Giving Thanks, My Way

Although I've been following the every day "thankful" posts on Face Book, I just haven't been into the daily grind of stopping to think about just what all I am thankful for...which is a shame. Because I really am very thankful every day, for so many things that I take for granted. If I were to seriously just stop, put everything else on hold, there is no telling what all I could think of that I should be grateful/thankful for on a daily basis.

So this morning, as I sat in the nice, warm, cozy kitchen of my friend that I had not seen in too long, watching her as she made her Jellies and Jams, and we chattered and shared about one thing or another, I thought about just how lucky of a girl I really am. My friend and I both have blogs, and we both spoke about our lack of dedication in keeping them up. She's been too busy between her regular job teaching 4K and her Jam business, which has taken over the other part of her life, as well as raising two of the most exceptionally intelligent and multi-faceted children that I have ever known. And I, while I believe I have those same two identical children, I haven't written with any semblance of continuity for the simple lack of heart, rhyme or reason.

When giving thanks, everybody names off the obvious, your family, your parents, your children, so my list of thanks today begins with the not so obvious..and it goes a little like this:
I am Thankful :

For all my friends, with so many varied personalities and traits, that accept me for who I am, and enjoy hearing what I have to say, and how I feel, including all the good, bad, and ugly, the bluntness, the over-protectiveness and the ever mainstay of loyalty that comes with having me for a friend.

For the dreariest of days that come along, for without them, who would really know how wonderful the sunshine is? How amazing it's warmth can breathe new life into tired and battered bodies? And it's brilliance shining on a body of water can make the soul feel loved and youthful again with memories of summers past.

For my vehicle which not only takes me to and from work, but very quickly to hospitals when its' emergency rooms are needed, to vacation spots that will revitalize our energy level and give us some must needed rest, and to Grandma's house, the house that brings back childhood memories the minute you smell vanilla and spices coming from the special oven that only Grandma's own. 

That I can hear, even if it is a bunch of loud, thumping, rapping music playing so loud I can't hear myself think as the vehicles circle my block. And though I can't understand much of what they are "singing" and the rest I don't want to know, I can hear it.

For cameras that freeze moments and life in time. That I can look backward anytime I want to, and still see the happiness, the sadness, and the love that make my life everything that it can be.

For Radiation and Chemotherapy, both of which have saved the lives of so many of my girlfriends, and both of which, are saving the life of my childhood friend right now.

For my legs and the ability to walk. However, I know a certain young woman who is wheelchair bound who can out-energize me, out-talk me, and out-dance me and anyone else I know...as she's sitting down. She can do more sitting down in that chair than I ever think about doing on my feet. Not to mention the everlasting positive attitude, huge heart, and all but beaming smile she flashes at anyone and everyone spreading her own beautiful specialness wherever she goes.

For Caladiums and wind chimes both of which with sight and sound can bring memories of my MaMa to the forefront of my mind for hours, with nothing more than a swift breeze.

For books that can provide never ending knowledge and power. You can find any answer in some book, somewhere. For books that provide an escape from the real world that tires your mind, and books that provide endless hours of silly, giggly sounds coming from children who have discovered just how funny Mommy can be when she is empowered with the magnificent rhymes of Dr. Suess and Shel Silverstein. 

For gliders on front porches that provide distance when needed, an absolver of tension, late night conversations being held in the dark, when no one can see anyone and all subjects are fair and open game. Where parents receive relief as they rock in the quiet of the night, and their child rolls in from his first "official" date, one month after obtaining his drivers license, is two minutes earlier than the deadline, and is whistling and smiling as he exits the truck.

For recliners that provide rest and relief after a long hard day at work and hopefully will host many hours of Grandbaby rocking one day.

For dual electric blankets so that my menopausal behind can stay cool and my cold-natured husband can stay warm and toasty.

And for cell phones that provide comfort and safety for miles away, to a son who is walking through a dark campus alone at night, while he talks to his mom, who could/would save him in the blink of an eye if she needed to. 

I'm going to stop here, but do you see what I mean? In just one day, we could go on and on about the things for which we are so very thankful. I can't imagine life without the parents God blessed me with, or the children He graced me with, or the husband He helped me to find during my second chance of searching for happiness. Or the additional bonus family that my husband also brings to me in multitudes and most of whom have accepted me with open arms and love.

