Ry and Coop Dot Com

Yesterday, with special thanks to Grammy and Papa P for treating, the Austin clan attacked Busch Gardens in Tampa Florida.  Ironically, and to my great disappointment, the name is very much misleading.  There are not gardens of beer, in fact they had Sam Adams on tap for $8 a dixie cup.  With that said, we had a blast!  Jenn and I rode on something called the Sheikra, a roller coaster that brings you a hundred feet in the air and then drops you speeds equivalent to the speed of sound…only to bring you up again to do the same.  I digress.

The point of this blog is to note this really cute picture and to recognize something kind of interesting.  Ryan is full engaged in the job of “flying” this ship.  He did allow himself a smile, as I imagine most pilots on their first flight might do, but he was in charge and had the distinct and heavy responsibility of guiding his vessel to safety.  The pressure mounted because his brother was counting on him.  Cooper, on the other hand, was just busy working the crowd.  So it got me thinking, at what point does the weight of the world start to grow on our shoulders and we start to take our responsibilities seriously.  It also has me thinking, as I write this, if my supposed “responsibilities” are a lot like Ryan’s…. namely created in my own head 🙂  

I’ve long been worried about my beloved baseball. In recent years, the sport that I grew up believing was the heart and soul of this country is pulling national ratings just slightly higher than CNN’s coverage of the lost Malaysian Airliner…in the 50th day of coverage. I hear pundits claim that the steroid era damaged baseball so badly that it may never recover. Today, though, I found out why Baseball is and will always be, America’s Pastime. In the most unlikely of places, New Britain Connecticut, on the hallowed grounds of New Britain Stadium stood the heart of baseball and the heart of America. Locals are already cringing because New Britain is many things but the heart is not one of them. Well, heart of the drug trafficking trade perhaps. But, you see, that’s my point! The national appeal of baseball has clearly folded to the glamor of the NFL whose quicker pace and less frequency leaves people much less likely to take it for granted. Baseball, with the huge guaranteed contracts and mega steroid drama, seems to disconnect with many fans. On the field today though, and in the stands and in the taste of hot dogs and popcorn, I saw the heart of baseball. It’s a sport that doesn’t require your full attention as a fan. I spent an hour today in the bouncy park at the stadium, huddling around a lone speaker with the other dads who we’re trying to make sure their kids were alive as well as they’re team. My rambling point is, I saw the future of baseball and it’s very much wrapped up in its past. Baseball will always be a part of our neighborhoods and, though it might never see an 18 share in the ratings again, it lives on in the sound and feel of small town ballparks throughout America. Is this post over the top? Perhaps, but I couldn’t help but share the joy I felt when I found baseball alive and well in New Britain, Connecticut.

If I were a Roller Coaster designer, I think I’d take the highs and lows I feel in April and plot them on a graph.  The ride would start really low, skyrocket really high then flatten out only to rise again.  I’m not sure, however, how the riders would get off, but I’ll leave that for another time.

April is a tough time.  8 years ago tomorrow I lost a good friend.  I’ve gone back and read my posts from this time every year since I’ve kept the blog and one thing has changed this year.  It’s funny, for the longest time I’ve had this insane fear that I might forget Tim.  That, in the fast pace of life I might just let go of his memory.  It wasn’t until this year that I realized that just isn’t possible.  No, I’m not sure I think about him every day like I used to.  Perhaps, not every week.  There isn’t a month that goes by though when I’m not reminded of him.  Sometimes those memories just hit me as a quick funny thought of us wrestling in his basement or the time we snuck beer into a certain theme park parking lot only to realize we forgot the opener!  Most often, I’m reminded in the crazy antics of my two boys.  I see, brewing in the Ryan-Cooper chemistry, true brotherly love and it reminds me of the love I have for Tim (and Matt Clement.)  In my own boys I truly see the bond I have with Tim and Matt.

All of that leads me to my roller coaster.  There’s the low of Tim’s death and the high of Spring Break and the low of taxes and Passover.  There’s the high of Easter but the low of the end of Spring Break.  The greatest high of them all though, and I think proof that God is genuinely concerned about your mental well being, is Cooper’s Birthday.  With the birth of Doopster, it would be impossible for me to say April is a bad month.

