class. Since then, it has been my favorite poem of all time, and most years, I try and implement it in some way, shape, or form into my classes. Well, another frabjous day took place a couple of weeks ago. After several weeks of study with the minister at my church, my roommate Don was baptized!

I still remember how excited he was that Saturday several months ago when he asked me if he could come to church with me. He displayed that child-like exuberance Christ spoke of when He answered the question, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of Heaven?" Don's lived with me since June of '09, and not too long after he moved in, I asked him about his religious affiliation. When he told me he considered himself agnostic, I knew I had my work cut out for me as far as being a witness and example to him. I'm not sure what prompted him, but when he asked to come to church with me, it opened my eyes to new possibilities for our relationship. That same youthful passion he showed in his initial desire to attend services with me has continued to grow and grow. He really has set an example for me as far as faithful attendance and daily study. Don works third shift at HEB and usually when he attends Sunday morning services, it's after coming home from work just a few hours before. Honestly, since his baptism I've felt more of a challenge (it's definitely not a "burden" or "pressure" I feel) to improve my walk with God and sense of service. You know, it's actually been a very good thing because for most of my professional life I've lived by myself. There was never anyone to be accountable to at my house or apartment. Now I have Don (and another roommate who actually is a long term sub at my school) who have dedicated themselves to a certain lifestyle, and we should all three be lifting each other up and encouraging each other.

Monday was the monthly Mega Monday service night at our congregation. The night usually consists of a potluck dinner, and then the attendees split up and work on various service projects around the building: cleaning, restocking, following up on visitors. It's always a great opportunity for a free meal (remember, I'm a single guy), a chance for service, and great fellowship. I called to remind Don Monday night when I was on my way to the building, and wouldn't you know it, he was already on his way up there as well. I hope that this aspect of our relationship continues to grow. Obviously my Holy Grail has been finding a Christian mate of the opposite sex, but after college I never really had any "church friends" to lean on and develop relationships with. God definitely does work in mysterious ways. There are multiple experiences in my life where I can look back and see what a possible reason was that God had for me at that time. I always hope and wish I can learn from my mistakes and apply the lessons from some of the stupid decisions I've made to becoming a stronger servant. I'm very excited to see how my relationship with Don can grow.

Flags of Our Fathers

A couple of weeks ago, I completed yet another long and winding trip back from Georgia where I spent my spring break with my parents. I had a wonderful relaxing time with the 'rents, their two dogs of whom I have grown especially fond, Guy and Gus, as well as the ol' Birman cats, Vandy and Webster. Fortunately, about a year ago, I decided to give audio books a try in an attempt to keep me as alert as possible on the roads. I've grown accustomed to making these long trips. After all, when I first moved to Texas, my parents still lived in Ohio, and they moved to Arizona in '03 before moving over to the Peach State just a few years ago. However, these trips can get rather dull when I'm the only one with opposable thumbs in the car (sometimes I take my cats, Jerry and Kosmo, but they're not very helpful when it comes to providing meaningful conversation). These audio books have really done the trick. A few times I've visited the Houston Public Library branch near my school, but their pickings are pretty slim. Last week I actually picked up a few good "reads" from Half Price Books but burned through those before it was time to head back Saturday. Lucky for me, my dad let me take his audio copy of Flags of Our Fathers for the trip back.



I had heard of the book and mini-series but had never taken the time to either read the work or watch the show. Granted, now after "reading" the book, I definitely want to see what HBO did with it. I was initially struck by the author's comments in his foreword at the beginning of the book. Only after his father passed away did he come to find out that his dad not only was one of the men who raised the flag at Iwo Jima, but he also was a highly decorated soldier during World War II. The author knew his dad was a veteran, but he just didn't realize how significant his dad's service had been. Sure, there were times when he tried to get information from Pops about what the war was like, but Dad had been reluctant to share anything. One thought with the author really resonated with me. He said he "needed" to know what happened to his dad, that his dad to some degree owed it to him to tell him about his experiences in the war. That's exactly how I felt for many years about my dad's involvement in the Vietnam War. Pops went to grad school at Vanderbilt on the GI Bill. When he finished his undergrad, he served three tours in 'Nam on two different ships, the USS Hollister and the USS Coral Sea as a gunner's mate.