For all of these things and so many more than I can say, I am thankful. And for each day that I am allowed to wake again on this wonderful place we call Earth, that I am most thankful of all. I've been told the view from above is more magnificent than any view we will ever know, but for right now, for a little while longer, I am thankful for the time I have here, front and center, right in the middle of all the action, whether it's love, like, fussing, joking, or disagreeing. It's all a part of the life I love, the people I love and the place I love.

Happy Thanksgiving to one and all. May your blessings be rich, your stomachs full of delicious food that loving hearts and hands made, and may your hearts be full of all the love it can hold. Amen.










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Don't Blink, You're Next

I can remember as far back as being a teenager, staying the summer with my MaMa, and being in a grocery store and the bag boy (that's what they were called then, I have NO idea what they are called now) being less polite and respectful than what I thought he should be when speaking to my MaMa. She was already showing small signs of feebleness, not quite as alert, and I remember thinking the kid was rude and could have been more patient with her.

A few years later, the setting is once again in a grocery store, this time I was just out of high school and working in one myself, as a cashier, and one of the bag boys (they were still called that) was less than what I thought he should be to an elderly lady.

My grandmother died at the very young age of seventy two and I was just twenty four myself. I carry memories both good and bad, around with me for a very long time. And as the episode with my own grandmother had only been about six years prior, it was the first flash of memory I had when the bag boy standing behind me acted like it was a bother for him to carry out the one bag the elderly lady whom I had just rang up her groceries, to her vehicle for her.

I remember not saying a word. It was a slow morning, so I signed off/locked down my register, took the bag and walked the lady to her car myself. The little old lady chitter chattered all the way through the parking lot and continued even after I loaded her one little bag of groceries into her car. She was obviously starved for conversation and a kind face and I tried to give her both.

Today as I sat in my doctor's office, waiting for the second time in less than three weeks to have my eyes checked, I began to take in my surroundings. The only people/patients in the building when I first arrived was me and a lady who looked to be close to eighty years old. She walked slow, but fairly sure, just a tiny small limp.

My eyes had already been examined and I was sitting in another room waiting on the doctor when I heard the doctor's assistant begin to perform the little old lady's examine. There were no doors shut to any of these rooms so I could hear every single word that was said to the other patient.

Now, while the assistant was not mean, rude or disrespectful in her examination, she did seem just a might bit more stern than necessary. Whatever it was she was trying to do required the old lady to remain very still and to not blink. Now personally, I think blinking works just like scratching. The only time you have to itch is when you can't scratch.

So the assistant is loudly (for hearing purposes I am assuming) and firmly telling the old woman she can not blink, to stop, stop, stop, stop blinking. Seriously? And the sweet elderly lady in her high pitch scratchy voice, that by now sounded like it had a slight tremble said, "This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, I promise I am trying as hard as I can not to blink". The doctor's assistant said "I know, but you're going to have to try harder or we can't do this test, now think hard, and don't blink".

As I sat there, this all came full circle for me. I'll be forty nine years old in a few days. And while I am always very sensitive about elderly people, their feelings, and how they are treated, I do admit, that in the last few years, my sensitivity level has risen just a smidge. I wanted to go into the next room, take that elderly lady's hand, hold it and make conversation about something far, far away, so that she could quit trying to think about NOT blinking, and then she probably wouldn't blink so much.

There by the grace of God and all of those things that people say, go I. I'm not eighty years old, but I hope I see it one day. I don't have severe cataracts now, but I might one day, and it might be hard for me to not blink when they're trying to test my eyes. I can carry one bag of groceries to my car now, one day it might be heavier than I ever dreamed it could be.

I want to say to everyone young and old, the people who are always in such a hurry to be somewhere else, doing something else, to care about what is happening right now. Slow down. Stop for a minute and just breathe. Look around you and see who needs a kind word. A helping hand. Or just a smile. You know I tell all of you all the time, you should never stop learning. You should never stop growing. Well, I grew up a little more today. I want to be a better person, better friend for the rest of the time I have in my forty eight years of this life. And even more importantly, I want to live my forty ninth year of  life on this earth, learning and growing enough to make myself even more prepared to live my 50th. If I can do these things with success, then indeed, it will be a Happy Day of Birth for me.

