The Pressure Cooker Called Life

All of us are faced with certain amounts of pressure in our lives, and each of us deals with it differently. Exercise, eating, yoga, deep breathing - you name it, and everyone has their own methods to get them through the madness. Usually, I am not very interested in how other people handle pressure, but at a Baltimore Orioles baseball game Friday night, I witnessed first hand a young man's extraordinary efforts to handle an extraordinary amount of pressure.

The young man in question is Matt Wieters. A first-round draft pick as a catcher in 2007, he had progressed rapidly through the minor leagues and was making his major league debut that night. Heralded in the newspapers as a potential savior for the Orioles even before his first at-bat in the major leagues, I could only imagine the pressure he must be feeling.

Luckily for me, the Matt Wieters story line provided an intriguing angle for me at an otherwise uninteresting Orioles versus Detroit Tigers ballgame. Don't get me wrong, I'll go to any baseball game anywhere, anytime - but outside of the Los Angeles Dodgers and Boston Red Sox, a playoff or World Series game, it's hard for me to be personally invested or connected. The story surrounding Matt Wieters' debut changed all that.

From the moment Wieters' name was announced, the crowd went wild with applause. How do you deal with that kind of crowd reaction when you haven't even done anything yet to be cheered for? Detroit thought they could intimidate Wieters and the very first pitch of the game, the leadoff batter bunted. For a catcher to handle a bunt, he has to get up from his normal crouch, scramble over to the ball, smother it, and make an odd-angle throw to first base. The applause alone told me of the rookie's first success.

Coming to bat for the first time in the third inning, the entire stadium of over 42,000 fans rose in a standing ovation - again, at the mere announcement of his name! Pressure? What pressure? He proceeded to foul off a few good pitches and finally flied out to right field. All in all a very respectable performance, and though he did not get a hit that night, he did hit a triple on Saturday for his first major league hit.

Whatever pressure there may have been on Matt Wieters in his major league debut, he was more than able to deal with it. In the face of great fanfare and expectation, as well as great hazing I am sure from his clubhouse peers - they ignored him completely when he returned to the dugout after his first at bat - I have no doubt that he will go on to a long and successful career.

However, there was a different kind of pressure that the rookie catcher was unable to stand up to. One of the ushers seated near the dugout told me that Wieters' mother demanded that he get his haircut before his debut. Sure enough, as he stood in the on deck circle for the first time that evening, there was the clean and fresh look and lack of a tan near the base of his new hairline.

Seems there are pressures and then there are pressures . . .

From the Archives - The Rolling Stones in Puerto Rico

February 2006

Reflections on Middle Age or Seeing the Rolling Stones Live in Concert . . .

Each of us has a physical and mental image of ourselves that is most likely significantly different from the way others see us, let alone reality. Even looking in the mirror each day, none of us has changed our mental picture of ourselves much over the years. In my own case in point, I of course realize that I am bald (it’s been too long since I had hair to deny it, and too hard to argue with the lack of friction in the comb that occasionally scrapes bare skin each day), but I know the mental image I have of myself is not the person that I appear to be to others.

The best example of my own skewed view is the fact that most people see me as a large man, while I still have the much more idealized image of senior year weigh-ins for high school football – 6’3”, 155 pounds – dripping wet. Now, I know I don’t weigh 155 pounds anymore – add 100 more and the reality quickly “settles” in, but neither do I see myself as large as others see me. This was made evident to me in a summer camp for kids job I held while in college. With a Sherwood Forest theme to the camp, my nickname was Bob O’Big – a useful moniker on “Sex and the City” perhaps - but again, merely reflective of my physical size to children.

Body image and waistline expansion aside, we also tend to envision ourselves as younger than the calendar might dictate. Never was this brought home more to me than when I attended my first Rolling Stones concert this past weekend. I can deal with the fact that I first became a Stones fan in 1963, along with another postscript to history known as the Beatles. I can even deal with the fact that I attended the concert Saturday night with my 18 year old daughter, Jessica. After all, you have to be a little proud that your daughter even asked you to go – of course; Dad also purchased the tickets . . .

But what I had the most difficulty with was the crowd. Those people were old! Gray hair, no hair, long hair that shouldn’t be, you could see it all. People were attending the concert with canes, I saw a couple of wheelchairs, and I also saw a few people who should have used some sort of assisted ambulatory device. Without criticizing the handicapped, these examples I cite were not young – they were my age and beyond. In other words, their main afflictions appeared to be age-related. I’m not certain these same people would or could attend say, a Green Day concert. Only for the Stones . . .

And the outfits . . . of course there were the obligatory collections of t-shirts from past Stones’ tours and locations. Some of them had to be replicas – a 1972 t-shirt still wearable? – but most were worn in the spirit of joy and fun that permeated the entire concert atmosphere. But even fun and joy have their limits: Stones t-shirts with glitter, joined in concert with heavy gold chains (where was I, New Jersey?), concert attire that last fit well in 1980, tie-dyes, etc. Who said the sixties were dead? They’re only hibernating in peoples’ closets between Stones’ tours.

