tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21377651801927904642024-02-02T15:37:57.193-05:00The Pitch: Baseball & Life"The Pitch: Baseball & Life" is a blog about the many ways in which baseball weaves itself into this author's relationships, self-growth and personal perspectives. Just as the pace of baseball allows for conversation about most anything, my postings will at times make their way beyond the diamond and into areas such as parenthood, pop culture and teaching - all important pieces to my life. So grab a seat - tickets are free! - and enjoy.Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.comBlogger334125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-68823618499599682572016-11-11T21:55:00.000-05:002016-11-11T21:55:14.366-05:00The Way a Blog Ends ... <div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> More than eight years ago, I started
writing this blog. I’ve published nearly 350 posts in that time, and it’s been
a tremendous experience. I started out with the idea of connecting baseball and
life, and even named the blog and the web address after that idea. One year, I
even wrote 162 baseball-to-life blog posts in 162 days, choosing a different
player each day as inspiration for that post’s topic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Eventually, I started shifting away
from the baseball-to-life theme, and began writing more about life itself, with
a focus on parenting. At times, I snuck in a little bit about teaching, or politics,
or baseball. But whatever the topic, I tried to use the blog to explore the ways
in which we might find some elements of hope and connection in this crazy
world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> At its best, the blog might have
approached the writing style of Anna Quindlen, the columnist I grew up seeking
to emulate. At its worst, the blog read like a cheesy greeting card. Most of
the time, it was somewhere in between, with a style that read like a
combination of Dave Barry, Charles Schulz and a Sunday sermon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Today, it is time to move on, and
leave <i>The Pitch </i>behind. For one
thing, it still bills itself as a blog about baseball and life. And really,
after a month in which the Chicago Cubs won the World Series and Donald Trump
claimed the White House, how can any baseball-to-life story top that drama?
Secondly, I am ready to write with a bit more focus on the things I know best –
education and journalism. I will continue that in my new blog, <i><a href="http://warrenhynes.com/">warrenhynes.com</a></i>. There’s already a post
there, ready for you! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> So for those who have checked out
this blog over the years, I thank you so much for taking the time to read my
writing. I appreciate your comments and feedback, and I hope there’s been a
post or two in here that made your day a little bit brighter; that’s really all
I was striving for to begin with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> These are extraordinary times, and
all of us are trying to figure it out, no matter where we stand politically. I
have no interest in saying it will all turn out OK, because I don’t know that.
But sometimes songs creep up on you during stressful times, kind of like a
prayer. I’ve been reading Bruce Springsteen’s book <i>Born to Run </i>lately, and this week I’m hearing the lyrics from the
final song of his <i>Nebraska </i>album in
my head: <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Still at the end of every hard day
people find some reason to believe.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve got no words to improve on
that. Thanks for reading, and may we all find our own ways to keep the faith.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-23296182628004349382016-11-07T21:53:00.000-05:002016-11-07T21:53:35.247-05:00November 8, 2016<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Tomorrow it will finally be over. The
most stressful presidential election campaign in recent memory will be history,
and we will all move on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> And finally, the story will become
what we have long been neglecting: For the first time in the 240 years of these
United States of America, a woman will have been elected president.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I will keep this in the forefront of
my mind as I walk into the voting booth tomorrow. I will think of the famous
women who have served as trailblazers in our country, from Harriet Tubman to
Susan B. Anthony to Amelia Earhart to Eleanor Roosevelt to Oprah Winfrey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I will think of my grandmother, Anne
Hynes, who was a tremendous bank clerk, but whose gender and family obligations
kept her in that position, even as she trained the man who would eventually run
the bank.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I will think of my mother, just a
year older than Hillary Clinton, who was told as a young woman that she had two
career choices – nursing or teaching. She chose the latter, and did a
tremendous job of it. But what else could she have excelled at had she been
given the opportunity? Those of us who know her can tell you: A whole lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I will think of my wife, who like so
many mothers in our generation has juggled the “mommy trap” of full-time job
and full-time parenting, finding a way to make every school function and game
and cookie-baking for our girls, while also shining at her job each day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I will think of all the young women
I worked with in the sports department of my college newspaper, who did not pay
attention to professional stereotypes and knew that glass ceilings were
ultimately made to be shattered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I will think of the supervisors I
have had in my jobs, so many of them women, who have led newspaper sections,
English departments, schools and school districts with tremendous skill – all while
also leading their own families as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I will think of my female students,
who have soared through their academic careers and into every conceivable
profession – from education to medicine to writing. I will like their proud
social-media posts tomorrow, and I will wonder if one day I might find myself
voting for one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> And, of course, I will think of my two
daughters, who at 14 and 11 believe they can do anything they set their minds
to doing. When they awake Wednesday morning, they will believe that even more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> It has been a hard election, and we
all know that. But tomorrow is a day for history, and a day to celebrate. I’m
going to do that. Whatever your political viewpoint may be, I hope you will
find a moment to acknowledge this too. It has been a long time coming. I’m glad
the wait is over.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-72541395164371998052016-11-04T22:13:00.000-04:002016-11-04T22:13:36.583-04:00This Is Us<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The other day, my wife told me we
needed to watch a new TV show together. This is significant, as it will be just
the fourth show we’ve watched together this century. Other than <i>The West Wing, Glee </i>and <i>Friday Night Lights, </i>we’ve missed out on
this “golden age” of dramatic television. We heard great things about <i>Breaking Bad, Mad Men, The Wire, The
Sopranos</i> and <i>Homeland </i>to name
just a few<i>, </i>but have found ourselves
feeling lucky if we’re able to catch an inning of a baseball game or the
opening skit of <i>Saturday Night Live. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The reason for this is very simple:
We had our first child in January 2002, and have spent the past 15 years
absorbed in that work. It has been the No. 1 priority in our lives, and will
remain so for as long as they’re beneath our roof. Even now, as I write these
words, I sit in a Starbucks on a Friday evening while our younger daughter
plays laser tag at a friend’s birthday party. Sure, it’s prime date-night time
or, at the very least, DVR-watching time. But an 11-year-old and 14-year-old need
you to make dinner, wash the clothes, clean the house, enforce the technology
time and chauffeur them everywhere. We’re Uber-parents, all right, but we work
for free. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The show my wife selected is called <i>This Is Us, </i>and from what I hear lots of
people are watching it. After just two episodes, I’m not sure if it’s a bit too
melodramatic for me, but I can definitely connect with its depiction of ordinary
life in extraordinary ways. The average day of parenting consists of more
ordinary moments than I can name, but when viewed through a wide-angle lens it
is extraordinary enough to take your breath away.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Take this past Halloween, for
instance. I had to work until 6, and when I got home the girls had decided not
to go trick-or-treating but to focus instead on giving candy to the little ones
in our neighborhood. Then they changed their minds, painted their faces, and
headed into the neighborhood with bags. Then the older one, Katie, changed her
mind again after two houses, and they came back with about four pieces of
candy. Chelsea, our younger one, held a canvas trick-or-treating bag that had the
year and name of every costume she’d every worn written in marker, from Boots