Battle Scars And War Stories

I had originally thought last night was going to be another cry fest. I mean, I had already cried all week long for one reason or another, at the drop of a hat it seemed. Earlier in the week I attended a Volley Ball game and cried like an absolute baby. Now granted, it was a special night, it was the Volley For A Cure fundraiser night, combined with Senior Night for the Senior volley ball girls. But to sit there and bawl when I didn't even have a "dog in the fight" so to speak, was just crazy. Wasn't it? I mean from the time they called the first girls name out loud, I was done. Digging for the tissue I prayed I had the foresight to put in my purse. Heck even after the last introduction and the National Anthem began, I couldn't even sing. I had tears just absolutely streaming down my face like a waterfall. So to say I was a might bit worried about my behavior for my own child's Senior Night is an understatement to say the least.

But sometimes, fate has a way of stepping in, right when you need it. Last night we arrived at the game, everybody in tow, including my son Josh and his partner Josh, and my parents. The gang's all here. We're checking in at the gate, and all of a sudden people are calling my name, telling me don't look, hovering behind as if to block my view, and I'm thinking, what in the world is going on?! Susie Morris is telling me it will be alright, but again, don't look. Now MY people are craning their necks to see what all the ruckus is about and I'm watching their faces as one by one the expressions begin to change. I slowly turn around and am trying to focus my eyes, find #55, and all I can see is a sea of red.

But then I see one. I see one of his partners. And I know, at that very second, what to prepare myself for...as I try to keep my breathing patterns regulated, I turn my head from one side to the other and as my eyes land and rest, like an Eagle to it's nest, my heart beats a little bit faster, and I just smile.

Earlier in the week he told me he needed a haircut. Then he re-phrased it and said he needed a hair CUT with a little more emphasis. Now I usually pride myself on being being pretty sharp intuitively, but I have to admit, this one got past me. Never saw it coming. I of course thought he meant the second time, that he wanted it cut really close, which I cannot stand, but said I would allow it AFTER Senior Night pictures were taken. Now that I look back, I should have realized there was a reason I got no arguing, balking, or use of his magical persistent persuasion powers. He seemed to take my answer at face value and just quit talking about it.

Well, you all know, just because someone doesn't say anything, doesn't mean they are acknowledging or listening. As I looked up and made face to face contact with my son last night, I saw the meanest, baddest, and most fierce Mohawk I had ever laid my eyes on. And the new "do" was complete with black war paint to boot. It's not like he hasn't done this before. And it's not like he hasn't done it without permission. But somehow tonight's timing seem to be just right. Sometime between the minute I got out of our vehicle and the emotion seemed to already be swallowing me whole, until that second I saw his head, something inside me changed. The range of emotions did a complete 360 degree turn around and all that raw blood running through my veins gained a little strength. I knew I was going to be alright.

Just that quick, Zach and those four boys showed me what that night was all about. It wasn't about crying, or feeling sad, or silently wishing the years to run backwards. It was about manhood, the last time, battle of the strengths and minds, it was about THEIR time. And making it as memorable for themselves as they possibly knew how.

When they walked out of that cold steam and into the lights of Friday Night, arm in arm, linked as brothers and teammates,  forever united they would stand, and fight to the bitter end for themselves, for each other and for their teammates. Thirteen years of brotherhood walked out onto that field, and thirteen years of brotherhood saw it through until the last crash of the helmet would leave a resounding echo through the night.

In the end, he would stand before his men and give the speech that has been groomed in his mind for the last thirteen years. A rendition of long ago, speeches past, from men just like him, almost at the end of their journey. He would stand tall, speak clearly, and address the battle scars of the night, the loss they must carry with them, and the pride that should remain in a battle well fought. Fought with heart, determination and courage. Courage to continue going when nothing is working right. The courage to keep going when you're tired and beat down. And the courage to know, you gave it everything you had, and left nothing to spare. Left no cleat unturned and the field soaked with the sweat and soul of the determination that was performed there.

That is what true manhood is all about. Nothing left to spare. That's what these young men showed all of us last night. That win or lose they will never lie down. They will never quit. They will never stop.
They will never ever give in. Because they are Warriors. They are the Winners in this thing we call life that started with eleven men and a football. This game of football holds the secrets of real life in the palm of it's hands. It teaches solidarity, trust, teamwork, pride, and united we stand, divided we fall. These are lessons they will all carry with them forever along with a brotherhood of secrets that only a player can ever understand. The keys are theirs to hold, to be coveted, to be protected, until the end of time. Without fail. Because THEY ARE...MUNROE.

♫ Wheels On The Bike Go Round And Round ♫

There are some people who just have no business operating machinery. Whether it's the sense of balance that is missing, the naturalness that should come with sitting on a seat that was never intended to cover your undercarriage, or that ones particular foot and brain motion are not in-sync and never will be. There are just some people who were never meant to ride a bicycle. I am one of those people.