Hovering ominously over the entire concert therefore, was the age factor. By my own rough estimate, of the 20,000 plus fans in attendance, at least two-thirds had to be older than me. Here’s where the personal image kicks in: I can’t be that old! These people looked like my grandparents for goodness sake! (Albeit, the image of my grandparents as over the hill children of the ‘60’s is a little disturbing – I would have great difficulty seeing my late grandmother in tie-dye, for example). But then it hits me, I am the same age as these people – I’m a little better dressed (my clothes fit and my shirt is designed very conveniently to cover my expanding waistline, my hair is not tied in a futile attempt at a very thin ponytail, and I made no attempt to wear huarache sandals – with or without the socks!), but nevertheless, these people are my generation . . . What are we doing at a concert for a band where the lead players are all in their 60’s themselves? What are we doing sitting for hours in stadium seats obviously not designed for people with early arthritis and late term menopause?

What are we doing? We’re having the time of our lives! I can honestly say that going to a Rolling Stones concert ranks right up there as one of the best experiences of my life. I now firmly believe that along with a pilgrimage to Elvis Presley’s Graceland in Memphis, a Stones concert should be on every American’s to-do list. Aged, infirm, bald, arthritic, or just badly dressed – it didn’t matter. For their two hour entire set, we were all transformed into the younger version of our pasts. From the opening number of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”, to the closing encore of “Satisfaction”, we were back in the semi-rebellious era of our youth - there was never a dull or quiet moment.

No language barrier here, Puerto Rico or San Diego, Mick Jagger and crew give new meaning to the words “eternal youth”. Sure it might be fueled by some form of illegal stimulants, and no one is really certain if that is really Keith Richards up there or simply an embalmed replica, but I’ll sign up for some of the same. The way Mick moves at 63 or 64 is a way I couldn’t move even when I was 23 or 24 . . . Pure energy, pure rock and roll from start to finish. No props, no whiz bang techno toys other than a big screen, they simply played their (our) music for a solid two hours.

As I wedged myself out of my seat at the end of the evening and rose instinctively clutching my bad back, I realized I had experienced something profound. Not just the music – even old people have ipods - I had shared an important moment in my life with my own daughter, something that linked us together across almost 40 years of memory (admittedly, mostly mine). To her credit, Jessica could appreciate more the music of my youth, perhaps a little more than I can hers (there are some exceptions here – Green Day, Coldplay – I’m not dead yet!). But most of all, we both had a great time together enjoying something everyone should also have the opportunity to experience.

Universal lessons to be learned from a Stones concert? At least two. The first is that you are only as young as you feel or more likely, think. In spite of evidence to the contrary paraded in front of me during my pre- and post-concert observations, I will continue to visualize myself younger than what my “peers” or my own distracting chronology suggests. And despite the aches and pains of advancing age (remember, my hairline “receded” years ago), the need to dress conscientiously in order not to accentuate expanded areas of my torso, and the requirement for at least two days of complete silence and recovery time for my ears to adjust to normal sound again, I wouldn’t have traded the opportunity for anything.

The second lesson is that you’re never too old to do something crazy with your kids. Because for one, far too brief two hour set of shared music, Jessica and I connected anew and shared an experience I can only wish others could have as well. We now have one of those unforgettable slices of life that will provide a lifetime of memories for both of us. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

So . . . while I haven’t signed up to be a roadie on tour quite yet, I would (will), gladly go again. Certainly not for the crowd – it’s still a little hard to get past all these “old” people, but more for the fun and memories it brings back. And if Mick and company are now more corporate than rebel, that’s ok too. Regretfully, so am I - But hey, what did you expect, I’ll be fifty-two soon enough . . .

One last note: for those of you experiencing the season called winter - it’s been 85 degrees here for the past week, it probably dipped once to 75, but after a momentary shiver or two, I recovered just fine – I went to the concert in shorts – no dark socks. That’s right, even at fifty-two; I believe I still have the legs to pull it off. And if I don’t, well, that’s OK too . . .

In the immortal words of the ageless Bard, “You can’t always get what you want . . . but if you try sometimes, you just might find . . . you’ll get what you need . . .”

A Celebration of Life

Today I was privileged to attend a funeral service for the Reverend Ben Jones - a long time member of our Board of Trustees. I was privileged to attend for two reasons: the first because I was asked to say a few words about Ben; and the second, because I was able to experience a true celebration of his life.

Though my few words from the podium accurately portrayed the Ben I worked with and knew, they paled in comparison to the many inspired and inspiring words of his fellow congregants and ministers. Words of love, honesty, humor, and great triumph rained down upon the audience and the echoing "amens" only added to the celebratory gathering.

Note to self: in the future, try not to follow the Baptist preachers in the speaking order. Better yet, stay off the program entirely and just sit back and listen.

With the service at the church where Ben received his first calling, it was obvious that everyone in attendance knew and loved him and his family. Though there were probably a tear or two shed somewhere during our time together in the church, there were far more humorous and touching stories, hallelujahs, and thank yous to the Lord. As a man of great faith, Ben was also a man cherished deeply on many levels by those who knew him.

Though the service was well over two hours in length, it still seemed far too short a time in which to celebrate the important life of such a wonderful and well-loved man . . .

Dipping My Toes in the Blogosphere . . .

Just thought I would start this blog to capture some thoughts, memories, and eventually feedback from family and friends about life, being a parent, teaching and administrating, and just plain being human. A little history, a little reflection, and an attempt to discipline myself to write regularly might all finally come together. We shall see . . .