The Boys of Fall

As I was walking home from the Metro tonight, I decided to change my routine and take the Northern route. The distance is the same and I usually go south because it has fewer intersections to cross, but it was a very nice evening and I decided to take the north route for some reason. The north route takes me past Oakton High School, which is right around the corner from us, and tonight is Friday – Football Night – and the Cougars were at home. As I walked by, I saw the early arriving crowd – the cheerleaders and the band – out in the parking lot, and the kids all painted up and theme dressed for the game. As I walked along the road, the traffic was backed up trying to turn into the parking lot. The whole scene reminded me of this video. This is what it is all about – the boys of fall. Those teen-age giants of the gridiron who are living their dreams and making the memories that will last their entire lives.

If you know me, you know I played high school football for the mighty Sardis Lions. I was a 6’1”, 185 lb. Offensive Tackle and part time Defensive Noseguard. I was an average player that survived on want-to and heart, because lord knows I didn’t have any talent. I was really too small to be a lineman but too slow to be a receiver or a back, so they made me a lineman by default. Every sentiment Kenny Chesney expresses in the video is exactly correct. The sense of immortality on Fridays, the nervousness before the games, the emotion, the brotherhood, everything…… he nails it. The guys in the stands may have enjoyed the games and they may have fond memories of Friday football, but it isn’t anywhere near the same. You can’t understand it unless you played the game; unless you were a “boy of fall”.

Cheering in the stands is no substitute for hurting and bleeding on the field with your brothers in pads, and it’s not just game day. It’s also the summer workouts, the spring training, and the daily practices. I still bear a scar that Tracey Norton gave me one day when his facemask got up under my shoulder pads and peeled up a big piece of skin. I remember being an aspiring junior working hard for playing time and being so sore everyday that I wondered if I would ever go to sleep at night without hurting. I remember sucking sweat out of the collar of my practice jersey for hydration during an especially hard practice. I remember standing in the field house parking lot after practice my senior year just trying to soak it up because I knew in a few weeks it would all be over and I'd never have it again.

A miniscule number of high school football players will ever play in college and an even more miniscule number of them will make the pros, but for the rest of us, the value of the experience is priceless. The lessons and values I learned playing high school football have served me well in the last 20 years and I will take the memories of my high school football days to my grave. The friends I made on the gridiron can always count on me when the going gets tough and they need a real friend.

Proselytizing at the Metro

If you know me, you know one of my favorite topics is the trials and oddities I encounter on the DC Metro.  I don't see too much proselytizing around the Metro station, at least in Vienna, but I do from time to time and it can be interesting.  There are the occasional Mormon missionaries that stand politely outside the station in their black slacks and their white shirts and their hard plastic name tags that say, "I'm a Mormon Missionary".  They don't really say that, of course, but they do say something close, like "Brother John Smith, Church of Latter Day Saints" and everyone knows who they are.  They never speak to me.  I guess its because I have the hardened look of a guy who lived amongst them for 2 1/2 years in Southeastern Idaho and resisted the pull of Mormonism.  Don't get me wrong, I like Mormons.  They are good people and make good neighbors.  Heck, I'll even hold my nose (because of his politics, not his religion) and vote for Mitt Romney if he gets the nomination, but the LDS Church isn't for me.

The odd ones aren't so obvious.  They blend in the crowd and jump out on unsuspecting, friendly looking people.  A few weeks ago I had driven to the station that day, and that evening I was walking to the garage to get in my truck.  This rather young black lady, with an interesting island kind of accent, said "excuse me".  I though she might need directions, or help with a bus or something, so I stopped.  She asked me if I believed in God.  I said yes.  She then started telling me how God, or at least the one with the real Heavenly power, is a woman.  She said that God begot Jesus (we know this from John 3:16) and God couldn't have begot Jesus without a woman (she had a point) and Jesus' mother is our "Mother God".  (I'm not being heretical here.  I'm just reporting the story)  She even knew what her name is because it is in the Bible.  At this point, I'm looking for the mother ship to drop out of the sky to pick this young lady up.  She goes on to explain that Jesus will return some day and all the believers will be born again.  You all may think that the Bible says we should all be born again of water and spirit (John 3:4-6) but, according to this young lady, Jesus will return with his bride and all believers will literally be born again by the wife of Jesus to repopulate the earth.  To quote Jerry Clower, If I'm lying, dying.  As a buddy of mine used to say, I'm not talented enough to make this stuff up.  I finally said something along the lines of nice talking to you, have a nice day, I have to get home.

