To My Wife, Times Nine

I can't believe it's been nine years. It's practically impossible to fathom, when I try to look back and think about other 9-year periods in my life. When Adrienne and I first met in August 2010, nine years seemed like an eternity. Hell, nine years prior to that day, I was just starting my junior year of high school. I was just getting my driver's license. For all intents and purposes, I was a child. If I'm being totally honest, even at 25, when I met Adrienne, I was still a child. But, despite how crazy it sounds, here we are. Nine years down, a lifetime to go. I absolutely cannot wait to find out what the next nine years will hold for us.

Last year, since it was our 8th anniversary, I wrote about eight reasons why I love Adrienne. I figured I would do something a little different for year nine. While I could, no doubt, fill an entire Encyclopedia Britannica-like volume with minute details and stories from the last near-decade, I decided to focus on one or two "stand-out" moments from each of the last nine years. Some are major rites of passage any one of us might focus on in our own lives, while others are seemingly minor moments in time that have resonated with me, and will continue to do so, forever. No matter the significance, each has been a major part of the fabric of us, and will forever be a part of our story. Without further ado, a brief history of the greatest nine years of my life. 

2012-2013: The easiest one, here, would be the purchase of our first home. We closed on our house at 425 Eastern Valley Estates in July, and it was a dream come true for us. It was the neighborhood we wanted, it was affordable, and it was perfect for a couple with no kids. It was a benchmark, there's absolutely no question. But my favorite memory from our first year was our Spring Break trip to Asheville, North Carolina. We walked around downtown, saw Neil Young ordering appetizers at a bar, and rode around the city on a short bus, touring local microbreweries. I had so much fun on that tour, I invited a couple we met to have dinner with us, much to the chagrin of Adrienne. Chester was a nightmare for his babysitters, but that didn't stop us from deciding to spend an extra night in Gatlinburg, just because we drove by it. Spontaneity was a big part of year one.

2013-2014: There's a lot of things I could pick from year two. We started to settle into married life, and we had a blast. We traveled a lot. We went on our first beach vacation to Santa Rosa Beach, we went back to Gatlinburg to celebrate our anniversary, and we saw the Avett Brothers twice, including our second New Year's Eve show in Charlotte. Here and there, when we had extra money, we made small changes to our house. But, my favorite part of year two was when we bought The Cheetah. We spent basically every weekend on the lake in that big pile of 1980s blue carpet and crappy vinyl. We spent countless hours, made countless memories, on that old boat, and although it's bad luck to have a boat without a name, we simply couldn't find anything better than "Cheetah." I'm glad we never fought it.

2014-2015: There were a lot of great memories from year three...How could we not look back fondly on me tearing my Achilles, being virtually invalid for three months, and Adrienne cleaning my toes with Q-Tips because I couldn't reach my feet? But, my favorite memory of that year was finding out Adrienne was pregnant for the first time. She called me at work, and I remember cutting her off before she could finish her sentence, "Nope! You're not going to tell me this over the phone, while I'm at work. I'll be home in an hour!" The next day, I walked into the office, and within five minutes, my boss, Jen, looked at me and said, "What's wrong? You're being weird...Is Adrienne pregnant?!" I'm certain all color left my face, as I tried to vainly deny her assumption, but it was impossible. I simply replied, "You cannot tell Adrienne that I gave it away...We haven't told anyone yet!"

2015-2016: The only, and obvious, choice is Charlotte being born. I remember practically every vivid detail of that entire day, and most of the next. We had a doctor's appointment scheduled for 9:00 AM on Tuesday the 29th, and the nurse told us Adrienne was having contractions (they were just so faint, she couldn't feel them yet). So the doctor scheduled us to come to the hospital the next morning at 5:00, but her contractions were bad enough that evening that we went ahead to the hospital around 6:30 that night. Things were slow-going after that, but Charlotte finally made her arrival at 5:15 PM on Wednesday, December 30. Ringing in the new year will never come close to being that special.

2016-2017: My favorite memory from year five should be us moving into our new house, and all the excitement that comes from that. It all happened rather quickly...Adrienne and I weren't even really considering selling our house and moving; I had just started a new job, Charlotte was barely a year old, and we craved routine and normalcy. But, we did it anyway. And I don't regret it at all. But, for a month, when we were between houses, we lived out of suitcases in Doug and Jackie's small, two-bedroom apartment in town. We had no space, we didn't have 90 percent of our stuff, we only had one bathroom, and it was absolutely fantastic. We look back on that month in the summer of 2017 as happily as any other span in our time together, and we talk about it often. We quickly realized we didn't need half the stuff we had at our old house, and, in many ways, we were better off without it. We crammed a whole lot of fond memories in those few short weeks, and I miss those days.