the Monkey to Glinda from <i>Wicked. </i>It
was kind of sad and depressing to see them bail out on the only thing they’d
ever done on Halloween night, but we made the best of it and spent time
together until Katie headed up to her room to clean her fish tank.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Sometime toward the end of the tank
cleaning, we heard Katie start to cry. She had filled the tank with water that
was too warm, and it had killed the Betta fish. She’d fed and cared for her
fish every day for the two months since we’d been given a tank and she had bought
the fish, and now this. So at 8:30 on Halloween, I found myself holding a spade
in our backyard, digging a hole for Polly the fish. No one else wanted to see
me do it, but flushing had been declared out of bounds. So it was just me and Polly,
in the darkness of Halloween. I tucked her into the ground, patted the dirt and
headed back inside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> This is us. There’s nothing all that
unusual about our domestic life, but at the same time we are making our way through
these days together, and when families do this they carry a resiliency and
poetry that is hard to believe sometimes. As parents, it feels like we’re in
the trenches so much of the time, but at the same time we’re also helping lead
a parade of pride and progress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> We negotiate phone time, beg for
clothes to be put away, celebrate improved math scores, discuss friendship
choices and encourage their development of identity. We love them madly, but we
parent with maddening inconsistency at times, and we find ourselves mad at each
other and ourselves when yet another day goes by without any couple time. We
bury the fish, tuck away their trick-or-treat bags, and give them a hug. We
tell them we love them, and they whisper “Love you too” before we close the
door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> One of these days, Amy and I will
watch another episode of this show. The free time will surface eventually, and
we’ll cuddle up together. As we watch, we’ll notice the parallels between life
and art. We’ve missed a lot of good TV over the years, that’s for sure. But we’ve
been busy – writing our own story. </span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-2795925061714852382016-10-23T15:51:00.000-04:002016-10-23T15:52:37.143-04:00Teddy, Truman, Cubs & Indians<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> All right, enough about this year’s
presidential election. It’s getting too stressful, and we’ve all surely made up
our minds by now. It’s time to focus on two other election years, and on two previous
presidents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Let’s talk about Teddy and Truman. Let’s
discuss 1908 and 1948.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Here’s why: On Tuesday night in
Cleveland, this year’s World Series will begin, and the two teams playing will
be the two who have gone the longest since winning their last titles. The
Cleveland Indians have not won a championship since ‘48, when the first Baby
Boomers were in diapers and World War II had just ended. And the Chicago Cubs
have not claimed a title since ’08, when the first Model T was coming off the
assembly line and one of our Mount Rushmore presidents was deciding not to run
for re-election.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> The Indians and Cubs have endured
some of the most depressing strings of losing seasons in professional sports
history in the many decades since they last held a title trophy aloft. Their
fans have continued showing up, though, holding out hope every April and
cheering them on through excruciating September and October collapses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> But here they are, and it’s clear
that one of them will end their losing streak over the next 10 days. And as
they engage in this year’s Fall Classic, the Cubs and Indians will bring back
memories of the men who occupied the Oval Office when these teams last stood
atop the baseball world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> Theodore Roosevelt and Harry Truman
both started as vice presidents, and both stepped in after the elected
president died in office less than a year into a four-year term. Roosevelt’s
focus on taming corrupt robber barons and using executive powers to enhance
programs such as conservation made him an American hero, leading to his re-election
in 1904. In ’08, Teddy decided against running again, and promoted his friend and
cabinet member William Howard Taft, who was elected a month after the Cubs won
their second consecutive World Series. </span><br />
<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> As for Truman, he took office in a tumultuous
time, and found a way to help steer the U.S. through the end of World War II
and into the United Nations. After almost four years, it seemed that the American
people were going to vote against Truman for re-election and favor Republican Thomas
Dewey. In fact, the <i>Chicago Daily Tribune</i>
even printed a headline reading “Dewey Defeats Truman.” But this time, the news
media and pollsters really did get it wrong, and Truman was re-elected to
another four-year term. A month later, the Indians claimed their second title. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> History has painted Teddy and Truman
as two of the 20<sup>th</sup> century’s strongest American presidents, and they
are widely respected for their determination and frank talk. As I review some
of their most famous quotes in the fabulous collection found on <i>goodreads.com, </i>I see words that inspire
on multiple levels. First of all, as with any great line, they can inspire an
individual in need of hope. Secondly, they provide much-needed perspective for
a nation searching for its next leader. And finally, they give long-suffering
baseball teams – and fans – words to live by. Let’s give a listen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Teddy<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">-<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Nothing in the
world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty…
I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life. I have
envied a great many people who led difficult lives and led them well.”<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #181818;"> <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">-<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“It is hard to
fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed.”<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #181818;"> <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">-<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Speak softly and
carry a big stick; you will go far.”<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #181818;"> <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">-<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“It is not the critic
who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where
the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man
who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;
who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there
is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do
the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself
in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high
achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring
greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who
neither know victory nor defeat.”<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #181818;"> </span></span><b><span style="color: #181818;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Truman<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">-<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“It is amazing
what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit.”<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #181818;"> </span></span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">-<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“The only thing new in
the world is the history you do not know.”</span><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">-<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“We must have strong minds, ready to accept facts as they
are.”<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #181818;"> </span></span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">-<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Believe and you’re halfway there.”</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .75in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The World
Series games will be played this week, and one group of fans will cry tears of
joy. The election will be held on Nov. 8, and we the people will select a new
leader. After that, life will go on for us all. Whether the signs on our lawns
or the jerseys on our backs reflect the winner, we will have our own victories
to pursue. Circumstances will arise in which we’ll need to decide whether we
want to step “in the arena,” and whether we are ready to “believe” – in ourselves,
in a cause, or in that which we can anticipate but can’t yet see. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> I guess what Teddy and Truman were really
trying to tell us is that if you can sense a reason to hope, and you can feel
the courage of your convictions, then you need to go for it. “The only man who
never makes mistakes,” Teddy once said, “is the man who never does anything.”