Now the first thing you must not do, please do not confuse my self-proclaimed admission that I should not ride a bicycle with the fact that I never owned one. I have in fact, owned several bicycles in my life time. Some of those bicycles I rode successfully, some not. I had regular bicycles, 3 speed bicycles, and the last one being a 10 speed bicycle. Crazily enough, I did just fine riding all the bicycles I owned. It was when I would venture out, experiment, or just borrow someone elses bicycle that the troubles would start.

To set the scene, the year is 1970.  I am seven years old and I am bored out of my mind. My parents are having a business party at our apartment. Complete with wide lapel jackets, bell bottom jeans, big flowing blouses, beehive bouffant hairdo's plied with plenty of hairspray, thick mustaches and widespread sideburns.  Cigarette smoke clouds the air and red Solo cups are in most every hand you pass.

We were new to town and my parents had the party to get to know all the new people that would be working for my Dad. We were living in those apartments until our home all the way across town was built upon completion. We had not lived there very long, but I too, had already met new friends. However on this particular Saturday night, all my friends were out of town. I had no one to play with. As I said, I was bored, so I set about finding me something to do.

One of the best things about these apartments is that part of them sat way high up on a hill. Ours did anyway. And one of the major past times was when new neighbors would move in, the kids would pull their moving boxes back out of the dumpsters, cut them up, make "sleds" out of them and slide like a bullet down our hill. We lived on the top of the hill, and way down on the other side of the "valley" was another set of apartments.

Anyway, no one was moving in, there were no boxes to be had. But...I did have a friend who said I could ride her bike while she was out of town. Now MY bike was just a regular two wheel bike with brakes at the feet on the pedals. Matter of fact, I had not even been riding a bike for any major length of time. But I had mastered mine pretty well. However, my bike was boring. Her's was bigger and cooler. So after it I went.

I drag it out of the cubby under the stairwell and roll it out back. I get at the top of the hill, ready for the speedy, fun ride down. I climb on, get my feet settled, or I try to, I'm not quite tall enough but I think once I get on, I can stretch my legs and it will work. I sling my leg over the bar, teetering as I try and balance on my tip toes, then jump up on the seat and push off.

Now I don't really know just how deep that hill was, because when you're young, everything is larger than life. It could have really been as big a drop as Niagara Falls, or it could have been a small sand hill. But in MY memory, it was a cliff, and I had just jumped off of it on a bike. That bike took off like it had an engine attached to it, down I went, all but free-falling on two wheels. I was trying to stretch my legs to get my feet to the pedals to brake, and I was mashing as hard as I could, but it wasn't stopping. Then I remembered. Those "extra" things on the handles, my friend did something with those when she would stop. I think.

Meanwhile it's summer time, and people are outside everywhere. Grilling, playing with their kids, sitting in lawn chairs, visiting and talking. And I'm still flying at super sonic speed. Down that hill. Headed straight for all those people. The ones grilling and sitting chairs. I can't mash the metal clamps on the handles hard enough to get them to do anything. I'm still flying. My long hair flying, my skinny legs flailing around because finding the pedals that don't work has been forgotten. The scene before me is startling. And to clarify, for those of you who are reading that one sentence, over and over again, yes, I had skinny legs. I was seven for gosh sakes...

Lawn chairs are flying, people are running, grills are being snatched up and rolled out of the way, strollers are being pushed fast and hard and I can hear a lady in the background, screaming, "She's not going to stop, oh my gosh, I don't think she's going to stop!".

Oh I stopped alright. Me and the bike. The bricks on the side of that apartment building took care of all that. I slammed face first straight into the side of that building. I'm lying on the ground, people are standing all around me, looking down at me. I hear talk of a bloody nose and lip, who does she belong to, where does she live? I must not have been unconscious. I must have been able to tell them. Because I find myself being escorted back up the hill to our apartment. The nice strangers knock on our sliding glass door, my Daddy answers, and it's on. All he sees is the blood, the mangled bike, strange people all talking at once about his little girl who crashed into the wall, and our living room full of people whose party has come to a complete standstill.