2017-2018: The best part of year six came at the very end of it, when Delilah was born on September 8th. We were so much more relaxed than when Charlotte was born, and we approached the trip to the hospital like we were checking into a hotel. I was so enthralled in Kentucky beating Florida in football for the first time in 31 years, I didn't offer much help in the delivery room as we waited on Delilah. I'm certainly not proud of that, but hey...We had been through that before, and I knew Adrienne had it under control. Watching Charlotte interact with her baby sister for the first time is one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed, and it makes me smile every time Charlotte or Delilah asks to watch those videos (it's quite often).

2018-2019: Delilah got to spend her first night in a hotel when we went to Gatlinburg in May, and it was such a fun trip. Charlotte was old enough to actually realize that we were on vacation, and she still talks about that trip to this day. We were supposed to be in Gatlinburg right now, but ya know, COVID (to hell with COVID). But, my favorite memory from that year (and watching Delilah and Charlotte grow during that time produced literal countless memories) was Father's Day. There was nothing particularly special about the day. We didn't go anywhere, we didn't do anything. We sat on the back patio, and the girls played with their water table, and sat in their kiddie pool. It was one of those days, one of those moments, where I knew, as it was happening, that it was special. The four of us have had dozens of other days just like that, but for whatever reason, that one sticks with me. It was the perfect day.

2019-2020: Adrienne and I don't get a whole lot of time to spend together, without the girls, but we try to make time for that on occasion. COVID (to hell with COVID) has made that a little more difficult than it has been in the past, but luckily we were able to go to Gatlinburg for a few days to celebrate our anniversary. Because of COVID (to hell with COVID), we didn't really plan on doing much. We just wanted to relax, and spend time together. We did make time to hit up the Arts and Crafts Community (it's tradition), and had the best burgers we've ever eaten at Split Rail Eats, but the majority of the trip was spent ordering Uber Eats or DoorDash, playing pool and air hockey in our cabin, or listening to music while we sipped an adult beverage on the deck, overlooking the Smokey Mountains. Talk about recharging your batteries.

2020-2021: Adrienne and I had a blast when we went to Chicago for a wedding back in December of '19, and we couldn't wait to take the girls there. We are fortunate to have family that live right in the heart of the city, and they offered up their beautiful home and it made our trip so much more comfortable than it would've been in a hotel. But, more than that, it was so cool to just walk around residential neighborhoods, visit Wrigley Field, and truly feel immersed in the city. We certainly did our share of touristy stuff (we shopped on Michigan Avenue and visited the Field Natural History Museum), but because of the circumstances, it gave us the illusion of being locals for a few days. And I'm so glad Charlotte and Delilah got to experience it. Charlotte told us the other day, we're not allowed to go back to Chicago without her and Delilah.

Nine years used to sound and feel like a lifetime in itself. Now, it seems like the blink of an eye. Obviously, a lot has changed for Adrienne and I since October 6, 2012...We've moved three times, changed jobs, had two beautiful little girls, watched them grow, experienced unfathomable joy, heartache, fear, and everything in between. But, if given the chance to do it all over again, I'd do it without a second's hesitation, and wouldn't change one, single thing. I love you, Adrienne, so much I can't stand my life. Happy 9th anniversary!

To My Other Three-Year-Old

English author Emma Darwin refers to it as the itch of writing. Essentially, it's just a desire to sit down and write; it could be a short story, a letter to a friend, a journal entry, blog post, poem, song lyrics...Whatever. I experience it often, and rarely for the same reason. Sometimes a significant event in my life has taken place, and I want to record my immediate thoughts on it so I don't forget them as time passes. Sometimes I may read a news article, or see a movie that stirs an emotional response that I feel the need to express. Other times it's for no good reason at all. I may be standing by the grill waiting on burgers to finish and the thought will cross my mind. I could be sitting on the mower, making the 12th pass through the back yard. Maybe it's just boredom. Regardless of the circumstance that causes it to manifest, I really think the itch, at its core, is just a desire to tell a story...To communicate.

I've wanted to write for a while, now. Between noteworthy happenings in my own life and the emotional rollercoaster that has been our collective existence the last several months, there's been absolutely no shortage of potential topics. But, for whatever reason, the words just wouldn't come. I've sat down at my laptop no less than six times the last few weeks, stared a blank screen for half an hour, written an absolutely god-awful paragraph, deleted said paragraph, stared for thirty minutes more, then just given up and watched King of Queens reruns. When you have the itch of writing, and no presentable prose appears, it can be infuriating.

Luckily, today is Delilah's 3rd birthday. I wouldn't really need a reason to write about my girls, but I figure a birthday is as good a reason as any. God knows Delilah is an absolute treasure-trove of material, so this should be one of the easiest pieces I've ever had the privilege of writing.