Spring peeked its head through the frozen clouds for a bit and gave us just enough warmth to get outside!  I had a brief moment of sheer joy and reflection when Ry-guy asked me if we could “go outside and play ball.”  I’m feeling my age these days and as the whole world prepares for the Big Game tomorrow, my heart can’t help but yearn for the days when Opening Day or Game 1 of the World Series would attract the kinds of audiences we’ll see tomorrow.  Baseball has a certain history; a certain nostalgia; a certain element that no other sport has.  I think, more than any sport, it embodies life.  In football, for example, you can train hard and study hard and practice hard and push through the pain to succeed.  You’d think that’s a good life’s lesson right?  You put the time in and you succeed.  The team who tries the hardest will do things like “dominate the line” and “pressure the quarterback” and “be more physical.”  In baseball, you can do all of those things and still fail.  In fact, like life, you can work and train really hard and you’re guaranteed to fail.  The best that ever played failed 6 out of every 10 times!  I think former New York Governor Mario Cuomo (who himself was a minor league ballplayer) may have said it best:  

“The idea of community, the idea of coming together. We’re still not good at that in this country. We talk about it a lot. In moments of crisis we’re magnificent at it — the Depression; Franklin Roosevelt lifting himself from his wheelchair to lift this nation from its knees. At those moments we understand community, helping one another. In baseball you do that all the time; you can’t win it alone. You can be the best pitcher in baseball but somebody has to get you a run to win the game. It is a community activity. You need all nine people helping one another. I love bunt plays. I love the idea of the bunt. I love the idea of the sacrifice. Even the word is good; giving yourself up for the good of the whole. That’s Jeremiah. That’s thousands of years of wisdom. You find your own good in the good of the whole. You find your own individual fulfillment in the success of the community. The Bible tried to do that and didn’t teach you. Baseball did.” 

 So, as we prepare to cheer on the Seahawks and the Broncos, I’m left with this nagging feeling that America is letting its pastime slip away but these Austin boys will do everything they can to stop it.  

I’m sort of getting the hang of this parenting thing.  It’s far from easy but things have become much less surprising with #2.  For example, yesterday Cooper’s teacher told me that he got in a little trouble for “almost biting his friend” but luckily his friend’s mother was there to block his shark-like jaws from attacking.  So, I went into today with a feeling that, while I have NO idea how to raise Ryan, there’s a bit of a road map for Doopster (note the new nickname as Coop-A-Doop is slowly being retired.)  Then, I open his mailbox this morning at school and I see this picture!  Then I realize, yes okay there may be a road map but these two kids are markedly different!  Ryan is smart, quick and remarkably hilarious.  Doopster’s personality is still coming into its own but I’ve never seen a 19 month old do a headstand!  Yeah, we know more about what we’re doing but now I see there will be a few detours on this trip, but that’s what keeps this life interesting 🙂

It’s hard to see in this picture but a funny thing happened to me tonight.  As those of you who’ve read this blog consistently, you know I lost a good friend in Iraq in 2006.  Since the Summer of 2006 I’ve worn this black band as a sort of tribute to my friend Tim.  Two days ago it disappeared while I was on a run. This morning as I was rushing the boys out the door to make it to church, I looked down in the grass outside our condo and there it was, my missing band!
On the band are written the words, “Freedom isn’t Free.”  It’s a cliche in some respects these days as I’ve seen it on many marketing campaigns and on posters and books and articles.  To those who’ve lost someone close to them in service of our country, those words are more than cliche, they’re a part of our life.  You know the one thing I took away from the 36 hours that I was separated from this band? I don’t need a band to remember “Freedom isn’t Free”… the scar on my heart will do that for me but I’m nonetheless glad it’s back.

“What is this picture of,” one might ask.  One would be right to ask.  First off, I want to caution you not to continue if you’re A) not in the medical field or B)squeamish of incredibly disgusting and confusing things.  If, however, you’re as curious as I that you need to share with the world, then by all means continue.