Our fathers owed it to no one, not one person, to tell them the gory psychologically scarring details of their experiences. It took me a long, long time to realize that. Recently I've heard a military slogan that's stuck with me: "All gave some; some gave all." Rarely do any of us civilians witness the actual death of an acquaintance, but these men saw it all around them on a daily basis. They risked their lives day in and day out so we could enjoy the freedoms and way of life we just take for granted.

Spiritually, I find myself oh, so often confusing what I need for myself with what is best for me. I want things like personal happiness and professional happiness when I should be focused on just living my life in the way God wants me to. I put too much emphasis on what I need to do for myself rather than what I can do for others. I need to realize that only God truly knows what I need in my life and recognize that in order to find the peace and happiness I desire, I must turn my life completely over to Him and overcome the desires I have to pursue my own self-serving "needs."

Tennis, Anyone?

That's right. I'm doing my good deed for the day. This may be a good deed for at least a month or two to be honest with you. I'm serving as the school's tennis coach. I knew the school was in a bind since the tennis coach from last year moved out of state, and the only other people with tennis background are the two varsity basketball coaches. They're both firmly involved in their respective playoff runs, and one of them is leaving the school at the end of the season to take the head women's job at a small Christian college. I made sure the AD knew I had absolutely no background in tennis, and inexplicably, he wanted me for the position anyway.

This will definitely be a new and interesting experience for me. I've only minimally played the sport outside of gym class, so there will likely be some people on the team with more tennis knowledge than me. Yeah, it is a bit intimidating, but at the same time, I think I can still teach them a thing or two. I'm working on obtaining actual tennis drills and practices, but I do know enough about the game to know quickness and agility are very important. We did some drills today to work on those skills, and I definitely see the need to continue and augment this aspect of the training. Matches don't begin until March 1, so I've still got some time to develop into a tennis guru.

We had 12 players show up yesterday and an extra three showed up today. There may still be a few out there in the woodwork who want to come out. I know for some of the guys on the team, this is their only sport, so I do feel good that they are able to compete this year. Several of the players I have in class, and that adds an extra aspect to the student/teacher relationship that I really enjoy.

I'll keep you posted.......

Playoff Party in Plano

Well, we came, we saw, we had dinner at Taco Cabana. Oh, yeah, and we played a game against Plano Prestonwood Academy.

The day started with a bad omen. Originally everybody on the team and our groupies (about 15 family members made the trip with us) were going to meet an IHOP close to the school for breakfast before we left on the bus. However, my assistant coach astutely pointed out that there were just too many intangibles that could go wrong with such a plan. So, the two of us decided that we could try and get a bite to eat once we were on the bus and had cleared the cozy confines of Houston traffic. I even went ahead and reserved seating at an IHOP on I-45 up in Spring. We made good time getting up there, but once we were there, they only allotted one server for all 33 of us! Not good. We wanted to leave by 10:30 so we could get up to Plano in time for something light to eat for lunch and plenty of time to warm up. Well, the only reason we left at 11:00 was because the father of one of the boys on the team was gracious enough to put the entire tab on his credit card. If each of us had to check out individually, we may still be at that IHOP. We got up to the school in Plano at about 3:00. The second bad omen of the day took place once we were in the school, and my starting right fullback told me he had left his cleats at home. His first suggestion was that he could go buy another pair. I had no idea where the shoe fairy was at that time of day, but I was pretty sure the fairy was nowhere close to us. We had just driven up on a charter bus. I have no idea how Matthew thought he was going to procure transportation to a store. Fortunately one of the seniors on the team who's been injured for the last several weeks loaned Matt his shoes. Serves him right though since during the game I'd look over at Matt and see him walking quite gingerly in shoes that were at least a full size too small for him.

The campus itself was just immense. I think it would be similar to a campus here in Houston if Lakewood Church had a school. Maybe if I mention it to ol' Joel Osteen, it'll make him jealous and he'll break ground. The school had large full color action cut-outs of the boys and girls basketball players on the wall mats in the gym. They played soccer and football on a full field with turf just slightly softer than astroturf. I knew we'd be faced with a swanky complex, and this was only the second time of the season we had played on a field like this.