I never thought anyone, or anything, could have my heart the way Charlotte does. That little girl had me wrapped around her little finger when she was nothing more than a black and white dot printed on some thermal paper. For me, it was all over but the shouting.

And then came Delilah. And, whew, boy...She has given Charlotte an absolute run for her money.

I've touched on this before, but there's just something about the second child that makes you take your guard down, in so many different ways. Delilah can get away with twice as much as Charlotte could have ever even considered. And it isn't because our love for Delilah is any stronger than it is (or was) for Charlotte; it's just that she was lucky enough to come along after Adrienne and I had come to the realization that we aren't terrible at parenting. Charlotte was the guinea pig, and Delilah was everything after.

Maybe there's just something about being the baby...Delilah is just So. Damn. Cute. Adrienne and I joke about it often: There's something different about Delilah. I swear, there are times where I feel like I can't look directly at her. It physically hurts me. I am absolutely certain that Charlotte had the same affect on Adrienne and I when she was three. The thing is, though, she was first...We weren't disarmed, just yet, like we have been with Delilah. We hate to fall into some second-child, some baby, stereotype, but...It is what it is.

Charlotte and Delilah are so similar in many ways, but total opposites in others. Charlotte has an incredible ability to think of others. She always wants to play with Delilah...She wants to share toys, or take turns when they pick something to watch on TV. Almost daily, we get a report from school about how Charlotte offers help to other students, respects her teachers, and listens attentively. Delilah, on the other hand, is so independent. It's as if Charlotte is a dog, and Delilah is a cat. Delilah wants to play with Charlotte, but on her own terms. If she wants to sit and play with her Paw Patrol characters or "Barbie animals," she will. If Charlotte tries to join, and she doesn't genuinely want her to, Delilah loses her mind. She hasn't quite figured out how to share...Or, at least, she hasn't decided she wants to. And as much as Adrienne and I try to discipline Delilah in those instances, it's just not the same.  

Delilah is just so funny. And smart. And articulate. So much so, in fact, that we'll look at each other and wonder, "How does she even know those words?" A good example happened just last week. I had left a water cup on my nightstand from the night before, and Delilah happened across it. She brought it to me and deadpanned, "You need to drink this, Daddy, so you stay nice and hydrated." The only reply I could muster was, "Uh...Yes...You're right. Thank you." Things like that happen almost daily.

It's obvious that Charlotte's influence has had an exponential impact on Delilah. We thought the same things and had the same reactions to things Charlotte used to do (things she still does). But, for some inexplicable reason, we are still surprised every single time. And yet...It's just not the same.

I think the way to describe my feelings is best articulated in the Avett Brothers' song, "Murder in the City." They, so eloquently put it, "I love you, and I'm proud of you both, in so many different ways." I can only imagine how much that sentiment will grow in my own heart and mind as my girls continue to mature and change.

Happy Birthday, Delilah Rose! We love you so much, we can't stand our lives.

To My Wife...

It's nearly impossible to believe that Adrienne and I have been married for eight years. We can all relate with how it seems that each passing year seems to go quicker than the last (I won't bore you with my theory as to why that is), but it still doesn't seem possible, despite the fact I've been present for every single second.  It feels like just yesterday we were going to see Step Up 3D on a blind date on August 12, 2010, despite our mutual reluctance and overall disdain for blind dates. But, at the same time, it feels like an entire lifetime.  There was the time before, and the time after.  Like two acts of the same play.

I can't safely assume our time together has been all that dissimilar from countless other "love stories," but it certainly seems that way to me. To us. It's special, unique, and has an air of "meant to be," when you consider how it all occurred. But, again, I won't bore you with all the details. This isn't about how it all began...It's how it's played out. Eight years chock full of love, laughter, tears, and growth.

There are literally thousands of reasons why I love Adrienne, but, for our eighth anniversary, I've chosen eight of them.  In no particular order...

1. I love her for her frankness. When I approached Jackie with my intentions on marrying Adrienne, and asked for her blessing, she pointedly asked me why I wanted to marry her daughter.  I don't remember everything I said (nervousness and anxiousness can dilute your memory, I guess), but I do remember one thing in particular. I told her that I loved how Adrienne spoke her mind. I loved that I never had to doubt, for one second, where I stood with her. I never had to guess how Adrienne felt. A lot of folks might find that characteristic abrasive, but I have always admired it. I, unfortunately, don't possess that level of courage, and I love that about her. It isn't about wondering, or caring, what other people think. It's about doing and saying what you think is right. We should all aspire to live our lives that way.

2. I love her for the thoughtful and loving mother she is. I always get worked up when I see fathers portrayed in TV shows or movies as bungling, unprepared idiots that seem to be incapable of surviving if the mother so much as goes shopping for a couple of hours. I like to think I'm far better than that. And yet, in those few instances when I feel like I've thought of something she hasn't (like preparing water bottles for the girls before we go on a trip, or packing a change of clothes in the diaper bag), I find she's four steps ahead. She thinks deeply about possibilities that I don't even consider.

