The Speech

(This is what it sounds like in my head. Who knows how it's going to come out...)

They say that: “Everyone who has ever passed through the doors of Bishop Ready knows that for as long as they live they have a home here and they are always welcome back.

Today, I feel that, and I thank you. I want to also thank those who nominated me, and accepted me into this select group. I am humbled by this honor, and I hope that in my life I am able to continue to do the work that brought me here, that is my passion. I want to thank an incredibly supportive family, a whole team of people, hundreds of supporters, and all the folks who inspire me to do the work I do. They’re the ones who deserve the recognition.

I was very nervous about being here today. I asked my girls, who some of you know, what I could say that wouldn’t make me sound like “some old” guy.

They just laughed.

So, I asked another friend, and she told me to just talk about what I do.  

As I look out at all of you I remember myself in those very same seats. I was excited for the future, even if I had no idea what that future held.

It took me sometime to figure it all out, and that’s okay. All I really knew was that whatever I did, it probably shouldn’t involve math. More importantly, I wanted to do it as best as I possibly could.

I learned here at Ready that each and every one of us has the ability to have an impact on our environment, and most especially the people around us.

Just being a Dad, carrying on my daughter Meghan’s legacy through our work with The MJB Foundation, and being the best Dad I can be to my daughters Kailey and Delaney I’ve found my life’s work, and somehow that lead me here today.

At The MJB Foundation we strive everyday to make sure that children, all of the children can know the real Joy that should be childhood.

As my children have grown I have stressed to them, and to their friends and other youth I have worked with, the importance of finding a way to enjoy their childhood.

That’s what life should be all about - Joy - and that is my wish for you today.

Thank you!

Taking Care of My Kids

Mr. Wright,

I'm going to begin by asking that you not send me the "canned response," and you not refer to what happened with your school's football team and the Westland High School Band as a mix-up.

This was not a mix-up. This was a blatant disregard for the rules. You know it, and I know it.

I still cannot believe that with more than 3 minutes left during halftime the Liberty football team actually  came onto the field while the band was still performing and refused to leave...even after their coach was asked by both the Westland band staff and the athletic director. (photo credit to Julie Prater)

In fact your coaching staff essentially told our band directors as well as parents in the press box, who were counting raffle money, that they didn't care that they were breaking the rules.

Did they also not care that children's safety was in danger? Two band members were kicked. That's two too many.

One wonders what your reaction might have been if your football players had pushed the wrong tuba player to the brink? That's a pretty heavy instrument.

Do you comprehend where this could go wrong on so many levels?

I learned afterward that the Liberty football team has a reputation of doing this repeatedly. REPEATEDLY? even to your own band at times.

That is wrong! An immediate, and unequivocal apology should be issued by every coach, and every administrator in your building to every band it has shown this type of disrespect.

I have friends whose children attend Olentangy Liberty. Their kids are good kids. I am confident that the kids on the football team are probably good kids just doing what they were told.

I am not, however as confident in the goodness of your coaching staff, or frankly in you sir with the copied and pasted response referencing a "mix-up."I have seen you give to many, MANY concerned parents.

It's a sad day when the adults are the ones who need to learn the lesson.

Please do the right thing here and apologize, and have your coaching staff apologize with assurance that this will not happen in the future. Don't apologize to me. Apologize to the Westland Band, every single member and director.

It is my understanding that several media outlets have been copied on many of these emails. One can only hope that at the very least the threat of bad publicity will compel you to do what is right.

Sincerely,

Jim Brochowski
Westland Band Booster Treasurer

If Jim Brochowski can do it...

Maybe this is why:

As I stood up at third base I could see him looking at me and shaking his head. I had just smashed, (Hey I was 13 I still smashed things.) the ball into the fence in left field and while I was disappointed it didn’t go over I was also thrilled with what was probably the best hit of my life.
I scored on the next play and as I walked up to my Dad he said: “Just think how far it would have gone if it had been a strike.”

Ouch!

He was right though, the ball I hit was pitched almost over my head. As the infamous movie line goes: I like the high ones!

Now, I love my Dad and I don’t blame him for anything about my upbringing, but my point is I always have greater expectations, It’s taken a long time for me to learn how to be satisfied, and well, I don’t handle praise all that well.

The year to date has been a good one. The MJB Foundation has raised almost $7,000 with an event still to come, I’ve lost 42 pounds, (as of this morning), and I learned a couple of weeks ago that I’m to be inducted into my high school’s hall of fame, mostly for my work with the foundation.

Right and left I’m being congratulated and praised. Folks are using words like inspirational, and...

… And I have no idea how to handle this.

My wife even wants to have a celebratory get together after the HOF induction. She created a Facebook event, and made me a host so I can invite people who are on my friends list, but maybe not on hers.

Really?

“Hi, Come celebrate me?”

That just feels wrong. Egotistical, making a big deal out of nothing. To me, it’s just weird.