These former leaders would tell us to make sure we take the initiative, and don’t
let the words and actions of others guide our own self-direction.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Go Cubs
go, for sure. Go Indians, absolutely. I’m with her, of course. But more
importantly, go Warren. Go all of us. We can get through this together. As
another American president once said, yes we can.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-3945366610047195852016-10-10T12:30:00.000-04:002016-10-10T18:18:07.985-04:00Locker-Room Talk <div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I have been working out regularly
for some 30 years now, and I’m proud to say that even in my mid-40s I still get
a good five or six workouts in each week. I say this not to brag about my fitness,
but to bring up the point that in these three decades of working out, I’ve
heard quite a bit of “locker-room talk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Today, for instance, I popped into
the gym for a morning swim before getting some work done on a school holiday. I
heard a couple of men discussing which professions get Columbus Day off, as it
was clear that there were more people in the gym today. I also heard two men
talking about getting their flu shots, with one asking the other if he’d be getting
a pneumonia shot as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> When I’m quickly changing or
showering in the locker room, I typically overhear certain types of
conversations. There are always the sports discussions – banter about the Yankees,
Knicks, Giants, Jets, and pretty much every football team you could name. There
are also the lifestyle talks – about food, vacations, movies or music. Occasionally,
I also hear talk among friends about issues of the day – politics or income or
race, sometimes in classic debate style, and always respectful. Sometimes there
might even be some talk about marriage or dating. But that talk is often more
about personality, interpersonal dynamics, and getting along with your partner –
not so much about physical features. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The most common type of talk I overhear
is the basic “Howya doin’?” banter. I hear men who’ve known each other for
years catching up, and asking how things are going. As they get older, men are
aware of time passing and like to check in on their friends’ health, especially
if they haven’t seen each other in awhile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So there are assorted types of
conversations that go on in a gym. But in my 30 years of working out, there’s
one thing I have never, ever heard in the locker room - even in four years
playing high school baseball and four more years working out on a college
campus. Never have I heard a man talking about how cool it
is to walk up to a woman and grab her genitals. Never have I heard men talking
about how much they want to just walk up to women and kiss them without
consent. Never have I heard such disrespect for women.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I don’t know how we’ve arrived at a
point where a man who does talk like this is (a) running for president and (b)
dismissing it as “locker-room talk.” As a father of two girls, I don’t really even
want to think about this issue much more. I just want to say that I go to
locker rooms as part of my life routines, and I don’t hear people talk this
way. So there must be a better label for the candidate’s words. To use his
own vernacular, let’s start with “disaster.” And then let’s make sure
he remains a troubling, loud-mouthed civilian on Nov. 8.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-10701001814045305502016-10-06T22:43:00.000-04:002016-10-06T22:43:01.761-04:00Master of Stories<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Most
of the time, life’s moments seem to pass by in fast-forward. We find ourselves
standing at the counter at 10 p.m., making the kids’ lunches and wondering
where another day has gone. The list of things to do and places to be is
ever-growing, and the social media overload vies for any free time we might
have.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> In
short, 21<sup>st</sup>-century society is desperately lacking in downtime – in
a chance to reclaim ourselves and reconnect with life beyond that to-do list.
Perhaps that’s why, despite the BuzzFeeds and Snapchats and Twitters, many
Americans have been reaching for podcasts and longform journalism in recent
years. It’s as though they are saying, “Enough is enough,” and crying out for
the power of deliberate storytelling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> We
all have known people in our family, friend group, school or workplace who knew
how to tell a story. We have sat down and listened to these people share
details and narratives that painted pictures in our minds. For my brother and
me, our grandparents were the key storytellers in our early lives. Our dad’s
mom told us about her Norwegian mother and Icelandic father immigrating to
America and adjusting to this new world. Our mom’s mother regaled us with tales
of her brother, who could light up a room, yet had passed away before we were
born.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Our
dad’s father died when we were young, but not before he had told us all about
his favorite baseball player as a child, Zack Wheat of the Brooklyn Dodgers.
And our mother’s dad, who lived until we were in our 30s, filled our lives (and
tape recorders) with tales of his brothers and sisters, minor-league baseball
career, marriage to our grandmother and battles with alcoholism. He was our
personal podcast before there were any, giving us stories we could file away
and download when life called for it – stories that were by turns gritty,
nostalgic and at times hilarious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Our
grandparents, and their generation, are almost all gone now. But not
completely. Sunday, an 88-year-old California man bid goodbye to his job as
baseball’s premiere storyteller. His name is Vin Scully, and he called Dodgers ballgames
for 67 years, from 1950 all the way to this past weekend. His longevity is
unparalleled in baseball, but Scully’s gift was much more than sheer
perseverance. He was the best storyteller in a sport flush with them, and he
could make even a passing baseball fan feel enraptured in tales about players’
lives, American history and the unique quirks of baseball.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> There
were a number of years in which Scully called World Series games for NBC, and
many of us heard him add stamps of literary brilliance to dramatic October
moments. For those who lived in Brooklyn and then Los Angeles, Scully’s voice
was part of the soundtrack to spring and summer, guiding them through three
score and seven years of Dodgers: from Jackie Robinson to Sandy Koufax to Maury
Wills to Steve Garvey to Fernando Valenzuela to Mike Piazza to Clayton Kershaw
to Corey Seager. And for those who used streaming or cable services to
subscribe to every Major League Baseball broadcast, Scully’s voice could still
be heard across the nation as he called Dodgers home games by himself in the
broadcast booth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I
listened to Scully’s final broadcast on Sunday, as he told stories of great
Dodgers-Giants rivalries of old, while calling a game in which the San
Francisco Giants defeated the Dodgers to earn a playoff berth. Scully had grown
up rooting for the Giants, then spent more than three-quarters of his life
working for the Dodgers. It was a perfect sendoff for the great broadcaster,
and he signed off in class modest style, telling his listeners that he always
needed them much more than they needed him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> He
also departed by paraphrasing a quote from Dr. Seuss, telling us not to be sad
that it’s over, but rather to “smile because it happened.” With these words,
Scully was connecting his career with the essence of storytelling. We do tell
stories so that we can smile about the things that have happened, and this in
turn helps assuage the losses we experience, as well as the relentless passage
of time. These stories give us moments we can’t forget, and which we will pass
along to those younger than us. Be it a grandparent, a teacher, a good friend
or even a broadcaster, storytellers give us the chance to press pause on life,
and savor what is richest and most beautiful about this time we get on Earth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Vin
Scully is still very much alive, and he will keep sharing stories with his
children, grandkids and great-grandchildren. He might even pop into a broadcast
booth now and then. But wherever he goes, he will leave us all much richer for
the time he spent with us, turning a nine-inning ballgame into the fabric of
life.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-81251284315466614292016-07-24T16:53:00.000-04:002016-07-24T16:53:42.875-04:00Fear Or ...<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> So
I was driving down to my parents’ house in Cape May on Friday, and I had a lot
on my mind. First of all, I kept hearing this one guy’s voice in my head. He’s