3. I love her for how she balances me out. I'd like to think I have the same impact on her, and, in all honesty, I probably do. But, it's not the same. I worry about money, and the house, and bills, and all those superficial things that, in the grand scheme, don't really matter. "It's going to be fine," she'll say. And guess what? She's right. It always is.  She worries about the girls when they bump their head on the floor, or when they get hit in the face by a wayward hula hoop. "It's going to be fine," I'll say. And it always is. But, I'm not sure my reassurances have the same effect. I hope they do.

4. I love her for always motivating me. Most of the time she doesn't even try, or is even aware she's doing it. But she pushes me to be a better father, husband, brother, son, and man every single day just by being herself. She gives me countless reasons to wake up in the morning, go to work, and live my life as positively as possible. And when I fall short, she doesn't even have to point out my pitfalls. I recognize them, and I do everything I can do to correct them. She loves me, regardless.

5. I love her for making me a better father. She does it just by demonstrating how good of a mother she is every single day. Being a parent is really, really hard. You just do the best you can, and hope you make the right choices. You want to make sure you balance out the level of praise you give for good behavior with the punishment you give for the bad. You hope the level of affection you show to each child is equal, so neither ever feels inadequate in any way. You try in every possible way to ensure they feel loved, and you hope you set them up to have better lives than you ever wished you could have. Ultimately, you just hope you don't screw up. Adrienne does that with more grace, ease, and adequacy than I could ever think possible. Watching her makes me constantly self-evaluate my own performance as a parent, and I can't thank her enough for that.

6. I love her for being my best friend. We never seem to run out of things to talk about. We can poke fun at one another when we do or say dumb things. We laugh constantly. We can dance in the kitchen (much to the delight of our girls). We can hang out in bed, on our phones, and not say a word. We can watch recorded episodes of Dateline and pinpoint the killer within the first five minutes. On those rare occasions when we get to spend time together, with no kids, it feels like we are dating all over again. As a picture hanging in our living room reads, "We were together. I forget the rest."

7. I love her for not being my better half. I've always hated that cliche, because she isn't that. She's filled the cracks. She's made my good parts better. She's hidden my imperfections. She's shown me the roadmap to turning my weaknesses into strengths. She's made me whole. She isn't my better half...I'm me, because of her.

8. I love her 'cause it's simple. And it always has been.

More Lessons From a One Year Old

From the moment Adrienne and I learned we were going to have a second child, we vowed to one another that we would do everything we could to make sure we raised her as her own individual.  Just because Charlotte did things a certain way, we told ourselves, didn't mean Delilah had to be the same.  We weren't going to compare the two in that way, and we didn't want Charlotte to influence how we treated Delilah.  Every kid is different, as we'd been told thousands of times from folks with far more experience in raising children.  So, we were very judicious in our mental approach to parenting with her...We were going to treat her like Delilah.  She wasn't Charlotte, and we couldn't go about it the same way.

I'd like to think it was our incredible skill and proficiency as parents that led us in that direction with Delilah.  But, if I'm being totally honest, it's probably more human nature than anything else.  When Charlotte came along, despite countless offers of parenting advice from friends and family, Adrienne and I had absolutely no clue what we were doing as parents.  And, as most people tend to do in times of absolute incompetency, we erred on an absurd side of caution.  We were both a nervous wreck when we left to go to the hospital for her delivery.  After she arrived, we kept hand sanitizer within arm's reach at all times.  When the nurse told us we could stay an extra night if we wanted, we couldn't say yes fast enough. The first time Charlotte showed the slightest sign of discomfort, we rushed to the ER, only to find she was suffering from a bad case of gas.  If a pacifier so much as grazed the side of our shirt, we'd throw it in the left side of the sink, filled with Dawn Pure Essentials (we used Member's Mark brand, or, if we were feeling saucy, Ajax, on our dishes).  Every article of clothing was washed in Dreft, and that was non-negotiable.  When Charlotte sat in the living room floor, we built a small pillow fort around her in the event she invariably fell over.  It took an act of Congress and multiple scientific journal articles to convince Adrienne that an off-brand of formula wasn't going to cause irreversible damage to Charlotte's cognitive abilities as she grew. 

In the case of Delilah, things really couldn't have been more different.  When we checked into the hospital, we might as well have been checking into a Hilton for a long weekend getaway.  We were calm, relaxed, hoping we'd only have to stay for a night, maybe two at the most.  I watched Kentucky beat Florida at football for the first time in 31 years while Adrienne was in labor, as if I were watching in my living room at home.  I'd periodically offer up a half-hearted, "You doing ok?  You need anything?" Without actually taking my eyes off the television.  Not my proudest moment, to be sure, but hell...I knew she had this!