I feel like if I can do what I do, anybody can do what I do, and the reality is it’s not me. It’s an incredibly supportive family. It’s a whole team of people. It’s hundreds of supporters. It’s the folks who inspire me that help me do the things I do. They’re the ones who deserve the recognition.

I’m told I just need to learn to say thank you and move on, but when people are heaping this high praise, thank you doesn’t seem like enough. Not even close.

A friend once told me that she loves exclamation points because they add emphasis to what is otherwise ordinary. Okay - let’s give this a try...

Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hold My Hand Daddy

Quietly, and without a word she reached out her hand in support and I took it and held on tightly thankful for her knowledge.

Every year we go to the fair with Netter’s family. We have a route we follow, meeting at the Cardinal, onto Dinky Donuts, a stop in the grassy area near the Rhodes Center, then through the sheep barns, next to the pigs and the horses and the steers, onward to Fine Arts followed by lunch at ODNR. It’s all very scripted, but somehow new and fresh every year. A good time with family. We visit. We laugh. We have fun.

One year, I decided that I would take all of the kids on the Giant Slide. The 7 of them, and me. It was my thing. I bought the tickets. I called for the lineup. I took over at the top of the slide to make sure we all got to go at the same time. “Uncle Jim’s Slide” was an annual thing. Something I looked forward to very much. The kids all knew how much it meant to me and even as they were getting older they still humored me and went along for the ride. They got it.

Unfortunately, I don’t think their parents ever did. Each year, despite my insistence that it was my treat, my thing, Netter’s sisters and their husbands would insist on trying to pay for the tickets, and each year she would tell them “It’s Jim thing. You don’t have to pay. He wants to do this.”

And I did. I really, really did.

Last Saturday however, marked the end of an era for Uncle Jim’s slide ride and I found out just how much the slide had become part of the routine.

You may have heard me talk a bit about K’s involvement with the All Ohio State Fair Youth Choir. K loves the choir. We all love going to listen to her sing and visiting her as often as possible. But one of the things about visiting K is that we have to follow the Choir schedule and guidelines for being able to see her. This means among other things that we have to walk to the dorms to pick her up. It’s a very good idea actually. The Choir kids are not to be alone on the fairgrounds for safety reasons. Usually, this means a  little extra walking, but it’s a minor inconvenience and I can use the exercise. On the day that the family comes to the fair though it can throw a major wrench into the routine.

So on Saturday while Netter and I hustled to get K from the dorm after the 4:00 parade the family went to buy slide tickets and the kids went on the slide without us.

We arrived just as they were ascending the stairs. K and I really didn’t know what to do. “We didn’t know you were coming,” my mother-in-law said.

Sure enough later I would look at my phone and see that while we were running across the fairgrounds to get to the slide, my youngest, D was texting and calling and I just didn’t feel the vibrate.

Still, at that moment, I was in shock. I didn’t know what to do. My tradition, one of the things I most looked forward to at the fair had been taken away. Uncle Jim was very disappointed.

I spun around, and kicked the air. I think a blue word or two escaped my lips, but I tried to stay clear of the family because I didn’t want to argue. I knew that when rational thought took over I would see their reasoning and everything would, (eventually) be okay.

I asked Kailey if she wanted to ride the slide. She said, “No, well only if you do Daddy,” and I decided that I didn’t. She needed to eat something before her next concert and I had promised her some fair corn. I told her to tell her Grandma we were getting something to eat and asked them to wait for us to come back and we walked away.

A lump formed in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes. I thought to myself, Well there’s nothing special about the slide at the fair anymore. The kids were all growing up anyway. I’m sure it’s not big deal. But it was... And then it happened

My little girl reached out her hand to me. My little girl once more. Not a word was spoken, or glance exchanged, but the meaning was clear. K, oh wise K, knew that her Daddy needed her, that he needed to walk with his little girl.

Yeah, the lump in my throat got bigger, but that was okay.

Hand in hand we walked to the corn stand, and with a final kiss in the air we let go our hands and continued our day. We finished our corn, and K said goodbye to the family before I returned her to the dorms to line up for the next concert.

I talked to Netter about the slide a little bit. We both agreed that nobody meant any harm. They were just trying to follow the plan, the routine, and they obviously had no idea how much that meant to me.

It’s all good, as they say.

While I did lose something that day, just for that fleeting moment in time I had my little girl once again.

I’ll take the trade.

Pay Attention Daddy!

This is not my world.



If you can't see the video. Click here.

Sometimes things are difficult. Sometimes things are messy. Sometimes things are complicated. Sometimes we have to find ways to deal with difficult situations, and sometimes things are just flat out ridiculous, and all we can do is laugh.

But, we have to find a way to work through them.

Don't you think?

Or is it easier to say: "I don't know how."

That's not very self reliant, and it's not very productive.

When I was a kid and I needed to learn how to do something my Dad would very often point me in the right direction, but not always realize that sometimes folks like me need detailed instructions.

