The Waking is the Hardest Part

My phone started buzzing at 5:30 this morning.

As it always does.

That was followed by...

All aboard! HA HA HA HA HA HA! a'ight, a'ight, a'ight, a'ight (echo)

That’s the beginning of Crazy Train.

By Ozzy Osbourne.

My own personal ring tone.

The sound I wake up to every morning.

I set my alarm for 5:30.

So I can leave the house by 6.

And be on the elliptical machine by 6:30.

That’s the goal.

Every morning.

That’s the result.

Many mornings.

Some days are a little slower out of the block than others.

But the good news is I usually get the gym four or five mornings a week.

Actually, we get to the gym four or five mornings a week.

My 12-year-old son and I.

Now I consider myself a pretty good negotiator.

I credit it to my many years of playing fantasy sports.

But talking a 12-year-old boy into getting up at 5:30.

Four or five times a week.

To work out.

Now that's quite the challenge.

At first I just asked if he wanted to go.

Guess how that turned out.

Then I hinted that I thought it would be good for him.

Strike 2.

This is where it gets dicey.

One more strike and I’m out.

So instead of taking a risk, I went for the sure thing.

A sports analogy.

That’s what we do.

I asked him how many times Michael Phelps cursed at his mom when she woke him up at 4:00am to go to swim class.

For a brief moment I wondered if this was where he was going to throw a shoe at me.

Or if he was actually going to bite the hook.

Fortunately when I looked him deep in the eye, I could see the light.

The light from where the light bulb had gone on.

I knew I had him.

I told him that Michael probably cursed at her EVERY day.

Maybe even twice a day.

But she believed in his ability and recognized that he had the opportunity to be special.

And nothing was going to get in the way of that.

I told him I see the same thing in him.

That was a few months ago.

And for a few months we’ve been working out together.

Almost every day.

Not exactly P90X.

Not even p9x.

It’s a handful of weight machines.

Abs, delts, pecs, lats, traps, arms, legs.... whatever. 

Followed by a half-hour (or so) on the elliptical.

Ta-da.

We’ve got a workout.

Some days our workout qualifies as “something is better than nothing.”

Other days I actually break a sweat.

But everyday is great.

Me and my boy.

Just the two of us.

Building castles in the sky.

Just the two of us.

I’m not so sure I have a Michael Phelps on my hands.

But the fact that he is still going is a victory in itself.

And he seems to be sincerely enjoying himself.

Which is a bonus.

Not to mention he has mastered the face of looking like he is lifting 2500 pounds.

When it’s only 25.

I should know.

I invented that face.

While the results in the gym are certainly paying off, it’s the entire morning that is special for me. 

The discussions we have on the car ride to the gym are nothing short of perfect.

Sports.

Music.

School.

Food.

Whatever.

An uninterrupted conversation between a boy.

And his dad.

Take that Harry Chapin.

Sure, there has been more than a morning where there’s been no conversation at all.

I credit that to the pitch-dark departure.

But those rides are just as heavenly.

I split my time 50-50.

Between watching the road.

And watching my son sit next to me.

Sleeping.

Nothing more peaceful than that.

Nothing more perfect than that.

Who knew that working out could be so much fun.

Rocking The Cradle

It’s too bad the college bowl season is coming to an end.

There have been some great games.

And I have enjoyed them all.

From my couch.

With the fridge right behind me.

And the remote right in front of me.

And my son right beside me.

There is no better seat.

We watched a game a few nights ago that went right down to the wire.

A great finish.

In fact, my friend was working on the broadcast.

No surprise, he does a couple hundred games a year.

He does local games.

Regional games.

National games.

His career is everything he ever could’ve hoped for.

And more.

Baseball games.

Football games.

And hockey.   

And basketball.

He’s on the road more than Willie Nelson.

I’m sure his family is very proud.

And very rich.

His kids look so happy every year when I get their Christmas card.

I am truly thrilled for his career.

I too had my share of success in the biz.

But not at his level.

And I too have done my share of traveling.

But not at his level.

And if I took the time to do a Christmas card, my kids would probably look pretty happy too.

But I would be the one taking the picture.

Not Sears.

For most of my working life I dedicated 12-14 hours out of every work day to my work.

I guess that’s why they call it a work day.

And on the days I wasn’t working, I was always on call.

Or more accurately, on A call.

Even when I was off, I was always on.

Thankfully, unemployment has corrected all that.

And given me all of the quality family time that any father could ask for.

But it wasn’t always that way.

I can remember standing in a supermarket aisle one night, late at night, picking up just a few things for the family.

After a full day at work.

When one of the best songs ever came on the loud speaker.

Cats in the Cradle.   By Harry Chapin.

I had heard the song a million times before, but this time I decided to listen.

It was a handful of seconds in when I was driven to tears.

I’m not sure which verse it was.

But it really didn’t matter.

Just pick one.

My child arrived just the other day He came to the world in the usual way But there were planes to catch and bills to pay He learned to walk while I was away

Pretty much every line in that damn song is destined to make a grown working man cry.

My son turned ten just the other day He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play Can you teach me to throw", I said "Not today I got a lot to do", he said, "That's ok".

I’m not sure why I needed a song to kick me in the pants, but it did.

Well, he came home from college just the other day So much like a man I just had to say "Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?" He shook his head and said with a smile "What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys See you later, can I have them please?"

And that trip to the supermarket was probably ten years ago.

Honestly, I don’t think I was able to listen to that song again since then.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, the entire family was in the car, driving around, looking for our new home.

When the song came on.

I knew it when I heard the first note.

But instead of turning it off.

I turned it up.

After being at home for most of the last two years, I was finally ready to listen again.

After the first verse, my 11-year old son said, “this song is funny.”

“Hilarious,” I mumbled.

About a minute later.

He changed his tune.

“This song is depressing.”

Then at the end, he changed again.

“I like this song.”

That’s when I informed him and everyone else in the car that Cats in the Cradle is the worst song I’ve ever heard.

“You don’t like it?,” he said.

“I love it.”

“It’s just the worst song ever.”

For the next few minutes, we talked about the song and how fortunate I feel to be at home.

With my family.

Even if it wasn’t what I had planned.

Many people think that working in TV is the greatest job that anybody could have.

And on many levels it might be.

But it doesn't come close to what I now experience every day as a stay-at-home dad.

And I wouldn't trade it with anybody.

Not even my friend.

Who is probably at another great game tonight.

Without his family.

What has happened to me the last few years has taught me everything I need to know.

About real life.

I  hope my son grows up just like me.