When we brought Delilah home, we were still cautious and careful like all parents are with newborns.  But things were different.  If her pacifier dropped to the floor, we picked it up and brushed it against our leg and gave it back to her.  We still washed her bottles and pacifiers in the left side of the sink, but the customary Ajax did just fine.  If she cried an abnormal amount of time, we just walked around the living room and rocked her until she finally went to sleep.  As she grew, when we sat her in the living room floor, it was alright as long as we were close enough to see her.  If she happened to fall over, we'd say, "You're okay!" and just tilt her back upright.  We even bought Luvs diapers by the case...With Charlotte, Adrienne only used them, and reluctantly, when they were given to us for free.

Of course, none of that was a difference in the care or attention we've paid to Delilah.  It was simply putting into practice lessons we learned with Charlotte.  Mainly, kids are incalculably tougher and more resilient than we give them credit for, and, almost always, will be just fine.  In all reality, treating Delilah differently than Charlotte hasn't been all that difficult.

Charlotte was a really easy baby, but Delilah has been even easier.  She only cries on three discernible occasions: when she's tired, and tries not to fall asleep; when Adrienne leaves the room; or if she's asleep, and has a bad dream.  She'll end up in this half-awake/half-asleep state where her delirium leaves her inconsolable for a few minutes.  But, 99% of the time, she's as happy and easy-going as a baby could possibly be.

Charlotte never really crawled all that much, and Delilah crawls all over the house.  She shows little to no interest in any age-appropriate toys, especially when there's a perfectly good dog food bowl and dirty pair of shoes sitting in the corner.  Unless she's sleepy, or eating, she'd rather do anything than sit still and entertain herself.  She is CONSTANTLY on the move. Charlotte, on the other hand, could sit in the floor with a pile full of books for a half hour or more, and be perfectly happy.

In recent weeks, Delilah has really started to show her personality.  She loves Chester and Winston, loves her sister, and loves Team Umizoomi.  My favorite sound in the world right now are the squeals and barely discernible "Da!  Da!" when I walk in the door in the afternoon.  She's trying to walk, and can take 3-4 steps at a time.  She loves to play games like peek-a-boo, and loves to throw food in the floor for the dogs.  She even does that when we're at restaurants, as if they're there, too.  And she has the best smile and laugh...My goodness, I love her laugh.

From day one, Adrienne and I set our minds to making sure Delilah (and Charlotte, for that matter) always knows she's loved and valued as an individual.  Truth be told, over the last year, they've both made that part pretty easy.  I certainly don't want to wish away the time, because it hurts my heart to think about how much has changed just in 12 short months.  But, part of me can't wait to see the wonderful person she'll become.  We love you so much, Delilah Rose...Happy birthday!

I Look Like a Banker in This

I really didn't plan on publishing this post.  Initially, I didn't even plan on writing it.  I've been in a weird state of shock the last couple of days, unsure how to even begin to process the fact he's gone.  Mostly, I've just been internalizing it all.  Reminiscing on little snippets of time I've compartmentalized in my memory over the years.  Over-analyzing old text messages and wondering if a different wording here or there could've made any difference.  I've laughed about old jokes.  I've teared up thinking about his family.  I've felt guilty, for a variety of reasons.  Writing would normally be the therapeutic outlet where it'd all start to make sense, but not now.  I usually write for me, not for anyone else.  And, at least for now, I didn't want to.

But, then, while mowing the yard Thursday afternoon, I remembered a conversation Ryan and I had about a year ago.  He randomly told me that he loved reading my blog, and was always excited when he saw I had posted something new.  He said he liked how honest my writing appeared to be, and he said he felt like anyone could relate to most of the stuff I wrote about, even if it was a story straight from my own life.  I'm not sure any critique of my writing has resonated so strongly.  I told him how much it helped me make sense of things, sometimes.  I told him how it was like turning the heat down on a boiling pot of water.  It could calm the violence.  It could quiet the noise.  I told him to try it...Maybe it would help.

So, this time, I'm not writing for me.  I'm writing for him. And his family.  And all the people that loved him, because, like me, they're all hurting right now. 

Ryan wasn't my very first friend.  Aside from my sister or a couple of my cousins, that designation goes to Josh Riley, whom I met at St. Matthews Pre-School when I was four years old.  We were "buds," as he always liked to say.  Josh was the lone guest at my 5th birthday party at Showbiz Pizza in February 1990 (I have photographic evidence to prove it), but after the pre-school year ended in May, I don't think we spoke again until we were teammates on the 7th-grade football team.  But, Ryan was my first "best" friend.