Just today, a young man in a suit and tie approached me as I was headed into the station and asked if I had heard about the passover.  I said yes and he asked if I wanted to learn more.  I said that I had to get to the train.  He walked with me.  He was telling me how there is a passover in the Bible and it will save us.  Now, he's talking about 100 miles a minute and gesturing with his hands because he only has about 30 yards before we hit the fare gate and he has to pay to go further.  He tells me that this passover is hard to understand because it is written in parables, but it won't only save us from our sins but it will also save us from natural disasters on earth.  Now, for most of us, salvation from our sins is the greatest hope we have and my Bible teaches me in Matt 10:28 "And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.", but apparently the little earthquake last month had a lasting effect on this guy. He kept trying to emphasize that his passover would save us from natural disasters... and don't you want that, don't you want to be safe from natural disasters? When we got to the fare gate he asked me if I would at least take his name and number. I agreed, because there is a trashcan at the bottom of the escalator, and if it makes him feel better...........

I guess that's the penalty I pay for commuting in my uniform. Every bum, beggar, and weirdo knows that a man in uniform will at least be polite enough not to physically assault them if they approach them. Anyway, they make good stories and maybe you'll get a laugh....

Uniform Hokey Pokey

At the most recent Army birthday ball, the Sergeant Major of the Army (SMA) announced that the Army would do away with the beret (that black wool rag that has less than zero utility as a hat) and return to the old fashioned patrol cap (the one that is a real cap, with a bill that keeps the sun and rain off your face) for the Army Combat Uniform (ACU - the funny looking camouflage uniform most soldiers wear every day).  He got a standing ovation.  Then a few days later, the 37th Chief of Staff of the Army (CSA) made it policy that, starting on October 1st, every soldier in the Pentagon would start wearing the Army Service Uniform (ASU - the new blue version of "dress greens") as the daily duty uniform.  First, every soldier in the Pentagon said, "crap, we still wear the beret with that uniform".  Then a gold rush of sorts started as everyone went out to get multiple pairs of pants and shirts, a second pair of shoes and all the accessories they'd never bought because you only wear that uniform once in a blue moon.  The clothing sales stores at the Pentagon, Ft. Meyer, and Ft. Belvoir have been totally picked over and all the popular sizes have been gone for weeks.  Add to that the fact that AAFES is short on many items system wide and the situation is starting to get a little desperate, now that October 1st is just around the corner.

As you probably know, almost as soon as the 37th took the job as CSA, he left to be Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  Well, today the 38th CSA signed out a memo that said we will still wear the ASU to work - but only on Fridays.  First, there was a collective sigh of relief.  Then, there was a collective realization that we'd all just spent all that cash to buy the new stuff that we won't be needing now and the pants are all hemmed and the shirts are all laundered and pressed, so they can't be returned.  Oh well, I guess I'll need all that stuff eventually and I'd rather it hang in the closet than wear it. 

The Iron Dog

This is the legendary Iron Dog at Richmond's Hollywood Cemetery.  The dog stands in eternal vigilance over a little girl who died in 1856.  The legend has it that the dog was a fixture in front of a Richmond drug store and the little girl loved to go there and see the dog climb on it... she just loved it to pieces... you know little girls can be.  Sadly, she passed at a very young age.  A few years later, with the Civil War looming, her daddy was afraid the dog would be taken away and melted down for the metal, and he couldn't bear to see the thing his daughter loved so much just go away, so he bought it from the drug store and moved it to the cemetery.  Now the iron dog she so enjoyed in life guards her eternal resting place.

More adventures with Granny and Granddaddy

Jeni had the great idea that today would be a good day to go to Great Falls State Park for a picnic.  I was a bit skeptical with the cool, rainy weather lately but it turned out to be a great day.  Great Falls is a state park along the Potomac River, on the Virginia side, at the "Great Falls".  I reset the trip meter after we filled up the van at our local gas station ($57 - ouch!) and it was on 13.7 when we left the park.  As an interesting aside, there was also some kind of international picnic going on.  I don't know if it was some kind of State Department deal, or what but of the groups we could positively identify, there were Brits, Germans, Russians (or Russian speakers, anyway), Moroccans, and from what I could see of their flag, either Hungarians or Tajikistanis.  I found this great world flag reference while trying to figure that one out. 