The team we played was the number one seed from its district. I wasn't quite sure what to make of that since, yes, they were undefeated, but they only had a five team district, and the last place team hadn't won any district games. Our district has nine teams, and three of the teams from last year's State Final Four in boys' soccer were from our district, including the state champion. Well, Plano was good, not spectacular, but good. It took us awhile to get into the flow of the game and adjust to the different field surface. Of course, I'm sure there were some playoff jitters for each of the boys. We lost, convincingly, but I think each member of the team now knows what it takes to compete with the best teams in the state. I wouldn't be surprised if Plano makes it into the Final Four. We have a great group of boys returning next year, and I hope the camaraderie that was established this year and the respectful attitudes continue so we can make another appearance in the playoffs. Of course, it would be nice if we could at least finish fourth so we wouldn't be faced with the task of playing the number one team from another district!

Before the game, I talked to the team about the great unity they had shown during the year. Of the eight seniors we had last year, four played college soccer. Of the other eight that we hadn't planned on losing from last year's squad, three earned some form of All District recognition. Obviously there were several holes that needed to be filled. However, this is the team that was able to make it into the playoffs. I know two of our seniors from this year's team would like to continue their competitive careers, but, honestly, I think last year's team had better individual skill players. The difference was that this year's team was able to come together and put the desires and needs of the team above their own. I'm proud of what this team was able to accomplish and hope that this experience motivates them to put in the work needed to not only make it back to the playoffs but make it back as a higher seed.

Soocer "Hoosiers"

Well, we made it! To playoffs that is. For the first time in nine years, our program will make an appearance in the state playoffs. We just finished a brutal five game week (due in large part to the consistently inclement weather we've had in Houston). Four of those five games were against the best teams in the district. We played the second place team twice and the first and third place teams once. Even though we lost the first four of the five games last week, I am proud to say the most goals any team scored on us was three. I think it did wonders for the boys' confidence to see that they could play not only with the best teams in the district, but the best teams in the state. Those top three teams also advanced all the way to the state final four last season.

I remember a similar situation when I was last a high school varsity coach. When I took over the job as head of the Logan Lady Chiefs' cross-country team, they were the only team on campus that had not won a league title. Obviously that was the big goal for the first season. Sure enough, and, yes, there were bumps along the way, we won league that first year. However, especially after winning the district the following week, I started to get a bit selfish and began considering the possibilities of advancing the team to the state meet. We didn't make it out of the regionals, and it took me a while to realize what a great success the season had been. Last week, to keep the boys' spirits up, I showed them the movie Hoosiers. I'm sure for many of them it was the first time they had seen the flick. The more I think about it, the more similarities I see between this year's soccer team and that historic team from Hickory (at least the Hollywood-ized version). Our school is much, much smaller than other schools in our district and state classification. We don't have a full soccer field for practice. When we do practice, we have to share the field with the girls' team. It's just one of the concessions you have to make at a small school. On a related note, I'm utterly amazed at the success our track team has had since they have no track on which to practice!! Anyway, we face a team in the first round that's one of those big school powerhouses. We'll be playing on their field which is part of an immaculate state of the art athletic complex similar to what is seen in most public school districts in Texas. One of their boys has already signed to play soccer at Indiana (a perennial soccer power) next year. Yes, you could say we have the odds against us. However, as I mentioned before, we just finished a week against three of last year's final four teams, and the worst we were beat was 3-0. Those teams usually take care of us with five or six or seven goals in a match. I'm actually quite optimistic about our chances. I know some of the boys on our team have done some research on the team we're playing, and they may be a bit intimidated by our opponent. Honestly, I see some great similarities between this match and the 12 spies from Israel who searched out Canaan. All but Joshua and Caleb came back with negative, intimidating reports. Those two guys saw what could be done rather than what couldn't be done. I know it's a bit selfish, since the goal all along this season has been to make the playoffs, but I want the boys to realize that they've already played some of the soccer powers in the state. I want them to realize and have confidence in what they're capable of. I guess it's the competitor in me not wanting to concede.

