Over the next few weeks I will be writing each and every day if for no other reason than to get the voices out of my head. Sometimes I feel special, mostly because my mother told me I was from the beginning, and other times I feel quite average and squashed nicely into a middle class wasteland. Yesterday a morning show here in Tulsa was talking about going to see a therapist. As a consistently upbeat person I have always felt that my problems were all fixable and without need of professional assistance. Turns out I was right, but now I see that my interactions with others are some of my finest moments and providing a positive outlook is as easy as simply speaking my mind. Maybe I’m not special to everyone but at least those that enjoy my musings can walk away with a smile and maybe a slight giggle.
In just the last few days I have experienced an array of emotions. I hesitate to use the phrase “life changing” at this early juncture in my writing but some perspective has been gained.
Everyone needs positive reinforcement. Everyone likes to be a part of a team. This past Sunday I was part of an alumni football game. Since the last game in high school over ten years ago, I had always assumed it was the last time I would strap on the pads and tie up the laces. It is not everyday that a nearly thirty year old “man” gets to relive the football glory days. As game time approached and the team came together in the center of the field reality sunk in with a big thud at the bottom of my gut. (I also hadn’t eaten much all day and the game was at 2PM.) As the coin flew up in the air and across the circle stood the opposing team captains I knew life had changed in the last ten years.
This was just a game, nothing more, no coaches yelling at you or telling you to try harder it was all about your desire to be there. No next day film session breaking down each play and pointing out that missed block. We were a team of guys that liked football and wanted to go out and knock some heads for a few hours. We weren’t trying to prove anything, except maybe that lack of exercise and unhealthy diet do not a good football player make.
My family and friends came out in support, I think. Maybe they are all just sadistic and were hoping for total carnage? Maybe they were just afraid for my life? Either way they were there. Showing up as you know is half the battle. I escaped without any major injuries. Between the bruises, scrapes and bumps a lack of food and an overabundance of sun, my body was spent. I told my dad I hurt all over and he said what hurts the most? My reply, breathing. I truly played for me, my wife and my son. We don’t have to tell the story of those high school days followed by a, “wish you could have seen me.” Now my son knows his dad is kind of a bad ass.
In just the last few days I have experienced an array of emotions. I hesitate to use the phrase “life changing” at this early juncture in my writing but some perspective has been gained.
Everyone needs positive reinforcement. Everyone likes to be a part of a team. This past Sunday I was part of an alumni football game. Since the last game in high school over ten years ago, I had always assumed it was the last time I would strap on the pads and tie up the laces. It is not everyday that a nearly thirty year old “man” gets to relive the football glory days. As game time approached and the team came together in the center of the field reality sunk in with a big thud at the bottom of my gut. (I also hadn’t eaten much all day and the game was at 2PM.) As the coin flew up in the air and across the circle stood the opposing team captains I knew life had changed in the last ten years.
This was just a game, nothing more, no coaches yelling at you or telling you to try harder it was all about your desire to be there. No next day film session breaking down each play and pointing out that missed block. We were a team of guys that liked football and wanted to go out and knock some heads for a few hours. We weren’t trying to prove anything, except maybe that lack of exercise and unhealthy diet do not a good football player make.
My family and friends came out in support, I think. Maybe they are all just sadistic and were hoping for total carnage? Maybe they were just afraid for my life? Either way they were there. Showing up as you know is half the battle. I escaped without any major injuries. Between the bruises, scrapes and bumps a lack of food and an overabundance of sun, my body was spent. I told my dad I hurt all over and he said what hurts the most? My reply, breathing. I truly played for me, my wife and my son. We don’t have to tell the story of those high school days followed by a, “wish you could have seen me.” Now my son knows his dad is kind of a bad ass.
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