We met in 1st grade at Benton Elementary, that much I know.  It's strange, though, because you'd assume something as life-altering as meeting your first best friend would be something you'd always remember.  But I don't.  I only have a handful of memories of anything from my life before he came along, so it's like to me, he was always there.  One of the first vivid memories I have of our friendship happened in the hallways of the old Benton Elementary building.  It was at the end of the school year, and we were talking about how we were both going to play baseball for the Dodgers that summer.  Neither of us really knew what a "dodger" was, so we started acting like we were dodging objects being thrown at us, like a dodger was a badass mascot of some kind, like a Wildcat or Lion or something.  I'm sure to the average onlooker we probably looked ridiculous, but we thought it was awesome (as a side note to that: I remember being jealous of Ryan because he had legitimate stirrup socks that actually matched our uniforms.  You know, the ones that fit over plain white socks.  I, in my impatient excitement, had my mom buy me those cheap "stirrups" with a royal blue stripe running up the vertical side, because I knew we were the Dodgers and their primary color was royal blue, before finding out our uniforms were inexplicably navy blue, despite the fact Dodger blue is absolutely not navy blue).

While my memory isn't totally clear, I'm fairly certain my first sleepover was at Ryan's house.  Eric Johnston's house was a few hundred feet away, so he'd always come over, too.  We used to play tournaments on RBI Baseball for Nintendo in his basement.  We'd play basketball in his driveway, and kickball in the yard next to his house.  To this day, the only broken bone I've ever had occurred during one of those epic kickball battles.  I dove with the ball in my hands, trying to tag my sister, and fractured my left hand in the process.

The first time he spent the night at my house, I remember crying from the frustration of being unable to fall asleep because he snored so loudly.  I went to my parent's room complaining, begging my mom to do something, anything, to make it stop.  I ended up with a blanket on the couch.

As we grew up, sports was always at the center of our friendship (and continued to be until the end).  Some of my most cherished memories from my childhood come from All-Star baseball teams, and the Bulldogs.  Or the battles we shared on the basketball court as teammates in the county league.  In 4th grade, we won the league championship, mostly because Matt Henson scored 90% of our points. In 8th grade, we were on the green YMCA team together.  In the league tournament, I missed a free throw in the closing seconds that would've tied the game and send the game to overtime, but Ryan got the offensive rebound.  He was hacked on his put-back attempt, but it wasn't called, and his potential-game winner barely rimmed out.

When we both played on the Bulldogs, most of my memories don't even come from time on the field.  They come from our time together with one another, and our teammates, off it.  The NBA Jam tournament we played in Austin Beck's mom's van on the way to Tarkio, Missouri for the CABA World Series.  Homerun derbies in the field in front of our hotel with foam bats and balls we all got at Pizza Hut, mimicking our favorite players' batting stances.  Hotel High Jump in Caleb Curtner's hotel room.  Counting the number of times I could sneeze after tapping myself in the nose.  I'll never forget those days.

Ryan was one of those rare people that just didn't have enemies.  I mean, for the love of God, I can't think of a single person on this planet that didn't like him.  We all strive, whether intentional or not, to be liked.  To be liked by virtually everyone, Ryan didn't even have to try.  He made being liked just look so. Damn. Easy.  He was easy to talk to.  He could fit in with literally any group of people, and could do it flawlessly.  I had different groups of friends, to be sure, but never felt even a slight hesitation about including Ryan with any of them.  He had an uncanny ability to find common ground with anyone he came in contact with, and could read people better than anyone I've ever been around.  It just came so naturally to him.  And he could make you laugh.  God, could he make you laugh.

I've written before about how I feel like life, as we grow older, becomes segmented.  We tend to designate certain times in our lives to particular files in our memory, like a card catalogue.  Early-childhood, elementary school, middle school, high school, college, post-college-pre-marriage, marriage, marriage-pre-kids, marriage-post-kids, etc.  It's totally arbitrary, but that's basically how it goes for me.  We don't always sit around and contemplate the individuals that come and go, and how they indent themselves into particular eras of our lifetimes.  But, times like now, when we lose someone who has had a profound impact on our life, we tend to do it.  And Ryan's impact on my life is incredibly profound.

There are plenty of people that could say they had a closer relationship with him than I did, especially in the last 10 years or so.  Truth be told, since we graduated high school, most of my interactions with Ryan were via text, or the occasional phone call.  In fact, until today, the two of us hadn't been in the same room in almost a decade.  But, despite that, I know our friendship was unique.  Or, at the very least, it felt unique to me.  You see, Ryan was one of those once-in-a-lifetime people we encounter that can make every single person in his life feel like the most important at any given moment.  And now, as his sister, Noele, said on Facebook, "We will never be the same."