We leave Friday morning from school at 8:30. Several of the parents on the team are going up with us on a charter bus the athletic director has arranged for us. It'll definitely be a memorable experience. All I want is for the boys to believe in themselves, each other, their coaches, and just leave it all on the field.

I'll keep you posted.......

Roommate Ministry

I've found myself in a bit of a bind financially these past two years. Begrudgingly, I rented a room out in the winter of '08. Keep in mind I have two spare bedrooms, but it was quite a step out for me to rent even just one out since I have lived by myself for the past 12 years. I tried out ol' Craigslist and found a nice guy named Glenn who helped ease me back into roommate mode. Glenn was a self-employed handyman with a girlfriend living about 15 minutes away here in Katy. Glenn took jobs all over Houston, spent quite a bit of time with his lady friend (she also helped him find jobs) so, consequently, our paths did not cross a whole awful lot. It wouldn't be uncommon for me to go several days without seeing my new roomie. Unfortunately, I was still feeling the pinch financially, so in June, I posted an ad for another roommate and met Don.

Don's been living in Katy for a couple of years now. He moved down from Dallas and was taking classes at Prairie View with hopes of becoming a secondary math teacher. Soon after Don moved in, I remember asking him about his religious affiliation. When he answered "agnostic," I thought, "Oh, boy, this could be difficult trying to reach him spiritually." Don stocks groceries third shift, so, like Glenn, our interaction has been rather limited. However, several weeks ago, Don surprised me one Saturday by out of the blue asking me if I would be going to church the next morning. When I answered yes, he asked if he could come. Of course, I said yes. Within the first couple of Sundays, Don met the minister at my church and was able to set up a weekly Bible study. From what I can tell, it's really challenged Don to open the Word and find out for himself what God's plan is for him rather than just to rely on conjecture and speculation.

Soccer Hopes

The soccer season is about halfway over. We had a German student play with us during the first semester who was living with aunt here in the Houston area. He was really a blessing to the team. The other guys on the team accepted him as one of their own, and he was very fluent in the language. Of course, the fact that he's a pretty good soccer player came in handy as well. We lost 12 players from last year's team, and Robin filled in a sorely needed position. We've made enough of a dent in the district schedule so far that we most likely will make the state playoffs. I think it's been eight or nine years since the boys soccer team here at school made the playoffs. Both the girls and boys basketball teams have been very successful year in and year out. I've told the boys that people won't take notice of them and give them the respect they want until they produce something impressive on the field. I've always believed in my ability to encourage and motivate others. I don't think the playoffs is something they can wrap their minds around since they've never been there. It's foreign to them. I need to start instilling in them a sense of purpose. Last year's team came within one game of making the playoffs. My task is helping the boys understand that this goal can be reached.

The Soloist

Two nights ago, I finally got around to watching The Soloist. I've become a bit of a Redbox fanatic, as it's helped me catch up on recent movies I've missed without, well, breaking my bank. Some movies are barely worth the $1 rental, but The Soloist impressed me greatly. It was based on a true story which made the flick even more enjoyable and interesting.

The movie centered around a relationship between a newspaper columnist, John Lopez, played by Robert Downey Jr., who befriends a homeless man, played by Jamie Foxx, who turns out to be an absolute virtuoso at the cello. The reporter does a little snooping into the man's past and finds out that he had actually studied for a while at the Julliard but mysteriously dropped out. Upon further research he finds out that the man has suffered from mental illness, most likely schizophrenia, since his time in music school. The reporter goes to extravagant means to help the man, Nathaniel Ayers, regain a respectable way of life enlisting the help of Ayers's family members and professional musicians in Los Angeles. At the end, however, Lopez realizes that Nathaniel is comfortable where he is and doesn't want any assistance from counselors, doctors, or psychologists.

I think I identified with Downey's character so much because I find myself in similar situations frequently as a teacher. I've taught in small towns and affluent suburbs, public schools and private, and I've always taken a personal interest in each of the hundreds of students I've had over the years. Sometimes I'm able to connect with and make a difference in the lives of my pupils, but the hard part is when I do all that I can and the student shows no desire to improve or change. I've always maintained that I take a much too intensive personal interest in the lives of my students. Maybe that's what's expected? Maybe it's not? I know I've always been my worst critic, and I always struggle emotionally with apathetic students who don't want to work to their potential.