He would say: "Pay attention. It doesn't cost anything."

(It took me a long time to figure out what, exactly that meant, but when I did it served me well. Though - a note here to the fellas. Do not say "Pay attention. It doesn't cost anything" to your wife or significant other - EVER! You're welcome.)

While my Dad saying this could be frustrating and create a bit of a learning curve that didn't necessarily need to exist, it did help me become very detail oriented, it helped me learn to pay attention, it made me read signs, it made me read the directions, it helps me quite frankly to be able to read people.

Of course, I don't do all of these things all the time, but I am able to recognize when I need to revert back to these methodologies to get something done correctly.

Recently, I had one of these moments.

D needed to print something, but the printer was out of color ink. So, like my Dad might have done I told D to pull out the tray the printer sits on and open it up.

The problem being that she had never opened up the printer before, and I hadn't told her what "it" was...

"It's right there," I said. "Open it up! What do you think you need to do?"

A very confused D just stared at me. Netter rushed in to help D deal with me and the problem.

So I asked Netter: "Am I a bad Dad."

"You're not a bad Dad," she replied. "You just suck at home tech support."

Ouch!

Well, as tech support is essentially what I do for a living I needed to figure this out. What could I do differently next time?

Clearly, I needed to get back to my methods. So, I sought out D and apologized for not providing enough guidance and specific instruction. I told her I was sorry I had not read her reaction well enough, and I encouraged her to stop me next time and ask me for steps. I told her I would tell her sister to do the same so we were all on the same page.

The next day I found K and explained to her what had happened. I told her I'd clearly had a "Poppa moment," God love him and that while I had learned to learn from him and his gruff yet effective style I did not expect my girls to have to do the same.

"What would Poppa do to you?" K asked.

I could think of no specific example, but some 20 year old flashes ran through my brain and I came up with the following scenario.

"Well," I replied "Poppa liked to watch Star Trek, but when I needed help with my math homework he would come into the kitchen to help me go over a few steps and then tell me to get to it while he got back to watching the show.

It was all I could do not to yell out, Darn it Dad! Captain Kirk is gonna sleep with the Blue B****. That's how it ends. Now Get back in here and help me with my math homework."

What's that?

Yes, I said that out loud to my daughter, who of course then repeated it to her younger sister and all the while Netter was asking me if she could tweet that or Facebook it or something so everyone could laugh as hard as we were laughing.

I have no idea where that came from, but I'm glad I have teenagers who are old enough to know that I was really just trying to show them that I am human, I make mistakes and I understand so all they need to do is ask and I will listen and try and help.

As I told a buddy last night: "I think being a kid, being a teenager is one of the hardest things any of us ever has to do in this lifetime. If I can do something to help make it easier for my kids, as long as they cooperate and work with me, then I'm gonna do it."

Parents - what do you think?

*A final note for the Star Trek fans. I know Captain Kirk's fantasy woman is green. For some reason I thought blue. Phase me!

Greetings from the South

I'm in Greenville, South Carolina this week spending time with my cousin "Butch" and her family. A nice vacation away, something we haven't been able to do a lot of in recent years not having a family vehicle we felt was suitable for long distance travel.

We kept our vacations in Ohio the past few years, having only the Ranger to drive and not wanting to cram both girls into the jump seats, which are just not that comfortable for very long trips.

This year, as I'm sure everyone knows we got a new (to us) van when the cost to repair our old Passport exceeded the price of the vehicle itself.

We immediately started planning this trip. Butch and her family are some of our favorite relatives. She and I have been close through the years always sharing a bond that cousins hold. Together with Butch's sister Christie we traversed the path to adulthood, sometimes losing touch but always having each other to reach out to when needed. That's how Butch got her nickname in fact, but that's another story entirely...

This week we had planned on getting caught up, catching some rays, enjoying the holiday and watching our kids get to know one another. We're doing all of that, but we're doing something more, and maybe even something more important.

I won't get into a lot of details, and I'm glad there weren't many people left to see it, but I'm sure it's no secret that there was some less than pleasantness with my folk's visit to Golf for Joy. We were glad they came to the tournament, having dealt with a bit of turmoil over the last year or so, and we were very glad they joined us. We were unsure of the hows and the whys, but eager to put an end to the confrontation.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen last weekend. Don't worry, I've no plans to share the blow-by-blow. If I hadn't felt so many reaching out with their support I wouldn't be sharing any of this today. (Thank you all for all of your support and affirmations.)

Still to be perfectly honest it put me into quite a tailspin, and Sunday was a test of my resiliency and a testament to my wife's patience, nurturing, and understanding. If I haven't said it before or enough - Netter is far and away THE BEST, and I am so lucky to have her in my life.

Further encounters throughout the week also found me held up, quieter at parties to the point that it was noticed, staring through people who looked at me as if to say... "What in the heck is up? What is wrong with you?"

I don't know. I feel like I have lost something, maybe... Something has changed. A shift in the universe, something very uncomfortable has happened.