The Ryan I remember from our childhood and the Ryan I came to know towards the end are not the same person.  He had his demons, and he had his struggles, and he reached out for help on numerous occasions.  It would be easy to spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been if I had done or said something differently.  God knows I'm going to, whether I want to or not.  But, I also know that the Ryan I knew wouldn't want that.  He'd want us all to remember the good times.  He'd want us to remember the times he made us laugh (those are countless).  He'd want us to remember that, at his best, he was an incredible father, brother, son, and friend...The type any one of us would like to have.  He'd want us to picture him with a smile on his face, wearing his Reba McEntire shirt, and giggling as he quoted lines from Billy Madison or Major League.  At his best, Ryan was really the best among us.  So, I'm going to choose to remember him at his best.  Quite frankly, the rest doesn't even matter.

Rest easy, brother.  I love you.

So Long, My Friend

It's a bit strange how, as we grow older, the people we call friends mold and evolve.  When we are kids, our friends are almost exclusively other kids, of roughly the same age.  Most of them, we meet at school, or church, or through involvement with sports or some other extracurricular activity.  They typically develop from simple proximity.  Being at the same place, at the same time.  In many ways, the friends we have when we're young aren't the same as those we make later in life.  Quite frankly, we don't have too much of a choice, when we haven't yet figured out who we are.  A major part of those first friendships is just that: discovering ourselves (what we value, what we despise) by the people with which we are surrounded.

As we go through life, as we grow and change, the people we ultimately call friends change, too.  A few of those initial friendships may have lifelong staying power, but the vast majority come and go, sometimes as quickly as they arrived.  And, sure, a lot of acquaintances that ultimately turn into friendships happen by sheer happenstance, not too unlike those early ones.  But, instead of school or sports, it's people we meet at work.  Or at a bar.  Or through mutual friends.  And instead of just being comprised of people of the same age and demographic, our friendships diversify.  They look and feel different than they used to, take on different dynamics, and come more from the result of personal choice, as opposed to who happened to be sitting next to us in English class.

My friendship with Steve Ragle was sort of a mix.  We met purely by chance, by being in the right place at the right time.  But, I made the choice to be his friend because I valued the same things he valued.  Because he made me laugh.  He brought me joy.  He taught me things. God knows I’ve made a lot of bad choices in my life, but being friends with Steve Ragle was not one of them.  And when I really think about it, it wasn't really much of a choice.  It was easy.

That's what's funny about friendships, and how they look as we grow older.  There's no real reason Steve and I should have been friends.  We never had much in common.  I was in my late 20's when I met Steve; he was in his 60's.  Adrienne and I didn't have kids, yet; Steve had four grandchildren.  I worked as an insurance agent.  Steve was a retired contractor, and Vietnam veteran.  I liked AC/DC and Boston.  Steve liked Southern gospel and old-school country.  We couldn't have been more different, as far as friends go.

I met him through his daughter, Leah Kate, who was a teacher at North Jackson with Adrienne.  We grew close with her and her husband, Luke, and frequented the pool at their house in the summer.  Steve would ride the hundred yards or so from his house to theirs on a motorized scooter...Not because he needed it, but because it was just fun.  I guess that's where I met him.  Truth be told, I don't remember meeting Steve for the first time.  It was just like he had always been there, like I had known him for years.

But, despite our differences, Steve and I became fast friends.  We never really talked about anything life-shattering; I didn't confide in him about anything real.  Most of our conversations revolved around his fishing stories, or old houses he built.  Or boats.  We exchanged funny stories about idiots we saw out on the lake, over the years.  We poked fun at Luke, sometimes when he wasn't around, but mostly when he was.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't make up excuses to go visit him at his shop: I needed to borrow a tool, or inflate a tire on my lawnmower.  I needed help winterizing my boat, or to just pick his brain about some random project I had at the house.  I learned a lot from him.

I guess part of it was selfishness.  If I ever needed anything, I knew Steve would have the necessary tools, and the knowledge, to help me out.  The spray gun to paint the furniture for Charlotte's (and now, Delilah's) nursery.  The lathe and tile grout to make a sideboard, now sitting in our kitchen, out of an old shipping crate we found in Adrienne's grandma's attic.  The new sink and counter-tops we installed in the kitchen of our first home.  The display case he built for Adrienne's father's old rifle.  Our house is littered with small pieces of Steve's handiwork. Little daily reminders of the memories made with him.  And I am so thankful for that.

Steve really became a sort of father figure for me.  My dad is fantastic, and helpful anytime I need it. But my parents live over two hours away, and sometimes you need to borrow a weedeater like, yesterday.  Sometimes you need someone to help you change the blower motor on your 25-year-old furnace, because it’s November and your wife is seven months pregnant and there will either be working heat in the house, or you'll be in a hotel.  I have absolutely no doubt there were times when Steve would look down at his phone, see me calling, roll his eyes and sigh, but pick up anyway.  Always answering the same way, with an enthusiastic, "Hello, Zach!"  Always knowing damn well I had a stupid question, or needed his help.  And he never hesitated. Never even thought twice.