Thank you for letting me vent!

Guy the Dog

About five years ago, my parents made an addition to our family. I don't know if it was empty nest syndrome that prompted it or what, but for the first time in probably ten years, they bought a dog. We had been a cat family for as long as I could remember. I remember Ebony, my sister's black cat we had in Alabama. She ran away when we moved from Alabama to Ohio, but legend has it, she found her way back to the house. In fact, through most of my childhood, we had two, if not four, cats in the house. Dogs, on the other hand, were a different subject altogether. I hadn't really had good experiences with canines. My dog Zack was shot and killed when we lived in Alabama by a man who found him sleeping under his pick up truck. Soon after, we acquired an Irish setter named Reagan (I'm not sure or not if the dog was named after the Great Communicator; after all, it was the early '80's.) Being the small lad that I was, I was always a bit spooked when Reagan would come up to me and put her paws right up on my shoulders. It seemed like some bizarre domestic reenactment of Animal Farm was in the works. From then on, I was a bit reticent around dogs. We had some come and go, a beagle, a Westhighland white terrier, and a Papillon, among others, but I never really developed a close bond with any of them. Alas, until I met Guy.

My parents bought him from a breeder in Las Vegas when they were living in Arizona. When I first saw him, I immediately had flashbacks of Reagan and the almost daily ambushes I would receive. However, Guy was a bit (but not much) more gentle than Reagan. He's a standard poodle and serves equally well as a family dog and a guard dog. I guess I should explain that since my mother did some research and discovered that poodles originated either in France or Germany, she and my dad decided to give the dog an appropriate ethnic name. So, Guy is short for "Guillaume" which is the French translation of my dad's (and my) first name. Don't ask; each of the family pets have had unique names. Not that the two cats I have now are any different. I named them "Jerry" and "Kosmo" after characters in my favorite TV show, Seinfeld.

OK, back to Guy. From the first time we met, I knew my little (OK, not so little; my dad kids that he could be mistaken for a miniature horse) buddy was special. He loved, loved, loved taking walks, even in the brutal Arizona summer heat and would follow me all over my parents' house. I even enjoyed playing fetch/catch with him in the backyard of their house. That's gotta be love if I'm willing to toss and wrestle for a slimy tennis ball or raquetball. One habit that I've tried to shake him of is the ol' humping the leg routine. I mean, I understand a guy (no pun intended) has urges, but after awhile, it got pretty old and increasingly awkward. Guy even received special permission to sleep in "my room" during my visits. Usually he would sleep in his cage, or if he was really good, my parents would let him sleep in their room.

When my parents moved to Georgia about three years ago, Guy's affection grew even stronger. Whenever I would be in "my room", he would sit in the hall right outside the room. He still enjoyed his walks and even went into a bit of a manic mode whenever the word "walk" was mentioned, and he also provided an impartial sounding board for whatever was on my mind during our excursions. Last year I was brave enough to bring my two cats to visit my parents. Jerry and Kosmo survived the 12 hour car ride just fine, but I don't think they were ready for such an excitable new playmate. Guy kept an almost constant vigil outside my bedroom door for the boys. Of course, they wouldn't come out, and Guy obediently obeyed his instructions not to enter the room. At night, when Guy would go to sleep in my parents' room, they would roam around a bit, but it was back to the bedroom once Guy was free.

This past week was another trip over to Georgia to see my folks and Guy. As always, he was all kinds of excited to see me, and, trust me, I did have to physically prepare myself for the ambush from a big ol' standard poodle after a 12 hour car ride when I entered my parents' house. My relationship with Guy has restored my belief in the brutally unconditional companionship a good dog can bring. He's one of the added perks I get from visiting my parents, and he definitely makes their house, whether it's in Arizona or Georgia, feel more like a home.