I didn't ride a bike for a long time after that. Matter of fact, I was about 11 years old. I was staying with my babysitter at her house. I wrecked it too. Again, it wasn't my bike.  And now I have  a very large kidney shaped scar on my left knee to prove it. I just have no business on a bicycle. Never have. Never will. I just imagine I'm the type of gal who will always require four wheels instead of just two. For my safety, for your safety, and for the sake of anyone else who is around, safety.Why they waited until I was grown to create those great little helmets I will never know. Granted one of those helmets wouldn't have helped my nose, lip or knee, but a full frontal face mask would have been too scary.
 

You Can't Beat Me....Yet (wink wink)

I must be one of the most predictable people in the world. Surely, everyone that knows me does not already have me figured out. There is just no way, that I am an open book and you don't even have to turn the page to know the rest of my story. Is my plot really that wide open? Have I finally reached that time in my life when I have no surprises left? It surely seems that way sometimes. Just when I think I have the upper hand lately, somebody goes and pulls the rug out from under me. And there I stand, with the joke, all on me.

As I am on my way to the restroom at work yesterday, I round the corner and see this very hot, very sleek, woman. Just standing there, staring at me. Almost daring me to rebuke her sexiness. Her right to stand there. I stopped dead in my tracks and just stood there and stared at her. I quietly let my thoughts process what I was looking at, but I knew, who was at the root of this grand design of humor.  She cannot ruffle me. She can not intimidate me. Hot Mama or not.  She has to go.

I stepped firmly into the doorway, reached over, and snatched her up and carried her straight into the Engineering Dept. The very department whom I know is responsible for having her stand right where they knew I would see her. Right where they knew I couldn't miss her if I tried. No matter how quiet she was, I would know, she was there.

Once I reached my destination, where I knew everyone could see me and hear me, I put her back down. I placed my hands on top of her shoulders, peered around her head, and asked them all, as they stared back at me, just whose bright idea was it to put this half naked, skinny behind woman right in my line of sight before I entered the restroom. I told them all no fat behind woman likes to see the sight of anything as the likes of her right before they go in to take care of their business.

The entire room HOWLED with laughter.  Including myself. They were all talking at once, saying they wondered just how long it would be before I found her. Before I saw her. Before I exploded over the sight of her so obvious prettiness. They said they wondered how long she would have to stand there before I knew. Before I would make the very same grand entrance with her practically thrown over my shoulder, as I had just done.  For two hours, several of the females were pacing, waiting for me to make my entrance, knowing I would eat those guys alive!

So this is the day that I knew. This is the day that I realize I am no longer a secret to be held. I am no longer a closed box whose contents are a mystery. I am simply an old lady who still isn't comfortable enough with herself, or her age, to want to look at such obvious beauty before I enter a closed up room with a mirror that is far too honest. But I am also the old lady that has been around the block a lot more than most of those young whipper snappers I work with every day...and I would get them back..all of them.

But I just want you to know, Princess Leia, that you cannot intimidate me. I'll admit, you almost had me. You and all your "friends" almost took me down. But I'm strong. I will not accept defeat. I will not stop until I have figured out how to win the battle. That is exactly why, for the rest of the afternoon, I plopped your sexy behind right where you belong. In the mens' bathroom, right next to the urinal. And I laughed and laughed for the rest of the day, wondering just how many of those men were too shy to pull their pants down and take care of their OWN business. Cardboard cut out or not...I know they thought twice every time they went to touch their zippers as you stared them down.  GOTCHA!

The Things You Get....BESIDES....A Win

The game was over and our team walked away with the win. A long overdue, hard fought win. After weeks and weeks of playing, practicing, watching game film, and receiving their fair share of constructive criticism and true blue plays that were sure to bring a victory, they have a win on the board.  Each team has met on their respective sides of the field, said their team prayers and have disbursed to mix and mingle, or get back on the bus.

It was a hard fought game, played fair and square. No bad calls, no unsportsmanlike conduct.....just hard, tough, physical playing from both sides of the formation line.Which is how all games should be played.

We're all standing around glowing in the light of the moon, the brightness of the reflection that shining, happy faces bring, and the smell of victory is in the air. We've taken lots of pictures already, in every possible way you can imagine.  Everybody wanting to be in everybody elses pictures.

All of a sudden we hear people in all directions calling his name. Zach's name. Hollering..."Zach Helms..Hey, has anyone seen Zach?" Now there are multiple voices calling out his name and we're all turning around to see what all the commotion is about.  As we turn around, we see a team member from the other team, the team who just took their first loss of this season, walking towards us through the opening of the crowd that surrounded him. He's coming towards Zach, and I'm thinking, what in the world is going on? I'm looking around and the rest of his team is already off the field. We would later find out that he was walking around asking who Number 55 was....and as he was being told, Zach's name was echoing into the night.