What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? What exactly is different?

The answer quite simply is, "I don't know."

and I hate that -

When these things happen we tend to reach out to the people that know us best, who've known us the longest, who aren't afraid to tell us what they think, to opinionate, to commiserate, to help us find perspective. Sometimes even to tell us what to do - or at least make really good suggestions.

So that's what I'm doing, and Butch and her family are doing a fine job of helping me.

Is it just me? I don't want it to be about me. I try everyday to be sure that it is not about me.

While this blog is very often a reflection of what is going on in my life, what is happening to me, I write here because I know these things happen to all of us, and I share in the hopes that we might all find answers, and solutions, and that it will be about all of us...

So we can all grow and find the answers...

Together.

Don't you think together is better?

Akita

Working a lot this week on "where I'm going," but before I forget, I'd like to take a few minutes to talk about where I've been.

I mentioned in my Odd Day post that we were headed for Camp Akita for our annual family camping trip in the Hocking Hills.

Today, I'd like to tell you about Camp Akita and what it means to me.

1992- City boy Jimmer, and his lovely wife Netter head off to a place she describes as one of her favorite in all the land. "It's not your normal camping," she tells him. "You'll have fun. I promise."

Cautiously I had agreed to the trip, but as you can see I was not doing such a great job of putting up a good front.

"You want me to do what?!?"

Netter, on the other hand, was obviously very happy to be sharing this place with her husband.

"Come on! It's fun. I promise!"

When we arrived, I could see that Netter was right. This wasn't traditional camping at all. Our cabin slept 10, had 2 full bathrooms, and a complete kitchen.

"Okay," I thought, "I can live with this."

The first night we walked down to the lake to do some fishing.

FISHING?!? I hadn't fished since I was a little boy, I'd only been twice in my life, and frankly worms gave me the heebie jeebies.

Still, I had promised I would try everything. Patiently, Annette and her Dad began to try to teach me how to cast. It didn't go so well. I've told this story before in a post last year.

Essentially, Dad and I just needed to come to an understanding about the expectations of a first time fisherman.

Once we had gotten that out of the way, Annette informed me that we were going to take a canoe out fishing. As I said, I was in for the whole nine yards so off we went.

Wouldn't you know I caught my first fish on my fourth cast. I still point out the spot to Annette every year and talk about that fish like it was the thrill of a lifetime because, well, because it was.

I've caught a lot of fish since then, but I don't think I've ever felt so elated, so happy as I was when I caught that first one.

Every year Akita still makes me that happy.

You know that place where you can go and know you'll be happy no matter what, that place that you can find peace and feel like you're in control, or that sometimes it's maybe okay to not be in control?

You know how sometimes you don't care about a schedule, or a clock, especially a clock, and you're tired of the television, and the technology and you just want to find some peace for your mind and your body and your soul?

Go to Akita.

That's what I do.

What time is it? How 'bout breakfast time, lunch time, dinner time, to read a book, to take a nap.

To draw a picture,
Time to go fishing,








Time to go on a hike,







Time to take your dog for a walk or a swim.

Time to go for a ride in a canoe.

We have made this trip almost every year since 1992.

We go on Mother's Day weekend, and celebrate Grandpa's birthday, (and later my nephew Joe Joe's).


We play games. We watch movies with Grandma. (There is a DVD player, but no television reception.) We do jigsaw puzzles. We make fun of the snorers. (Yes, that includes me.) We laugh when Grandma goes to bed early and says we're not to have fun without her.

And we smile when we find the notebook full of stories about people who come to Akita to do the very same thing at other times of the year.

I often talk about the peace I find on the ice when I'm skating, but that's fleeting, only an hour or so long.

The peace of Akita lasts far longer than that.

It's a special place, a special time - and I'm glad that Netter made me go those many years ago.

I Love Hockey and the D - part one.

I love hockey. Ever since I laced on a pair of skates I've been addicted to the ice, well okay, there was a bit of a learning curve.

You know how some Dad's throw their kid in a lake and say; "swim?" My Dad left me in the middle of the rink at open skate, with the Zamboni coming out to resurface and said; "See you at the door."

Believe it or not, I will forever be grateful.

Know how big that Zamboni looks to a seven year old? Baby I skated, and now.

When I was a kid I went to the rink every day for two straight winters. It was such a routine, that my Mom came home once and asked me why I wasn't at the rink? Did she forget to give me skating money? What was wrong?

Um, Mom - I was grounded. (She gave me the 50 cents I needed and sent me on my way. Thanks Mom. Btw, does anything cost 50 cents anymore?)

My Dad took me to my first game. The Detroit Red Wings vs. The Colorado Rockies at Olympia Stadium in Detroit - 1976. I've told this story before. This is a poster I got at the game? Yep, I still have it hanging in my office. Once ravaged by thumbtacks and scotch tape, it was saved by my fabulous wife, matted and framed. I think that my last "little boy look" probably came the day I asked her if she might salvage it because I didn't want it to "just hang in the garage," and she made it look authentic, and old school, a tribute to my favorite sport, and the place I consider my hometown.