May the Season Begin

Well, the new high school soccer season officially began last Monday with tryouts. This was the first time I was faced with cutting anybody from my own team in a couple of years. Since we lost about 12 people from last year's team, there were plenty of spaces to fill, but I knew I needed some kind of objective drills/tests to defend my actions to any concerned parents. Unfortunately, I had a hard time thinking of good objective measurements that would be a strong reflection of a player's ability during game time. So, we ended up doing a lot of scrimmaging. Always during tryouts, it seems to be a task to get communication and aggressive play out of the players who are "on the bubble." A few times I isolated the ones I needed to see more closely, and, of course, still little communication. But I guess another way to look at it would be that during games, these guys will be facing the best players of the opposing schools, so they need to experience working against the best our school has to offer. After four days of tryouts, I think I've got a pretty good roster of players. Lack of aggression and hustle can be strong detriments in the tryout process. I'd rather have people out there who not only have a knowledge of the game but are also motivated to succeed and improve.

Another interesting aspect that I will need to research is the idea of being in charge of an entire program again. This really hasn't been the case since I was in Logan coaching girls' cross-country. I don't know how long God wants to keep me in this position, but my words and actions as well as the words and actions of my players will be a reflection on the school, but more humbly, on me as well. I hope that I can encourage and motivate these players in ways that will make God proud and end the season with a sense of accomplishment and success for all involved.

The Torch Has Been Passed

Earlier this week, our AD at school notified me that I would be serving this year as the head boys' soccer coach for the high school. I still have mixed feelings about the position. Now, in my youth, I was all about "the beautiful game," both as a player and as a fan. However, as time passed, my athletic interests became more varied, and soccer took a backseat to cross-country and basketball especially as those were the first two sports I coached after graduating from college. I jumped back into soccer coaching two years ago as the girls' varsity assistant and JV coach at Dulles High School. Last year, when I moved over to Westbury Christian, I assisted with the boys' varsity. Now, the program has been handed over to me. My work is definitely cut out for me as we lost six valuable seniors last year and four others who would have been key members of the squad this year. In the past, I've prided myself on having teams that were well-conditioned and disciplined. Those are two attributes I think will be very important this season. We definitely won't be deep numbers wise, but if I can get some good leadership from the boys who are returning and keep them all encouraged, the outlook should be pretty good. Oh, yeah, it would probably be a good idea to ask for assistance, wisdom, and patience from the King of Kings and Coach of Coaches.

Mr. Dylan and His Influence and Me and My Lack of Sleep

Out of the blue, I had one of my former students ask me about the tone in the song, "The Times, They Are A'Changin'." Wow, what a super, unexpected question! Recently I've been looking at songs and using them in my lessons to teach various literary and grammar elements. I had this student in class last year, and I'm not sure if the lesson was specifically about the song, but I was impressed that Mr. Dylan's influence was still felt 40 plus years after he penned those enlightening lyrics. She asked if the tone was negative or neutral. I felt like it was decidedly negative with its warnings and admonitions. She asked if Bob wrote any songs with a more positive tone. I asked her to check out "Positively 4th Street." That's always been a favorite, dare I say, empowerment, song of mine.

Perhaps it would be a good idea for me to revisit the lyrics of "The Times They Are A'Changin". With all that's happening right now in society, perhaps "times" are changin' again.

Well, I did it again. I left school late last night after a lengthy afternoon of grading and getting caught up on schoolwork. Once I got home, yes, I did have some schoolwork I wanted to finish, but I talked to Kris on the phone and finished last week's Sports Illustrated first. Sure enough, I laid down on my bed and didn't wake up until about 2:30. Idiot, idiot, idiot! I'll try again tonight. It's one of the worst self-fulfilling prophecies I've ever had. I must break myself of it. When it's bedtime, it's bedtime, period.

Laborin' with the Woods

What a super duper fun Livingston weekend! Kris and I arrived at Chez Wood mid Saturday afternoon. One of the coolest/best/Kris parts of the weekend happened almost at the end of the ride to her parents' house. About three blocks away from the house, there is a SnoCone stand in the parking lot of a gas station. As I approached the light at the gas station, Kris made a seemingly casual remark about wanting a SnoCone. Then, to let me know she was serious, she said, "I'm not kidding. I want a SnoCone." And just like that, we pulled in for a SnoCone. I can't remember the last time I had one as a treat, but I think the Sno Cone stand was a reminder for her of the Livingston she fell in love with as a child and now had the opportunity to revisit unfettered for an entire weekend.