from New York, like I am, but he’s running for president, and he had given a
convention speech the night before, which I had heard in part. It kind of
freaked me out, because there was so much darkness in his words. He was saying
in his speech that “our very way of life” is threatened in America, and that
the person he’s running against leaves a legacy of “death, destruction and
weakness.” He said these are very difficult days in America, and that we need
to take care of our country first. The thing that upset me the most was when he
told America, “I am your voice.” I have never lived under a dictator, but when
I study them, they usually say things like that, tapping into our fears and
convincing us that they know what we need. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I was wondering what drew people to
this guy and his rhetoric of fear and passion. I was wondering if this was the
message I’d keep hearing in the days and months ahead. I had music playing on
my iPod, and was paying tribute to the late Prince by listening to his tunes. In
between songs about little red Corvettes, raspberry berets and purple rain, I
listened to the lyrics from the song <i>7, </i>which
is the closest Prince every got to predicting the future when he released it almost
25 years ago. “I saw an angel come down unto me,” he sang. “In her hand she
holds the very key / Words of compassion, words of peace.” In his Book of
Revelation-type lyrics, Prince sings of a world in which “the young” are “so
educated they never grow old.” He even sings of “a voice of many colors” singing
a song “that’s so bold.” Well, I thought, that’s a different person with
different ideas than the one I’d heard the night before. But I kind of like this
vision of a world where compassion and combined voices lead the way, better
than I like the sound of footsteps approaching. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I arrived in Cape May and went down
to the beach the next day. Every day, there are teenagers on the beach who sell
umbrellas and beach chairs, then pick them up at the end of the afternoon. I’d
noticed that the chair seller on our stretch of the beach had a tattoo on his
upper chest. I stopped him and asked what the tattoo said. He read it to me: “<span style="background: white;">Fear is nothing more than a mental monster you have
created, a negative stream of consciousness</span>.” I looked that up later,
and saw that it comes from Robin Sharma, a Canadian writer. This young man,
dragging umbrellas and chairs through the soft sand, seemed to have already
arrived at a very different way of looking at fear than those words I heard on
Thursday night. In fact, he’s so confident in these words that he wears them on
his tanned torso.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> As I lay on
the beach, I read a book by <i>New York
Times </i>columnist Charles M. Blow, titled <i>Fire
Shut Up in My Bones. </i>In terms of coming-of-age memoirs, they don’t get much
better. I read about Blow’s attempts to find inner peace after a childhood
incident left him violated and afraid. Earlier in the week, the author’s most recent
<i>Times </i>column had spoken of the recent
violence against civilians and police with the words, “It’s not either/or, but
both/and.<span class="apple-converted-space">” As someone who has lived through
tragedy, Blow is well-suited to help guide our country out of the struggles we
face. He chooses to do so through words of love. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> After arriving back from the beach,
I gathered up my dog and took her for an early-evening walk. Around the corner,
I saw several yellow and orange pieces of paper tied to a tree with pieces of
string. As I walked closer, I saw a sign in front of the tree, identifying it
as a “Poet-Tree,” and inviting passersby to take one. My dog and I stood in
front of the tree for a while, reading poems, many of them about nature, lots
of them by Robert Frost and Mary Oliver. I took a poem from Oliver titled <i>Wild Geese, </i>whose beautiful lines speak
of shared pain, shared progress, and shared tomorrows. “Whoever you are, no
matter how lonely, / the world offers itself to your imagination, / calls to
you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -- / over and over announcing your
place / in the family of things.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> There are strong words of fear in
America today. But wherever my wheels and feet seem to take me, I keep hearing reassuring
words of grace. There’s a lot to talk about at those presidential conventions –
our country has as much room for improvement as any. But we had a president
once who said something about fear, something many have echoed in the 83 years
since he said it. And it remains as true as the morning sun: The only thing we
have to fear, my friends, is fear itself. The rest is today’s challenge, tomorrow’s
triumph, and the music of life. </span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-60857923343316291142016-07-09T09:53:00.001-04:002016-07-09T09:53:54.796-04:00Choosing Love <div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> This week, my wife and older
daughter have been fixing up houses in eastern Tennessee with a group from our
church. As part of the Appalachia Service Project, they’ve been working
together to make the world just a little bit better, while also meeting people
from a different part of our country. The church group consists of teens and
adults – some of them black, some white, some gay, and some straight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yesterday morning, I helped my father
deliver food to people in need in Cape May, NJ. As we walked through the small
housing project that often gets lost in this vacation wonderland, we handed chicken,
frozen vegetables and pasta to all kinds of grateful people – some of them
black, some white, some older, and some quite young.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In my high school, I’ve helped run a
community service club for 10 years, and the teens who run this club choose our
activities. Their favorite job is delivering meals to homeless and low-income
individuals in Manhattan. When they do this, I stand to the side and watch our
club members interact with the people in need who walk up to their table. Some
of the needy are black, some are white, some are Latino, some are Asian. Some
are gay, some are straight, and some are transgender. Our own club members also
hail from a variety of races and ethnicities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The events of this past week in
America have been so troubling that it’s difficult to think about it all without
feeling afraid for our nation. I’m not a TV guy, so I don’t watch the
wall-to-wall coverage that our cable news stations offer. I prefer to read the
news. This morning, I came across an opinion article in <i>The New York Times, </i>written by Charles M. Blow, whose meditations
on race in America are well worth reading. In his piece, Blow writes about the
necessity of choosing love in times of violence. He writes that when we say
this, some are likely to accuse us of “meeting hard power with soft,” and of
choosing a weaker route.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> But, Blow writes, “That is simply an
illusion fostered by those of little faith.” Anger is so easy to access and use
recklessly, he writes. “<span style="background: white;">The higher calling — the
harder trial — is the belief in the ultimate moral justice and the inevitable
victory of righteousness over wrong … When we all can see clearly that the
ultimate goal is harmony and not hate, rectification and not retribution, we
have a chance to see our way forward.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> There are so
many ways we can address the current racial crisis in America. Perhaps the most
important first step is to listen, learn and engage in productive dialogue. A
former colleague of mine posted on Facebook yesterday that he had recently
taught Ta-Nehisi Coates’ <i>Between the
World and Me</i>, the National Book Award winner that explains with clarity and
historical depth why an African-American individual might doubt that true
change will come in American race relations. In my own world, my co-teacher and
I showed our high school seniors Spike Lee’s <i>Do the Right Thing </i>this past year, and Steve James’ documentary <i>The Interrupters </i>last year. None of our
students had seen either film before, and they all had lots to say, think and
write about after seeing these important films. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> We all can do
more to engage our minds in thinking deeply about race in America. We can pay
closer attention to the words of our current president, who has spoken about matters
of race in complex and important ways. We can hold discussion groups where we listen
and share our experiences. We can think, and wonder, and imagine what it would
take to reach a place of equality, understanding and peace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Most of all,
we can follow the lead of those who have shown us how to do this hard work.