I have other memorabilia from the D of course. These are pennants from my first Tiger game in 1976 (Orange), and from the last two games we went to before they closed Tiger Stadium in 1999.

As every true Detroit native must, I also have the obligatory Lion's paraphernalia - fitting that it's a trash can I suppose. (Oh Dear Lions, please don't draft another QB until you have someone who can protect him.) The Bucket isn't from Detroit, but is a commemorative ice bucket from Superbowl XL which was played in Detroit, purchased at my local Kroger on sale for five dollars.

We have been to Ford Field though. After a friend asked me to go with him to Heinz Field in Pittsburgh the season that it opened, I immediately put an inaugural season trip to Ford Field on our agenda. So my ladies and I ventured forth, and of course came home with a prize. Well okay, the girls got stuffed "Roary" Lions, Netter got a cool Lions Santa ornament, and I got this very cool football.

I continue to root for the Tigers, and Lions, even the Pistons to this day, but the cancellation of a season in 1994, more than 50 years of what might best be described as mediocrity and probably more accurately as pitiful gridiron performance, and my inability to recognize anything basketball like in today's NBA leaves me with one true love, one sport that is pure, one sport that owns my heart. My doctor thinks it sounds funny, but I always find peace on the ice. I feel at home. I feel free. I feel like I belong.

Enter the Detroit Red Wings. For 33 years now, I've followed their fortunes. Sometimes I lost track as we moved around. Not a lot of hockey coverage in Lima, Ohio and we didn't have the Internet in 1979. Even during the eighties in Columbus there wasn't a ton of hockey coverage. Still I got everything I could from the local paper, and whenever we visited the D during the season, the Free Press and I were fast friends.

As the ESPN network grew, and the Columbus Chill came to my new hometown, I was able to once again fully embrace my love affair with the game I think defines me. I started playing again in 1997, and only a year later the NHL announced that Columbus, that's right Columbus, Ohio was being awarded an NHL franchise - later named The Blue Jackets. (I still think the Chill is a cooler name.)

Friends who knew me asked if, when the Blue Jackets began to play I would renounce my allegiance to the Red Wings, and become a fan of the CBJ.

What?!?!!!? Throw away what was then more than 20 years, of heartache, and failure followed by sweet success and two straight Stanley Cups to root for an upstart franchise full of castoffs from other teams, and begin the struggle again? Are you kidding me?

As my friend Juice would say H - E double hockey sticks - NO! Not on your life.

I said then, and I still say today actually I will always root for the Blue Jackets to do well, but I'm not about to root for them to beat my Red Wings.

Some may know of my struggle to deal with being a Michigan fan, and my eventual conversion to being a Buckeye, and suspect that one day I will change my mind in this situation as well.

Let me assure you that will not happen. I became a full fledged Buckeye for a number of reasons - all detailed here, but as much as I am passionate about The Ohio State University now, I am that much more passionate about the Red Wings.

Yet, somehow these Blue Jackets, the CBJ have found a soft spot in my heart, and I find myself watching their games with a similar passion to when I'm watching the Wings, and they are "the local team," and without even planning on it, I've become a fan and I am really rooting for them to do well.

But do I want them to beat my Red Wings? Would the inconceivable really happen?

I'll tell you next time.

Easter -

I'm always anxious in the springtime. Tired of the winter doldrums, of the gloom and gray.
Eager for the sunshine and the warmth that is to come.

I've never been a winter person. In my not always so humble opinion, there is one good thing about winter and we've learned how to make ice indoors which is where hockey should be played anyway.

In Central Ohio it seems we tend to hang onto winter a little longer for some reason, I think it's our local weather folk. They really like the swings in temperature - you know 30 one day, 70 the next.

It is a funny thing when you think about it. I remember one Easter morning Netter and I got the twins all dressed up in their pretty little dresses with a sweater for the light breeze that was blowing, and off to church we went.

One and one half hours later, it was snowing and Grandpa was none too happy that his granddaughters did not have coats. Yikes! Fortunately it was just a short walk to the car, and we quickly rushed home for warmer clothes for all of us.

But while it snowed that Easter Sunday, I have always found Easter to be the day that gives this sun starved individual a little hope, a little drive towards summer.

There are of course, the religious meanings of the day, the story of our Lord's rising from the Dead is, and should be our central focus. Still, as someone who believes you don't necessarily have to go to church to be religious I tend to focus on the more "modern day," applications sometimes - i.e. the rebirth that is spring.

As a golfer the spring time is one of my favorite times of year. I'm reminded of a piece I wrote sometime ago. I blogged about it in the fall, but I'd like to post it again today so I can remember, so I can, well so I can be spiritual.

(Plus, I must confess it's one of my favorite pieces and I like to get those out and dust them off every once in a while.)