Fortunately for Kris we were able to see her newest nephew Roper soon after we arrived. This was my first time holding a newborn in awhile, and I must admit, I still need practice with the whole cushioning the head part. Kris handled the little one like an old pro. One of my favorite mental pictures from the weekend is seeing her napping with Roper laying down on her tummy.

One of the biggest attractions to the Labor Day soiree at Chez Wood was the slip and slide adventure Sunday night. A huge plastic tarp was extended down the hill from Kris's grandparents' house to the gate at her parents' house. Kris is, oh, so fortunate to have one set of grandparents who live right next door to her parents. The three little nephews, Kris's dad, Kevan, and I took turns slip slidin' away. Kris was even coaxed to go down the tarp a couple of times. We took a couple of trips down the tarp as a couple with violently mediorcre results. Yes, we had great fun, but we kept veering off to the left. Oh well, I don't think either of us are trying to get in shape for a tryout for the US bobsled team. After slippin' and slidin' for about an hour, Mama Wood brought out some homemade ice cream that was unabashedly wolfed down by all in attendance. Mmm, mmm, mmm. A trip to Chez Wood always guarantees good food, and this past weekend was definitely no exception. Each meal rejuvenated my taste buds from the blandness of single guy food I usually expose them to. And did I mention that Mama Wood, MB, had some Mountain Dew cans chilling in the refrigerator? Wow! What eats! What drinks! What merriment!

Alas, Kris and I left Monday afternoon on Labor Day and drove back down to Houston. Neither of us were overly motivated to prepare for the next day or even the coming week of school, so we ran some errands and rented a movie. Chick-fil-a was giving away free sandwiches for wearing a team shirt, so, being the cost conscious young people that we are, we took our evening meal there. Kris's Datsun (haha, I know I spelled it wrong, but just go with me here; he's not a Nissan...) Peanut accompanied us on our trip back to Houston. We went to Target after dinner and bought some items for Peanut's new home at Tanner Manor. I was really impressed with how well Peanut handled the ride down and her new surroundings. I know I've never had such luck with the felines when moving to new environs, even for a short amount of time. We rented Freedom Writers since Kris's interest in the movie had been piqued after hearing the movie's protagonist, Erin Gruwell, speak at her district's convocation a few weeks ago. Honestly, my interest in the story has increased as well, and I'd like to read more about how she was able to connect with her students and help them be successful.

I left around 9:15 and drove home, bringing an end to such an eventful weekend. Friday night I stayed at school until about 8:30 doing schoolwork, but other than that, it was a work-free weekend. I thought about spending some crazy hours on schoolwork when I got home but only made it to about midnight before conking out. Ah, that's OK. The trip was fun, and I enjoyed spending time with Kris and her loving family.

But, alas, now it's Tuesday, and I'm plum out of reasons or excuses to procrastinate. Back to the grind.

No Laborin' on Labor Day

For some reason, I'm falling back into my bad habit of laying down on my bed for a napper. Usually, that's not a bad thing, but I end up falling asleep and waking up at some wack-doo (that's a Kristinism) time of the night like three or four o'clock. It's something I desperately need to break myself of because it's just not good sleep. And, oh, my sleep is a very valuable commodity now that the school year has begun. My days of sleeping in are long long gone. I don't even sleep in on Saturdays as I've volunteered to drive the cross-country team to their meets this season. I do sleep until about eight on Sundays, but it's nowhere near the hibernation like sleeps I've experienced in past summers.

This should be an interesting weekend. I'm looking forward to it. The cross-country team has an early morning meet tomorrow down in Clear Lake, and then Kris and I are driving up to Livingston to spend some time with her family. This will be about trip number six for me. I still remember my first trip quite fondly. Her dad pointed out the shotgun at the bottom of the stairs when I arrived. I wonder if the thought of using the weapon on me has ever crossed his mind. Kris and I were there for the wedding of one of her friends. I took one of those hibernation sleeps that Saturday afternoon. I was still kind of feeling my way around Kris's folks, but it was a bit of a weaselly thing to do. This weekend, there's evidently a big slip and slide for the males of the family. I'll be taking my swim trunks (who am I kidding; they're soccer shorts) and joining in the fun. I'm not sure what else is planned. Definitely this will be a fun trip for Kris because this will be the first time in a few years that she's been able to stay with her folks overnight on a Saturday. She had been working at a church in Clear Lake and worked just about every one of the 52 Sundays each year. Kris, too, will be able to see her newest nephew, Roper. Roper's big brother, Gauge, and I have developed a special relationship. He shouts out "PIGGY BANK" when I drop some change in his paws. Hey, anything for the little people. Also, Miss Wood will get to bring her doggie, Peanut Butter Cup, back to Clear Lake with her. Peanut Butter Cup will join the two dogs already living at Tanner Manor, and acclimating dogs to each other is always a fun task.