More than a year ago, a young white man brought racial violence to a level of
cruelty similar to that of this past week. The man visited a church Bible study
in Charleston, S.C., then proceeded to kill nine African-American men and women
during the Bible study. Two days later, that church modeled forgiveness in a
way that might at first seem impossible. “You took something very precious away
from me,” the daughter of one of the victims told the shooter during a bond
hearing in which he appeared via video link in court. “I will never talk to her
ever again. I will never be able to hold her again. But I forgive you. And have
mercy on your soul.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> These words
are at the heart of what Charles Blow is talking about, and at the heart of
what we sorely need. Bullets cannot move mountains. But faith and fellowship can.
Racial anger is real, and it’s grounded in facts. It needs to be heard, and
discussed, and addressed with changes in laws and attitudes. The work we do
together in areas of race is everyone’s business. It is not something that
affects only some. The responsibility is on all of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> But we know
it can be done because it is being done – by my wife, daughter and their
friends in Tennessee this week. By my dad and his friends at the housing
project in Cape May. By those service club teens at my school. And in thousands
upon thousands of other places, where we choose love over hate, and where we
work to build bridges.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nearly 20 years ago, my
wife and I brought a group of teenagers to a national youth gathering for the Lutheran
church in New Orleans. Every night, tens of thousands of teens would walk to
the Superdome and sing songs together. The emcee of the event was a young woman
in her early 40s, a pastor from New Jersey. She was dynamic and inspiring.
After the gathering, I wrote to her and she wrote back. She gave me ideas on
how to make a difference in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Today, that woman is
the pastor of our church. She’s in her 60s now, and my wife and I view the
words and themes in her sermons as a map toward the ways in which we can help
make positive change. Oh, and she happens to be African-American.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">As my pastor makes her
way back from Tennessee with the church group this weekend, I know her heart is
heavy from the violence and unrest in America. But I also know she will choose
the route taken by Charles Blow and Barack Obama and my teacher friend and my
service club kids and, of course, the parishioners in Charleston. She will
choose love. And she will preach love. And we will hear her, and give it a try. </span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-80599677460396716452016-04-12T14:03:00.000-04:002016-04-12T14:08:17.681-04:00Hamilton for President <div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am not throwing away my shot!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
am not throwing away my shot!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hey
yo, I’m just like my country<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
young, scrappy and hungry<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And
I’m not throwing away my shot!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This spring, our house has been pulsing
to lines like the one above, from the smash-hit musical <i>Hamilton. </i>The show tells the story of Founding Father Alexander
Hamilton through hip-hop, dance and brilliant modern-day storytelling. Anyone who
has seen the sold-out musical or listened to the bestselling album has probably
been hooked on the songs just as my wife, daughters and I have been. Lin-Manuel
Miranda’s music, lyrics and dynamic method of bringing Ron Chernow’s <i>Hamilton </i>biography to life are
captivating in ways that call to mind other groundbreaking musicals such as <i>Rent </i>and <i>Book of Mormon </i>– shows that dared to be different and offered a new
direction for Broadway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Part of what makes <i>Hamilton </i>so impressive is the degree to
which it speaks to our modern-day world. In Miranda’s hands, we see a show that
addresses many of our hot-button issues of 2016, from immigration to race to financial
policies to foreign affairs to electoral politics. <i>Hamilton </i>also makes it clear that heated debate – yes, even heated
fighting – has long been a part of American politics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> But despite the musical’s indisputable
relevance, I’d guess that even the subject of this show would be surprised at
the level of absurdity present in the 2016 presidential election campaign. It’s
all been very well documented, so I’m not going to review it with you again.
But suffice it to say that no matter how much Alexander Hamilton might be
intrigued by the idea of attack ads, Twitter posts and sound bites, he would be
disappointed in the tone of this election. After all, this was a man who much
preferred taking on his opponents face to face instead of letting others fight
his battles for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> And that’s where things get most
frustrating for me as I follow the current presidential campaign (from a
distance, as I can’t bring myself to get too close to something this ugly).