Early in the morning at the golf course, usually on the first long par 5 and particularly on courses which are more natural than man-made, i.e. wetlands have been preserved, animals are still in abundance, there is a fine mist that gives me an incredibly peaceful feeling. I’m playing my favorite game. I’m out in nature. I’m enjoying the company of friends and companions. It’s hard to explain it briefly but trust me it’s awe-inspiring. To get a sense for it, go outside some morning early in your barefeet (when it’s warmer), walk in the dew-covered grass, take big gulpfuls of air and try and think of something or do something you really enjoy (like drinking a fresh cup of coffee). Try and take notice of everything outside - the sky, the clouds, the birds, the ants on your driveway. Now look up.

Way up.

Get it?

Y'all Ready for This?

Laaaadddddddddiiieeeessssssss and Gentttlleeemen - Please welcome - from COH-LUM-BUS, OH-HI-OH - He stands 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighs in at TWO HUNDRED AND TWO POUNDS

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek! Aahhhhhhhhh! He what? No really? Put the needle back on that record man! OH MY!

OOOOOOOHHHHH MY GOODNESS!

Yes, it is true - Getting ready to go out to dinner with my lovely wife and some good friends from the "nayvorhood" this weekend I ventured onto the scale.

I don't know why I did it. I don't know what possessed me to look down at the numbers.

I was not happy with what I saw.

Now, I have never worried about weight, on myself or someone else. If I'm fat I don't want to think about it. If someone else is fat, it's not my deal to worry about.

In a house full of women, we don't talk about weight anyway, and I think that's terrific.

People are people. Tall, short, thin, fat - doesn't matter. To me it's okay if the stand-up comedian talks about weight, but we don't need to.

To me, it just never mattered. I saw a little boy in my second grade class break down in tears when they announced his weight at 101 pounds and all the kids laughed. Ever since, I try not to make it an issue.

My grandmother was 4'11'' and by all accounts pushed hard toward 300 pounds - I never cared. I use those numbers now to describe her when I tell stories, but they're just that - only descriptive terms about a woman I miss dearly and love with all my heart and soul. She was tough, but we were tough together. (Miss you Babcia.)

I even banned the topic of weight at my house for awhile. Just ask my Mom.

Still - 202 pounds on a 5'7" frame? Holy Heck! That just isn't healthy.

I'm supposed to go to the doctor next week for a checkup and to get some paper work filled out. I'm guessing this isn't going to go over very big. (Hee Hee)

Could you step on the scale Mr. Brochowski?

Do I have to?

Okay, so where to go from here? I don't think my diet is all that bad. I do have a tendency to eat late at night. Guess I'll have to cut that out. K & D will be happy - the (refrigerator) rat lives no more.

Hmmm... what else. Exercise much Jimmer?

Um, outside of an occasional hockey game - No, not much lately. I will have to change that. Mulligan will be happy about that. It means more walks for him. Maybe I'll try that Couch to 5K Running Plan I've heard so much about. That will be a good start.

The thing is, I don't want to do anything that makes me miserable, that I might dread. We only get to do this thing called living once, so I'm determined to find a way to get healthier without driving myself bonkers in the process.

(To those of you who just said I'm already bonkers - Yeah, I know.) It's a good word though isn't it?

I'm willing to make sacrifices - I tried Coke Zero. But I'm not gonna get crazy - MGD 64 is not in my future.

I don't eat breakfast, but I can probably lose a cup of coffee. (How fattening is cream and sugar?)

I figure two squares a day and some exercise should send me on my way to a healthier me?

Will that be enough?

Far too many spend way too much time, and too much energy on this topic in my opinion.

But today - I have to admit it is weighing heavily on my mind as well.

I want to stay in the game after all...

Stumped

Many of you I'm sure have read my Christmas day comments about one frustrating 1/2 hour in an otherwise wonderful day.

That 1/2 hour has me stuck. That's what I want to talk / write about, but I don't want to be negative. I don't want to be angry, or hurt, or I don't even know what you call it.

Stumped. Yeah, let's go with stumped.

Somehow I have to get this out of my system so I'm going to try something. Hold on a minute...

What follows is a public message for Mom, Dad, Little Sister, niece, and nephew.

I love you. Really I do. I love you enough to let you go regardless of what that means because more than anything in this world I love my family, my wife and my girls. I stand by them 100% and I will not let anything in this world come between them and me. I will not let anything, not the largest, nor even the smallest thing - harm them.

I am all about family, my family.

The rest is just semantics. Who said what, when, where, why? It doesn't matter.

I will always do what is right for my family, and that is what I am doing. Nothing more, nothing less. There is no vendetta.There is no hidden cause. No brainwashing has occurred. There is only what can be seen. There is only what you taught me is right.

I promise I won't address this in my blog again, but I needed this forum today.

I appreciate the reader's patience. If you want to know more about the story, Netter has a very diplomatic, reader's digest version here.