He walked firmly and boldly towards my son, stopped in front of him, extended his hand, and said " Hey Man, I just wanted to tell you what a great game you played tonight, I just wanted to meet you and tell you, you held me down all night long, you played a good game, congratulations".  Zach shook his hand and returned the kind words. We all stood there in silence and watched as he walked off the almost empty field, towards his own team bus, as the rest of his teammates were already off the field and boarding the bus. A couple of minutes had passed and I looked at my son and said, "you should probably consider that to be one of the best highlights of your high school football career."

The humbleness and respect with which that young man carried himself and spoke was something every mother wants to know she has taught her child.  He got his behind handed back to him all night long, and that he was man enough to say that, after such a gut wrenching loss was pretty amazing to this mother.

I don't know you're name Number 56, but I want you to know, you've got some proud parents out there somewhere, and they dang well should be.  Last night was just another fine example, of what winning is really all about. The highest number on the scoreboard  sure does feel good, but the feeling from an experience like Zach had last night is next to none. I told my son..this is your opportunity to remember this night, and do what I always hope that he does.....pay it forward.

From Shoestrings to Helmet Straps

Kyle Skipper & Zach

It was just another typical work day. The kind where some things go right, and a lot of others don't. I had worked through part of my lunch, and would still be late getting off at the end of the day. A five o'clock departure wasn't going to happen, and I would once again drive in, tires screaming into the after school care to pick up my eight year old. He would probably give me that "why am I always here last" look, and I would feel guilty. Again.

But instead, this day, I would arrive to find my eight year old sitting in the middle of the floor, tying the shoe strings on the shoes of a little boy who appeared to be about three years old. My eight year old would also be surrounded by about three other little boys, all in the same age range, all patiently waiting their turn to have their shoes re-tied as well. I knew this because as I walked up, my son's back was to me, and I stood there and watched the scene before me, as each one of those little boys scooted in closer, vying for his attention, for each of them to be next, by saying, "I'm next Zach, do mine next".

I stood there while he continued the regime, and as the last shoe was being tied, the little owner of the shoe looked up and said, "Hey Zach, your Mommy is here". Zach turned around, looked at me, turned back around, patted all four little boys on the tops of their heads, tousling their hair as he did, and said to each and every one, "See you later Buddy". He stood up, picked up his book bag, slung it over his shoulder and said "Hey Mama, when did you get here?" and as I looked at my little boy, sounding like a grown boy, I said, "Just now Bud, how was your day?"



As I look at this brand new, very young, Robert F Munroe Football team, these are the memories that flood my mind. The boys have new RFM coaches, albeit veterans in their field, and then they have their own veteran coaches that have remained loyal to our team and teams of past, and a lot of new players. Young or old, when you have a lot of players that are new to one another, it is going to take time to meld and form into a well oiled machine of a team.

Jackson Boone & Zach

Zach understands all of that, as well as the reasoning behind the miles of hard work that is yet to be done. Yes, it would be great to have a Senior year of football where all the players knew one another, knew all the plays and could read each others minds and moves and have all wins on the scoreboard. But the reality is a different story and to be able adjust to that is going to be the secret to their success this year.

So I watch Zach and the other "bigger" boys and how they are handling themselves with the younger, smaller boys. I watch them as they roar as loud as mountain lions when they are trying to get their attention, and I watch as they pat a shoulder or the top of a helmet when they know that some encouragement is needed as well.

Nobody really wants to hear about all the events in your life that can be viewed as character builders or lessons in humility.  Both of those things always seem to imply that your own lessons will have to be learned in order to achieve either one.  But that's exactly what is happening. It's Zach's job if you will, all over again, to sit down on the ground and tie some shoestrings. To watch the younger faces looking back up at him, and show them support, proper leadership and kindness. To pat them on the head and shoulders, and at the end of the season, hand the football over to them and say "See you later Buddy".

Because it will soon be their time. It will be their job to strap on their own helmets and find their own way. But until then, this is Zach's time. John Dayton's time. Jordan's time. And Vince's time. Enjoy what you have, and teach all that you know. And make the best memories you know how, with the time that you have. This year you will need to concentrate on not what you can take with you from this experience, but what you can leave behind. And patiently tie those shoe strings every chance you get, they will never forget you, and you will all be the better for it.