This morning started as most Saturday mornings in the Austin household.  I was awoken at 5:30 by the sultry sounds of our 7 year old Labrador begging for food.  I got up and went downstairs to feed the dog and check my email.  As I approached my return to bed, I discovered Mr. Ryan coming down the stairs.  Morning sleep over.  So, I returned to the downstairs only to hear Mr. Coop-A-Doop awake.  I returned to retrieve him and we started cooking breakfast.  Pretty innocuous so far, no?  This could’ve been your morning!  Except!  After spilling a cup of scolding hot coffee on my leg and living room carpet, Mr. Ryan announces he needs to go to the bathroom.  I set him on the toilet and return to cleaning the spilled coffee.  Moments later I hear, “AHHHHHHH, DAD WHAT DID I EAT!!!!”  Umm, not good.  I quickly run into the bathroom to find Ryan and Cooper laughing hysterically at this gross “thing” sitting at the bottom of the toilet.  What is it?

For those who are medically trained or parentally trained (as in, your kid has done something similar) I’d appreciate hearing from you on what this might be!  I’m 10% scared there’s something wrong with Ryan, 30% convinced there is an alien living in our son and 60% sure that it’s just something he ate.  But man oh man this is all very gross and all very much the part that doesn’t come in the parenting manual!

I hear people complain often about “getting old.”  It’s a generally used term to brush off those things we don’t like about ourselves, our environment or our relationships.  I was recently talking to someone who was complaining about ObamaCare and he said, “I guess I’m just getting older but it seems we’re just wasting money for the sake of wasting money.”  You could look at my post from yesterday where I shamefully admitted that I consumed way too much alcohol a few nights ago for my age.  It had less to do with age than biology and liver function but it’s easier to explain it away with the simpler reason, age.

For most of us, if we really care, we can work hard to defy age and embrace the “experience that comes with it.”  There are limitations though, for example, doing pushups with your feet on the refrigerator door like our Coopster.  Pretty sure I’d be in the hospital.  He’s only 19 months!  I’m equal parts proud and jealous… time to do a pushup.

While most of the world is excited for the fresh start that 2014 brings, I’m going to delay such excitement for another day.  Literally, my fresh start will start on January 2nd, 2014.  Why, you might ask?  2013 brought many great blessings and challenges and I’m thankful for every kiss and every scratch that life gave me this past year.  So it’s not that I’ll miss the past or feat the future… it’s much simpler than that. You see 2013 re-introduced me to an old friend.  I’ll take you on a brief journey.

It’s the summer of 1997 and I’ve reported to SUNY Geneseo for Cross Country practice.  The first weekend there I was excited and a bit nervous to meet my new teammates.  To that point in my life, aside from a few experimental drinks, I had never really investigated the world of alcoholic beverages.  After a week of hard practices, my teammates invited me to my first “track party” where I’d be introduced to the sweet nectar of the gods.  It was, for me, a life changing experience.  Needless to say I would go on to spend a lot of time with my new friend, the beer.  Our friendship proved to be a rough rode for the first five years or so.  You see, though my friend was nice to me at night, the next day he’d punish me with a raging headache and a lethargic body.  Over the years, we learned our boundaries and grew to establish a marriage of respect and love…until last night.

I’m 34 years old and I welcomed 2014 with some great friends and my beautiful family and, from the pages of my past, my old friend.  This morning, and throughout the day, I’ve continued to spend time with my friend in hopes that he’ll forgive my transgressions and allow us to return to the wonderful yet sparing relationship we’ve grown to love.

So, 2014 will need to wait until tomorrow when my stomach isn’t doing loops around my backside and the refrigerator light isn’t beckoning me like some lighthouse in the fog.  2014 will start tomorrow.

Christmas is a special time and I’m sad that it’s over.  I take some solace in the fact that, just like taxes and bad fruit cake, it always comes back.  I enjoyed a few wonderful gifts.  My In-Laws agreed to take the money we spend on each other and put it towards some excursion that we can do as a family. My parents?  A weekend in Stratton for some alone time skiing.  My sister gave us a gift card to Disney World!  I cherish them all and, at the risk of diminishing their value, I found the greatest gift of all in my parents basement.  Looking through some old pictures I found one of me as a toddler, circa 1980.  If I hadn’t seen the vintage look of the photo I would’ve sworn it was Cooper!  Then, almost as if the Good Lord bestowed the gift himself (okay, I’m taking this too far) Google offers up their “vintage photo editor” where I can, with a click of a button, make my photos look circa 1980!  So, I took my favorite photo of Coop-A-Doop from this year’s Christmas Party and “Discoed” it a bit and voila!  I see me… in Cooper! Now, whether I should be happy or feel sorry for him.  I’ll contemplate that over a few beers on New Years.