Hopefully no guns will be needed or seen this weekend.

One Year of Kris-bert, Part II

So, we leave the Cadillac Bar and head out for the Boardwalk's rides. Kris had ride free tickets, so I was getting nostalgic for my times at Cedar Point and Kings Island back in Ohio. Our first ride was the carousel. Nothing too fancy or scary although Kristin let it be known that for no reason whatsoever was I to shake the car we were in when the ride stopped with us at the highest point. After another fairly tame ride, we took on the Inverter. Kris was reluctant to do so, but proving her love and strength of character, she agreed. This was a ride, as you might guess, that swings you up and down until you're finally turned all the way upside down perpendicular to the ground. I got some good chuckles out of it, but Kristin was not happy at all. One look at her face toward the end of the adventure let me know this was Kris at her unconditionally loving best. She stepped on this ride solely for me. I've always been impressed and struck with awe at her giving spirit, and this just proves what a wonderful, generous person she is.

It's rare that you can come across someone in life who is so giving and totally selfless. To have her in my life, I am very fortunate. Her spirit inspires me to be a better person.

One Year of Kris-bert

Saturday, August 29, Kris and I celebrated the one year anniversary of our first date with a trip down to Kemah. Officially, the first date was August 30, 2008, but we decided to do our celebrating a day early. This was my first trip down there in almost nine years, so I was quite unprepared for whatever we might find down there. The evening got off to a smashing start with a waitress at the Cadillac Bar who played hide and seek when it came time for the check. Maybe she wasn't all right in the head. I don't know, but I could have read War and Peace in the time it took for her to get the bill out to us. Both Kris and I were thoroughly stuffed, I with the grande burrito, she with a lovely helping of quesadillas (or "dang quesadillas" as Napoleon Dynamite's aunt called them). We both worried about my, well, pipes, after taking in such a hearty Mexican meal. I assured Kris that all was well, and I think our favorite part of the dinner portion of the evening was watching a little boy take baskets of chips off patrons' tables to feed the fish. I had no idea the marine life had such a multicultural diet. Of course, we did catch some bizarre boardwalk strollers when we people watched during the meal. Then again, maybe those same people are commenting in their own blogs about the bizarre couple from Saturday night at Cadillac Bar.

More anniversary stories to come later..............

To quote The Four Seasons, "Oh, what a night!"

It's 8:30, and I'm Still at Work. What Am I, a Teacher?

Indeed, it's officially 8:34 by my computer clock as I begin typing. Time management is oh, so sorely needed. I was discussing with a coworker the possibility of doing all my grading during the week and saving the weekend for planning/creating lessons. With six classes to teach this year (one of which is totally new to me), I definitely need to manage my time better and plan better in just about every area of life. I'm not the eager beaver I once was in my youth, able to work until all hours of the night and stimulate young minds with ease and passion the next day. Then again, maybe I'm selling myself short, and I can be that same person, just with the effort and time spent in the right direction. I've always spent quite a bit of time on my schoolwork and keeping in touch with parents. Ah, but now comes the challenge of juggling six classes (three preps), a second job, driving the cross-country and volleyball teams to their away games, coaching soccer (it'll start up in a few months), and time with my lovely lady friend. I wonder if it's possible to grade while I'm driving? Hmm, maybe I could get a tape recorder. Did I mention I've always been a people pleaser? Always have been. Sometimes that can be a good thing, sometimes not so much. I'll even admit I put too much stock in what people think of me, and that includes all people. My nerves and emotions do need to toughen up. Perhaps, a steeling of the nerves will help in the time management area.

Any ideas out there?????