When I hear candidates raise ideas that they clearly don’t plan to follow
through on, but that serve to rile up an angry base, I am reminded of a
memorable line from <i>The Great Gatsby</i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">By the end of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s
classic novel (which, like <i>Hamilton</i>,
speaks to the 21<sup>st</sup> century throughout every page), narrator Nick
Carraway can no longer refrain from judging two of the characters he’s been
describing for us. The husband and wife due of Daisy and Tom Buchanan have left
a disaster in their wake as they leave town, and Nick knows that they will not
be the ones to suffer from this. He says, “<span style="background: white;">They
were careless people, Tom and Daisy — they smashed up things and creatures and
then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it
was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had
made.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This, in a nutshell, is
Donald Trump. He raises ideas and proposals that he will never bring to pass,
even if he were to be elected president. He will not actually build a giant
wall on the U.S. border with Mexico, nor will he arrest women seeking
abortions. But because he says these things, Trump brings out emotions in those
who take him at his word. And the mess that someone like this can make
overshadows any positive steps he could conceivably take as a leader. But he’s
a smart man, and he knows that if he says there might be riots if he’s not his
party’s nominee, he is both planting an idea and recusing himself of any blame
for such violence. He won’t be the one committing any violent acts, so he’ll
just shrug his shoulders and say he’s disappointed at what happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This kind of behavior
is not just a political thing, of course. It’s human nature. We see it when Kim
Kardashian posts a nude selfie, knowing that her influence will lead young
teenagers to try the same. We see it when Roger Goodell says that if he had a
son he’d love to see the boy play football, when in fact the NFL commissioner
doesn’t have a son and knows that many youngsters who play will sustain
concussions unless the game is made safer. We see it when Ted Cruz promotes
Christianity on the campaign stump, knowing that this is being read by some as
code for “no Muslims.” So long as you imply your point instead of directly
stating it, you’re as safe as Tom and Daisy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Humans can be sneaky
communicators, and they also know how to use their power, wealth and social
status to make a tremendous mess of society. They know that their words and
actions can hold incredible weight, and they are willing to use that leverage
to watch others start a fire after they’ve left the lighter fluid on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Alexander Hamilton had
plenty of flaws, for sure. But he acted on his beliefs, said what he thought,
and made his own mess – even the one that led to his own death. “Every action’s
an act of creation,” Miranda sings in the song “My Shot.” It’s not uncommon for
works of art to speak to our needs better than the leaders we’re considering
for elected office. This year, that is particularly true. Miranda’s miraculous
work of art is worth every moment we give it, for through his words we might
just find a way out of this electoral mess we’re in, and into the light of engagement,
collaboration and hope.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s time to take a shot.</span></i></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-18134204621881690722016-01-25T12:08:00.000-05:002016-01-25T12:08:11.449-05:00Middle-Aged<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> According to the U.S. Census Bureau,
I am now officially middle-aged. I can’t say I felt much different last Sunday
when I turned 45, but the number does seem a bit daunting. A couple decades
ago, I wrote a weekly column for the <i>Staten
Island Advance </i>about living through my 20s; one of the columns talked about
how old 25 felt. I think back on that and laugh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Of course, 20 years from now I might reflect
on 45 as a young milestone. But while it’s true that age is relative, it’s also
true that 45 is a much more definitive marker of aging than 25 was. For instance,
I am now older than every athlete on a major American pro sports team. The
oldest, NHL right winger Jaromir Jagr, is more than a year younger than me. If
I were running for president this year, I’d be considered a “young” candidate,
but I’m still five months older than Republican Marco Rubio, and just a few
weeks younger than Ted Cruz. In terms of entertainment, I’m in the Matt
Damon-Ethan Hawke age range, which is not too bad. But still, I was 23 years
old when Justin Bieber was born, easily making me old enough to be his parent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So yeah, 45 is a bunch of years. But it’s
still only halfway to 90, so there’s no reason to panic. Yet there are certain
physical signs reminding me that middle age is beginning. The most obvious is
the eyesight. When I’m reading a book with my glasses on, the words only look
focused when I push the glasses down the bridge of my nose. When I’ve swallowed
my pride enough, I will buy reading glasses for the times when I’m wearing contacts.
After all, I’m already struggling at school when I reserve a laptop cart and
need to open it with a combination lock. My students sit patiently waiting for
me to open the cart, while I stare down at the lock and wait for my eyes to slowly
begin identifying numbers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s also the height thing. When doctors
ask for my height, I proudly say that I’m 6-1, although I know that is no
longer the case. The disks between my vertebrae have thinned out, and I’m shorter
than I was at 22. I try to combat this with exercise, and I know that yoga
would help as well. But even so, the ravages of time and gravity have had their
way with my spine. When I spend hours outside shoveling like I did yesterday,
my back reminds me of just how cranky it’s getting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So yes, there are numerical and physical
signs of aging. But perhaps the most glaring sign of being middle-aged is in
the interactions with people younger than me, and the generation gaps that are
now fully apparent. Take the popular mobile app known as Snapchat, for
instance. I have had computers in my life ever since I was 12 years old. And
yet, I just don’t understand the need for taking dozens of photos and short
videos that get sent to friends, who can view them for just a few seconds
before they disappear. It seems like an exercise in futility. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As my students prepare for class to
begin, many of them stare at their phones, give a little smile, and before I
know it they’ve taken a Snapchat photo, to be added to their Snapchat “story”
that will be sent to their 200 closest friends later in the day. The same thing
happens when I’m driving my older daughter somewhere, and she sits in the back
seat posing and taking more pictures than you’d see at a Kate Upton photo
shoot. She then begins playing her friends’ Snapchat stories, and I hear quick
bursts of shouting or singing, and my daughter laughs at these bite-size forms
of communication while I struggle to identify what her friends are even saying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Generation gaps are as common as
diminished eyesight and shrinking spines. And with this particular gap, I am
reminded of a skill that I have maintained and improved after four and a half decades,
but that I fear my daughter is losing all too early: the ability to pay attention.