10 Random Things About Me - Learn & Play @ CML Bonus

1. I obtained our family's first iPod for the grand total of $1.00 + the cost of gas to go pick it up. I won it in a church raffle with a ticket I only bought because all of the parents around me at the basketball game were buying tickets. My daughter Delaney still uses theiPod, except when it "white screens" which we haven't been able to fix permanently for some reason.

2. Though I have played almost 12 years of organized hockey as an adult, I only played one year as a kid. When I was 8 I skated for "Warner-CantrellPadmos" or the Blackhawks as we called ourselves, in Redford Township, Michigan. I was very green, and also very good. But, I had a heart condition. Nothing major, but enough of a concern that my ice-time needed to be monitored. As do many youth coaches, mine wanted to put his best players on the ice as much as possible. As the season progressed each time I was due to come off the ice my coach would ask more and more if I was alright to stay out. Of course I always answered yes. I was a kid, I didn't understand the consequences of overexerting myself and I wanted to play. The last straw came when my coach left me out for so long I was finally met at the door to the bench by my Dad who physically removed me from the ice. When the season was over so was my youth hockey career. I wanted to play goalie, but I think my Dad knew that was a ruse just to get myself onto the ice by hook or by crook. I was disappointed and decided to hang out at all the summer camps my friends were attending. I don't know why - just to watch and make myself more miserable I guess. I was pleasantly surprised when the scouts and coaches running those camps told me how disappointed they were I wasn't on the ice for more development. They had seen me play and wanted to work with me. I don't believe I ever told my parents this, and I don't talk about it much, but it's fun now to think about what might have been. I did talk myself into one of the post-camp games and scored a goal laying on my back. I hung onto that memory for a long time until I was fortunate enough to finally play again thanks to Joe at Hilltop who pulled me back to the game with late night pick-up at OSU. Thanks Joe.

3. My first major at OSU was Theatre. I was going to be an actor, (Plus I didn't want to take math.) The pic I used for my read poster was actually a resume photo. After my first year at OSU, I went to New York and auditioned at The American Academy of Dramatic Arts. I was accepted, but didn't get the scholarship I needed. I knew I didn't want to go back to school atOSU, at least not then so I went full-time at CML and the rest is history.

4. During my time at OSU as a Theatre major I returned to my high school, Bishop Ready and directed both the fall play and spring musical. I got a little thank you of $100 each time. I guess I could say I've worked "professionally in the theatre." Wonder if I should add that to my resume? ;-)

5. As a child I would spend many late nights listening to my mother clean to the music of Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand, Barry Manilow, Helen Reddy, Neil Diamond, and Abba. Consequently I know many lyrics to a lot of songs I wasn't sure at first I was happy to know. Growing up however I've become more and more comfortable with my "Inner Gay" as my friend Shoebrarian calls it, and I'm happy to know and love the work of these amazing performers.

6. My favorite movie is "Prince of Tides," but that's not the only "chick flick" I like. A close second on the list is "50 First Dates." What can I say? I'm a sucker for love stories.

7. I have a talent for remembering numbers. I can tell you my first credit card number, my original library card number, the first phone number I had to remember, and every jersey number I've ever worn. I can associate almost any number with an athlete pretty much immediately.

8. When getting dressed I always put on the left first, i.e. left sock, left shoe, left glove, left skate. I once got dressed for a baseball game, jumped on my bike to go play and realized I had put my right sock on first. So, I made my buddy wait while I went in - undressed and redressed. I went 2-3 and raised my average to .571. I've never chanced it again. I actually think I'm naturally left handed as I can do just about anything with my left hand without much trouble. Playing hockey - I still shoot left handed.

9. I've been a part of two branch moves in my time at CML. I worked to move Morse Road to Karl Road and to combine Hilltop and Hilltonia into the new Hilltop. (This was my second tour of duty at Hilltop, and I still consider it my CML home if you will.) Branch moves can be great team builders, and a lot of fun for everybody involved. I don't think I've ever worked harder though. :-0

10. Here's my favorite library story - I met my wife Annette at Morse Road Library. When she walked into the staff room on her first day I said to my boss, "that newLTA is hot." He just rolled his eyes at me. Little did we know. A few weeks later Annette and I went to lunch together at Mother's, (we still have a matchbook) and a few months after that - after we both got engaged to and broke up with other people - we moved in together having never gone out on a date. We both just knew we were meant to be together. More than 18 years later, I still wonder how I ever got so lucky.

Halloween Hogwash

Not a lot rankles, (now that's a fun word) me these days. It takes way too much energy to be angry, mad, frustrated upset, etc... and so on. I'm not saying I never get this way. It just takes more these days than it used to. (Don't tell my kids. I still yell at them sometimes just to keep them on their toes - kidding.)

But last night I was spitting, yes, spitting mad. And this is why.
My daughter Delaney found this in her candy in a box of Nerds. I was incensed.

