Our Heroes Must Never Grow Old

The most recent cover of Sport Illustrated has Brett Favre on the cover with a hood over his head and graying stubble on his face reminding everyone of what they already know: Brett Favre is close to the end. The way his hood is placed on his head makes him seem almost holy or wise; like someone who has been through many storms and weathered them. We can see the lines on his face and his eyes aren't as wild as they used to be. He seems more settled, more reflective. And lest you chide me for ascribing these characteristics to a "football" player you need to understand that Brett Favre is much more than that to anyone who has even remotely followed this game. He is an ideal, a representation of what the game should be. He is the personification of the prodigal son, the wild man who did things his way. The man who almost went too far, only to stop himself and right his way. The man who slung his grief out of his arm the night after his father died...and did it in front of America. He is the man who was at the top of the game and led his team to the top of the league. He was the wild stallion that was harnessed, the gunslinger who never ran out of bullets, the ironman who has yet to rust. He has done his job without missing a day of work for the last 14 years. He has done this in a violent sport, a sport that thrives on brutality. He has done this in a man's sport. And what we see now is the sunset. It's not quite disappearing yet, but soon it will. And with the sun will go a player that our generation and probably the next will never see the likeness of again.

One of my favorite movies is "Unforgiven". Clint Eastwood stars as William Munny who is a retired bounty hunter who has settled down and started a family and a farm. His young wife dies and he's no good at farming so he sets off on one last job and faces the demons of what it's like to kill again. It's not as easy as it used to be or maybe it never it was. Munny used to be the best, but now he just struggles to get his horse under control. The best gunslinger becomes the old gunslinger: not as fast, not as sharp. But we want him to win, we want him to succeed. Maybe we want it more than we ever have because in the back of our minds we know that it will never be like it was. And we want that, don't we. I know I do. We think if we want it bad enough for them, then they'll win. We try to will them to win, but all the while we see the shadows creeping and it's getting a little darker every minute. And this bothers us. It bothers us because we know we are losing more than person in a uniform or on a screen, we're losing a little bit of what we see in ourselves when we watch that person. We know we're getting older. We know someday we'll not be as fast or as sharp as we once were and that's hard to accept. We want so bad to defy age, to beat time. We inject fluid into our faces and our bodies. We take vitamins, we exercise, we use facial cream, but we know time keeps its steady pace. And when one of our heroes rides off into the sunset, they take a part of us with them.

I haven't read the article in Sports Illustrated, but there's one quote that I've seen and it says this: "Our heroes must never grow old." And I wish that quote were as certain and final as it sounds. It sounds like a decree spoken from someone in authority, like an addendum to the Ten Commandments. If only it were. Maybe if I say it enough, I'll feel that way. Maybe I'll even believe it. But for now, I can just wait and count the strokes of the hands that keep pulling the sun down.

There's someone else now

I chaperoned a field trip today for our 8th graders. We went to Bowling Green, KY to the National Corvette Museum...for the third year in a row. I actually enjoy the trip. We get to see how a corvette is put together which, for me, is very cool because I have absolutely no idea about anything on, in, or about cars. After we get to walk through the plant and the museum there is a pretty sweet gift shop filled with coffee mugs, shot glasses, and coozies. There's also other stuff, but all of our kids seem to purchase one of the aforementioned items. The last two years I've received a t-shirt as sort of a payment for chaperoning the trip (I also receive a free meal at Ryan's steakhouse, which should be enough). This year the guy that puts the trip together asked me if I wanted a shirt. Now, I've got enough t-shirts to wear a different one everyday for two months in a row, so lately my wife has been griping at me when I come home with another one. She's not really worried about drawer space, she just wants one herself. Last night we won our city league flag football championship and got a...that's right, a t-shirt. I was thoughtful enough to get one for her, too. So, today as I'm standing, trying to figure out which style t-shirt Davina would want, it hits me that I'm now not just thinking about one other person. I've got another one on the way. I make a direct route to the cashier and ask where the baby/children's section is and she points me to the far left corner. I get over there and have absolutely no idea what size I need to get. I grab the smallest one I can find and decide that's the one I want. I show it to my fellow teacher (who has two daughters of his own) and ask him if he thinks this will fit her. He says, "yeah...in about a year." That's fine, I guess. We'll need some more clothes in a year.

Our nursery is ready to go. We've got everything we need, except the baby. Jordan is kicking and punching and seems to be ready to be here. I walked into her nursery tonight when I got home and laid the shirt I bought her over her crib. What will she be like when she's finally ready to fit into that shirt? What will we be like? I feel like my growth or change as a person has sort of leveled out in the past few years, but I feel a big change coming now. And that's not a bad thing. When I walked into her room tonight to lay that shirt down, I felt proud to be giving something to her; something that I picked out on my own. It'll be three or four years before she is able to appreciate gifts, but that's ok. I'm beginning to feel a little piece of what it's like to be a parent, what it's like to want pass up something for yourself and give it to your child. I think I like it.

Two Months

We had our first baby shower yesterday...well, it wasn't really our baby shower. Luckily, guys don't have to go that stuff. Apparently, we received 63 gifts including cool stuff like diapers, a stroller, and something like a reverse backpack that you can carry your child in like a kangaroo. Very nice.

Davina has signed us up for some birthing classes. I hear that you have to watch a live birth...not in person, obviously, but on video. The worst part about these classes is that they're on two different Saturdays from 9-3....right in the thick of college football season.

All of Davina's family is coming to stay at our house for Thanksgiving. She has two brothers and they have five kids between them ages 6-10. Happy times.

I know this is all sort of random, but that's been the way my brain has been functioning lately. January 27 (Davina's due date) seems like it's pulling us closer every day...which I guess it is. It's hard to believe that in two months, it won't be just us anymore. There will be someone else that depends on us for everything. And it'll be like that for the next few years. But I'm not scared or nervous. I'm actually pretty confident in my ability as a parent. This all may change five minutes after the birth, but two months out, I'm feeling pretty sure of myself.

If I can remind myself, I hope to update this more and more as the date gets closer. T minus 74 days.