I am still more interested in placing my photos in an album than in shooting
them off for a five-second viewing; I’d rather write a blog like this than fire
off a tweet; and I’d prefer to read a story or book than an Instagram caption. I
want to spend time with my thoughts and communication, rather than treating
them like a series of buttons to be pushed. I worry that younger generations
are losing the ability to take time with the interactions that help make a life
richer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There is no way to write this without
sounding like an old man, even older than one who can’t read his combination
lock. But I think the key to generation gaps is going beyond the recognition of
them, and moving into bridging the gaps. Is there something that both
generations can learn from each other – something about the Snapchat world that
I don’t quite get, and something about the joy of sitting with words and
thoughts that my daughter doesn’t understand yet? Were there similar elements
at play for me 30 years ago, when my parents were advising me to pay attention
to the world beyond Commodore 64 video games and fantasy sports statistics? It
would take a degree of patience on both sides to sit, listen and learn, yet I’d
be up for doing that. My daughter, who is forever closing her bedroom door
behind her in true 14-year-old fashion, is a tougher one to pin down; but there’s
no reason to stop trying.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Age is both relative and very real; 45
is nothing if not a reminder of that. I’ve downloaded the Snapchat app, but I
can’t figure it out yet. And it’s hard to read unless I push down those glasses.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-64417002102198488732015-11-29T16:23:00.001-05:002015-11-29T16:23:20.001-05:00Home <div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It’s been an exciting Thanksgiving weekend,
as my wife’s parents recently moved to the same town where my parents have
lived for the past 12 years. After a couple of attempts at retiring up north,
my in-laws realized that the Jersey Shore was more their style. So this
Thanksgiving, my daughters were able to gather around the turkey with all four
grandparents for the first time in their lives. It was wonderful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> As I’ve aged out of some of the
restlessness of youth, I’ve come to see just how much it can mean to feel
comfortable and happy with your home. To have that roof and four walls, and to
want to be there, is a special feeling. Thanksgiving, and the holidays that
follow, are a yearly reminder of this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I was thinking about that feeling as
I read a poem the other day. It’s titled “Home,” and it was written by Warsan
Shire, a writer who was born in Kenya and raised in London to Somali parents. The
poem addresses the world’s current refugee crisis, one that sees more people fleeing
war and oppression than at any time since World War II, according to <i>The New York Times</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Shire begins her poem by writing, “no
one leaves home unless<span style="box-sizing: border-box;"> / <span class="textexposedshow">home is
the mouth of a shark / you only run for the border / when you see the whole
city running as well.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The next stanza continues, “</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">your neighbors
running faster than you / breath bloody in their throats / the boy you went to
school with / who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory / is holding a
gun bigger than his body / you only leave home / when home won’t let you stay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Since the flurry of recent terrorist
attacks in Europe, Asia and Africa, there has been increased conversation about
a topic that is as old as history – whether to allow an exodus of people to
enter one’s country. There are always complications to this issue, but time has
a tendency to align itself with compassion and openness, rather than with
resistance and fences. Those who enter a new country, as my great-grandparents
did in America, tend to do nothing more than give thanks and start their new
life with ambition and devotion to their new home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> It’s tempting, during times of fear,
to think that countless people are out to get us. But in reality, most people
just want what my in-laws found this year – a place that feels like home. When we forget this, we run the risk of becoming sharks ourselves.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-56092052588914368342015-11-04T22:51:00.000-05:002015-11-04T22:51:42.275-05:00Thirteen<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> As I write this post, my daughter is
hanging out at a boy’s house. She is 13; so is he. His parents are there, as
are other friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> But still. I want the boy gone.
Goodbye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I’m just not ready. I have to be
ready, but I’m not. I need to father a teenager, not a child. And I don’t get a
script. Parents never do, especially for the oldest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It seems like a heartbeat ago, we
were dancing in the living room to Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire,” me swinging
her in circles while she giggled and called for more. It feels like yesterday we
were reading <i>Fancy Nancy </i>picture
books together, her eyes beginning to recognize words and sentences as we
turned the pages. It seems like last year she’d go to bed asking me to tell her
a story, and I’d regale her with tales of my childhood, while she lay in the
glow of a nightlight, listening intently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Now she takes her shower at nine,
says a quick goodnight, sets the alarm on her iPhone, and goes to sleep. She wakes
up and checks her Instagram and Snapchat, then dresses in her American Eagle
finest, before munching on a quick bowl of cereal and heading off to the
hallways of middle school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> We butt heads pretty often these
days. I tell her that I think she needs to broaden her friend base. I take away
her phone when the device is taking place of the actual world. I encourage her
to step away from the texts and Facetimes to go for walks and read books. She
tells me to stop, stop, stop it, Dad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Did I mention the part about no
script? Yes, I think I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I know that if I push too hard, I’ll
lose her. I also know that there are far worse things than a 13-year-old who needs
to learn a few lessons about friendships and boys and the allure of devices.
Much better that she learn this stuff now than later on in her teen years. But
when you want to get the parenting stuff right, it’s hard to know when to pull
back and when to go all-out. So, with my wife’s guidance, we pick our battles.
Talking back to us? No way, Jose. Watching <i>Dancing
with the Stars </i>after you’ve finished your homework, in lieu of reading? OK,
your choice tonight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Asking if you can hang out at the
boy’s house? Yeah, I didn’t make the call on that one, as you can imagine. But
she’s there, and she’ll be home soon, and I’m sure she’s having fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It’s getting harder to remember this
as I climb into my 40s, but I was actually 13 once myself. And I can remember
hanging out in basements with girls, playing “Spin the Bottle” while the more
daring kids tried “Seven Minutes in Heaven.” That’s not happening tonight, and
my daughter has so much of her innocence intact. But somehow I navigated the
thrills and terrors of adolescence and came out in one piece. Why can’t I
expect that she’ll do the same?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Because she will, and my wife and I
will be there for her every step of the way. But right now, I have to face the
reality: I am parenting a teenager now. It’s a different Ring of Fire than the
one we danced to all those years ago. But as I see the hormonal sparks and the flames
of independence alight in our house, I need to know which fires must be
extinguished, and which ones have to burn out on their own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Nothing is easy about this. But it
is, in fact, what I signed up for. This is my daughter, my oldest child, my
pride and joy. I don’t know the script, but I think there’s a lot in there
about patience and love.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> And boys. </span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-46903134163592709112015-09-16T22:21:00.001-04:002015-09-16T22:23:03.634-04:00True Companions<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNItTvf0OGZAqoKh39VtyDhZ9X0eQc9mdqJk2HlXZCzH-efpI1DdAM-m4eFc0riwUFWqvI0yCIORzO6_MknBaAZkxG0Qz7Ql8xaSXEvwI-lxz0IfSqUt76saL9ZVVszjjXbw2NBhK_K4A/s1600/Amy+and+Warren.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNItTvf0OGZAqoKh39VtyDhZ9X0eQc9mdqJk2HlXZCzH-efpI1DdAM-m4eFc0riwUFWqvI0yCIORzO6_MknBaAZkxG0Qz7Ql8xaSXEvwI-lxz0IfSqUt76saL9ZVVszjjXbw2NBhK_K4A/s320/Amy+and+Warren.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> We were practically children, closer
to our teens than to our 30s. She had just graduated from college; I was not
yet two years into my working life. And yet, on a Saturday in mid-September, we
decided to pledge our lives to each other. Vows, and rings, an organ and a
trumpet. A white dress, a black tux, and a whole lot of family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I recall my groomsmen and I driving
out for an old-fashioned barber’s shave in the morning, then heading back to my
house to play a game of Wiffle Ball before showering and putting on our tuxes.