I mean really, what is the point? To think that some "adult" put this much time and energy to send this message to my 12 year old is simply ridiculous. What message is that anyway?

You're too old to be a kid? Really? Who made them judge and jury for "kiddom?"

Okay, we all remember that point in our life when we stopped trick or treating. Many of those stories go something like this.

I didn't want to wear a costume. My parents told me I couldn't go door to door asking for candy if I didn't at least take the time to put on a costume. I decided it wasn't worth it. My trick or treating career was over.

But D did take the time to put on a costume. She was a "50's girl." Her friends also had on costumes. One was Barbie. The other was an OSU fan with frightening scars on her face, and a James Laurinitis' jersey.

Okay, maybe not the sort of princess and fairy costumes they might have come up with when they were younger, but serviceable at least, and not the "Hoochy Mama" outfits some of the older teenagers were wearing. (Now that's another post entirely.)

My oldest K stopped trick or treating after her 7th grade year. An 8th grade class trip to Washington D.C. conflicted with Halloween, and by her freshman year her candy hunting days were a faded memory.

We fully expect D to take the same trip next year, so there was a tinge of sadness as we watched her walk around with her friends on what will most likely be her last trick or treat night. We fondly recalled the memories of so many Halloween's past, and wondered how our children could be growing so quickly. It was a beautiful evening. We all had a great time - and then...

D opened her box of Nerds.

Harumph - Nerd indeed!

Rock can hit a curveball I guess...

The last few nights I have been posting from the porch of our cabin. Tonight I find myself tucked safely inside. All because of "Rock." It's not a very original name for a raccoon I suppose, but it at leasts sounds a little tough which helps one understand why he is scaring the bejesus out of me.

Night one - I posted my blog, sat by the fire, spent some time on the porch and went to bed. Half way through the night Annette and I heard this terrific banging coming from the corner of the cabin. The whole cabin is all of 10x12 maybe so we thought one of the girls was up and started asking loudly - "Are you okay? Why are you up? What's wrong?" etc... Suddenly we heard a tremendous thud. I jumped up and turned on the light. Both girls were sound asleep. I ventured outside and found that our trash can had been knocked over. I cursed the many cats that roam the campground, did what all men do when they are outside at night camping and went back to bed. In the morning Annette informed me that she had seen a raccoon, but didn't want to tell me during the night so as not to alarm me. Unhuh!

Okay - NBD I thought. Surely he won't come back. Wrong!!!!!!! As I was on the porch typing last night ol' Rock decides it's time to check out the trash whether I'm there or not, sneaking up on an innocent Jimmer when he was looking the other way, um at his laptop. I stomped my foot repeatedly and he went away. (Proof that there is a God?) Of course, Netter came running out to see if everything was okay and why was I stomping and I explained that Rock was a big ol' fella that needed to be scared, and I took care of it. Sure, yeah right...

He was not - tonight he ventured onto the porch while we were all still at the campfire less than 8 feet from his entry-way. Annette scared him away initially. (I do love that woman) Alas he was only away a moment. Kailey had positioned herself so she could see the porch and darned if Rock didn't come back. Holy Cow! We all jumped up to see him and he ran away. Okay, enough is enough right? No, I spotted Rock hiding under the cabin and as soon as all the girls walked away from the fire to get ready for bed, there he was again. I watched carefully as he checked out our pool supplies, but when he got near my grilling stuff, well I banged away and he ran. A man has to protect his grilling stuff right?

Only when it comes to outdoor stuff, I'm not so much the grill master, (though I really enjoy grilling) as the... well I can kill a spider pretty good. (At home, I usually curse said spider and tell him that unless he is ready to write a check for rent he has to go.)

And I married Ranger Annette. No really, my wife is all outdoors woman. She loves it. Well, except the crunchy bugs, but as I said I can kill a bug or two and curse them out for bothering my wife.

Over the years I've learned to make a pretty good fire, traverse my way through a hike or two and even to appreciate different kind of plants. Well, she tells me what type they are and I say "Yes, Honey that's really nice," and we move on. Hey if she can listen to my sports stories the least I can do is try some outdoor stuff right?

In fact, only one time before this have I not tried to go along and just deal with it. Annette's Dad was trying to teach me how to fish, cast, reel, and on and on. I was really frustrating him, and I was getting frustrated that he was frustrated. Finally, I looked at him and said "Dad, can you hit a curveball?" He looked puzzled. I said, "no really, can you hit a curveball because I can." I wasn't trying to be disrespectful because some things are just harder for some people or come more naturally for others and I wanted him to know that there were some things I was "capable of." I honestly don't know if he even heard me and it was very early in our marriage of course, and I have since learned all the things he was trying to teach me and if I may say so, make at least an adequate fisherman.

Anyway - I know tonight Netter is being nice and not laughing at me, but this is one time I could not just deal with it stand up and face the outdoors because I'm pretty sure Rock can not only hit a curveball, but can probably knock the thing right out of the park.

Typing safely from inside - Jimmer