I will forever regret the fact he never met Delilah.  I will forever regret the fact that Adrienne and I talked about how we needed to take the girls to see him and Kathy dozens of times over the last several months, and never did.  We kept waiting for the right time; when the girls weren't sick, or when it was just a bit more convenient.  We kept thinking we had more time.  We didn't.  

The old saying goes, "You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family."  I wasn't lucky enough to be able to call Steve family.  I just had to settle for friend.  But, considering the fact I knew him as "Papa Steve," from day one, I'd venture to guess he didn't think of Adrienne and I (or Charlotte and Delilah) as anything less than family.  If he did, he certainly didn't show it.  Either way, it's a choice I'm eternally grateful to have been able to make.

You will forever be missed, Papa Steve.

To My Three-Year-Old...

It's been almost two years since I wrote on the blog.  About that long since I wrote anything of substance, really.  Each Christmas Eve, we go to dinner at Jackie's house and Liza has traditionally written a poem she recites before the meal that recounts the previous year and all the goings-on in the family.  Back in 2015, she "retired," and relegated that responsibility to me.  So, I've written a little narrative for that the last couple of years.  But, admittedly, my entry last week was mediocre, at best.  It wasn't necessarily for lack of trying, I guess.  I mean...I wanted it to be good.  But it was one of those pieces where you know, as you're writing it, it is the textbook definition of "mailing it in."  I just wished it had been better.  And, in all honestly, there's no particularly good excuse for it not being good.  I mean, I had a full 12 months to prepare.  I had four nuclear families, all with an abundance of exciting things, from which to pull material I could include.  And, yet, I waited until about noon (we were leaving our house at about 4:00 that afternoon) on Christmas Eve to even open my laptop.  You could call it procrastination.  You could call it laziness.  You could call it lots of things, really.  But, the fact of the matter is, I've been pretty busy.

The last year has left me with countless inspirations to write.  An almost daily onslaught, as a matter of fact.  Watching a growing toddler will do that.  But you know what else it does?  It makes you tired.  It makes you find time to relax that you don't really have.  It makes you turn into a makeshift photographer and videographer because you can't bear the thought of forgetting some seemingly minuscule event, that a year later, you'll be SO GLAD you recorded.  Like hearing how she used to pronounce "cow" (like co-wa).  Or a facial expression she makes when she's modeling her princess dress.  It makes you get out of bed, after you've JUST gotten comfortable, so she can rock for the third time.  It makes you think you could write about all those things every single day, but you'd rather just experience them.  Then, before you know it, they're turning three years old, you've hardly written a single line, and you're not sure if you can even really refer to them as a toddler anymore.

I can't believe I haven't written more, honestly.  I haven't written on the blog at all since May 2017, and about Charlotte since her first birthday (I haven't written at all about Delilah, yet, but that's an argument for another day).  It's silly.  That beautiful, smart, witty, independent little girl has provided me with enough "writing" material to last a lifetime, and here I sit...Still wondering what to say.

She does something on a daily basis that leaves Adrienne and I completely slack-jawed...Wondering how in the world we've gotten to this point so incredibly quickly.  I know it's cliche to say it feels like yesterday, but it really does.  It feels like just yesterday we were loading up and heading to the hospital to wait almost 24 hours for her to make her arrival.  It feels like just yesterday she was mumbling her first words, and taking her first steps.  It feels like just yesterday she was squealing at the first notes of "Second One to Know," by Chris Stapleton (something she still does).  And, at the same time, it feels like a lifetime ago.

You see, when you have someone so amazing filling your days with incalculable joy and laughter, that tends to happen.  Adding a baby sister to the mix only magnifies it, because it adds a new dimension to the incredible human being that was already there.  Charlotte has always loved her baby dolls, and we weren't overly worried about her ability to adapt when Delilah came along.  But the love and patience she has shown towards "Baby Dewiwah" still astonishes us on a daily basis.

Not too many folks can say they've lived as much as Charlotte has in three short years.  She's cooked tacos with Dad, driven an RV (a bus, as she calls it) with Uncle Jamie, ridden a trolley in Gatlinburg, been a princess and mermaid in the living room, become a world-class big sister, fed a ham sam to the boys, watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer 10,000 times, and stolen my heart twice as many.

I may not write as much as I should, or even as much as I want to.  But, I can promise you, my time has been well-spent.  It's been spent watching Charlotte grow, love her sister, and trying desperately to hold onto the time.  Happy birthday, Charlotte Claire.  Your mother and I (and pretty much everyone that knows you) love you more than you'll ever know.