It was maybe 1/4 mile from the car to the overlook area.  Joseph pulled me last 100 yards or so, saying "waterfall, waterfall, waterfall."

The Great Falls.  I guess great is in the eyes of the beholder.  Its ok, but it's certainly no Shoshone Falls.

We had to pull Joseph away from the overlook.  He kept running back to look at the water.

Janelle also enjoyed it.

And plenty of rocks, leaves, and trees to occupy little hands and minds.

This is interesting (at least to me).  This pole marks the high water mark, since the '30s when they started measuring.  Now, this is in the picnic area, back behind where the pictures of the falls were made, so it is way above the water.

And, eventually we got to eat.  Jeni made custom sandwiches for everybody.  Ham and cheese on wheat for her and Granny, grilled cheese for the kids, and fried bologna for me and Granddaddy.

As an interesting aside, Great Falls Park fronts on Georgetown Pike.  There are houses like this all along there.  Go down to the bottom of the Zillow page and there is a map you can move around and see the estimated value of the homes along there.

Ballet School

Janelle finally got to go to Ballet Class today at one of the Fairfax County Rec Centers.  She's been watching Angelina Ballerina at least once a day.  It has completely surpassed Barney Goes to the Firehouse as her most frequent request.  She has probably watched the video here (this is only one little clip of 40+ minutes) at least a dozen times in a row now.  NetFlix is worth the money for us.  Grandma Greenleaf bought her a little ballet outfit last month and she's been talking about "ballet school" almost every day since then.

So the day finally arrived.  Class was actually only four little girls and one instructor in an activity room at Cub Run Rec Center, but you don't expect much for the price we paid.  She tried to show them how to stretch and some basic little ballet moves.  Again, you don't expect three year olds to be Prima Ballerinas.  Two little girls were really doing what the teacher was telling them, doing the stretches, pointing their toes, all that stuff, and two little girls just kinda did what they wanted to do.  I'll let you guess which group Janelle fell into.  I guess its something relatively inexpensive to do, and if she gains a little coordination and grace, or if she even starts following instructions a little better, that's a win.

Here's a few pictures of the first day in class.  Admittedly, they aren't too good because Jeni was several feet away from most of them with her little pocket camera and I also cropped them down, so nobody else is identifiable. 

9-11-11

On 9-11-01, about 3000 people died.  That was a real tragedy.  3000 lives snuffed out without warning.  Every one of those people had a mother and a father, and many had spouses and children who will forever miss them.

Since then, over 4000 men and women have died to keep it from happening again.  The people who died on 9-11-01 were victims of cruel fate.  They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Some were true heroes: the firefighters and police, the folks on Flight 93, and others like Rick Rescorla went above and beyond and gave their lives for others, but they were placed in that position by fate and some a-hole terrorists. 

I do not mean to minimize the loss of the 9-11 victims at all, but those who have died since then have known very well what they were doing and the risks they were accepting.  By now, we are 10 years in and the majority of the Army and the USMC joined after 9-11-01.  Every one of them knew where they might be sent and what they might be called on to do, including dying, and they all signed up.  Their reasons are many: some may have wanted revenge for a loved one, some may have wanted adventure, or just to be a part of it, but I believe that the majority just believed that they are Americans and they bear a responsibility to the people of our great country to defend our way of life and our freedom.

I have spent a great deal of time at Walter Reed, and I have witnessed their sacrifice.  I've seen soldiers with no legs, wheeling themselves around in wheelchairs and waiving off any offers of a push, because they want to do it on their own.  I've seen lovely young wives sitting with their husbands who are missing multiple limbs or are disfigured in other ways and are not the same men they married - but they are there with them.  I've also been part of burying some and I've known some personally.  I know wives, who when you ask, "how long is your husband home", reply, "until he goes again", because he has gone 8 times (and he could have already retired, if he wanted to).

We should always take time to mourn and remember the victims but we should, likewise, take time to remeber and honor the heroes who have gone since to say "Never Again".

"And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell." -- Matthew 10:28