I remember walking into the church and feeling overwhelmed by the sight of so
many of the people who’d filled the first 24 years of my life. I recall dancing
more than I’d ever danced before, smiling for more photos than ever, and trying
to find a way to freeze so many moments in my mind for all time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> More than anything, though, I
remember her. Amy. We were high school sweethearts who had stayed together – a throwback
to the old days. A couple of kids who decided they wanted to grow up, then grow
old, together. At our reception, we entered the Great Hall of Sailors’ Snug
Harbor to the music of Randy Newman’s score for the film <i>The Natural. </i>Aside from the groom’s passion for baseball, the song
also represented the natural fit we felt we were. I held her smooth hand, the
one with the new wedding band on it, and saw the red hair flow beneath her
veil. We danced to Marc Cohn’s “True Companion,” and chatted with our guests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> That was 20 years ago today. A lot
of time has passed since then, and we’ve lived a lot of life in those two
decades. We’ve brought two girls into the world, while also losing grandparents
and other loved ones. We’ve traveled and worked and moved and occasionally even
relaxed. We’ve agreed, and disagreed, and found ways to work things out. We’ve tried
to be there for the folks we love, and tried to do the same for each other.
More than anything, though, we’ve grown – as individuals and as a couple. We’ve
given each other space and pulled each other tight. We’ve supported and shown
up for each other every day. We’ve enjoyed some traditions, while also seeking ways
to make it all feel new again. It’s a delicate balance, it’s hard work, and it
never stops being worth the effort and love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> And so, after two decades of
marriage, we’re hanging in there. It isn’t 1995 anymore, for sure, and soon it
won’t be 2015, either. We’re closer to our AARP days than to our college ones.
But some things haven’t changed over the course of 20 years. I’ll still take
that sly smile, and the red hair, and the hazel eyes. I’ll still hold her hand,
and talk with her about anything. I’ll still trust her and believe in her. I
took a chance at age 24 in the hopes that I’d found the love of my life. It
turns out I was right. I’m lucky, and I know that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> S</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">o happy anniversary, Amy. It’s only
here for a day, but tomorrow should be a</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> good </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">day,</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> too. After all, you
keep hanging in there with me. I’m ready to do the same with you for as long as
we’ve got. Let’s keep at it. </span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-37622421335099039232015-09-01T16:41:00.000-04:002015-09-01T16:41:18.572-04:00Postcards from a Cross-Country Voyage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWbKeGgCPSPQ_taDCHSZY8XVMBrWzww_NiYnJ7hSBWC2jEis2cuE2JMY8bOtosPQiaZX6EuTqou94RJdk1m9J2EdRUhOTU8uY9PdXK1-WE8Dzo2l3ETxNA4ljEoTPRLNGWtaBTdoa5G-k/s1600/Zion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWbKeGgCPSPQ_taDCHSZY8XVMBrWzww_NiYnJ7hSBWC2jEis2cuE2JMY8bOtosPQiaZX6EuTqou94RJdk1m9J2EdRUhOTU8uY9PdXK1-WE8Dzo2l3ETxNA4ljEoTPRLNGWtaBTdoa5G-k/s320/Zion.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For as
long as we’ve been together, my wife and I have been a dependable couple who
rarely stray from the measured, predictable route. We are people you can count
on, but not people who typically inspire others to try new things. As we’ve
raised our two daughters, those attributes made for some solid overall
parenting, yet with an inclination toward the routine. Movie night on Fridays,
dinner at Applebee’s or Chili’s on Saturday, and a weekend trip to Manhattan
two or three times a year. During the summer, you’d usually find us visiting
our parents for vacation, and occasionally springing for a weekend trip to Boston
or Baltimore or Pittsburgh.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something
starts to happen in your 40s, though, when you notice the clock ticking and
realize that if you’re not going to add some spontaneity, adventure and variety
soon, you might run out of time. Since we entered our 40s, Amy and I have
completed endurance races (me a marathon, and she a triathlon), danced on
stage, and swum with dolphins.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This
summer, we decided it was time to do something we’d long desired, yet never
tackled: a cross-country vacation. Our girls were on board – even for the
camping. And so, acting against type, we climbed into our Honda Odyssey at the
beginning of August and drove into the frontier. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the
end, the map, calendar and odometer show that we covered 20 states in 26 days,
totaling 6,655 miles. The photos show that we saw prairie dogs and pronghorn,
buffalo and bighorn sheep, mules and mule deer, and just a whole lot of lizards.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our younger
daughter’s National Parks Junior Ranger collection features shiny badges from
Arches, Bryce, Zion, the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore and the Flight 93
Memorial. We have baseball ticket stubs from Kansas City, Cincinnati and
Toledo, as well as mini baseball bats from the Louisville Slugger factory, and
a souvenir patch from the Field of Dreams site in Dyersville, Iowa. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
road took us from the Gateway Arch to the Delicate Arch, from Santa Claus,
Ind., to Santa Fe, N.M., and from Park City, Utah, to Hill City, S.D. There
were Badlands and Black Hills, canyons and cairns, as well as Cadillacs,
ranches, and one Cadillac Ranch. We took photos at every National Parks sign
with a stuffed Teddy Roosevelt doll that we’d gotten at a Washington Nationals
game a few years ago, and we had a softball catch in 14 different states. We
tossed the ball around outside Churchill Downs, at the Little League World
Series, on a bridge in Wheeling, W.Va., in a sunflower field in eastern
Wyoming, and on a veranda overlooking the North Rim at Grand Canyon Lodge.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Restaurant
receipts show that we sampled deep-dish pizza in Chicago, sopaipilla and
buffalo burgers in Santa Fe, barbecue in Kansas City, and truffle mac n cheese
in Sundance, Utah. Memory also shows that we had a lot of Subway sandwiches on
late nights, and more than a few delicious dinners cooked over charcoal grills at
campsites. Speaking of camping, we pitched our tent in the mountains of
Pennsylvania, among the canyons of Utah, in the woods of southern Michigan, and
even beside the highway, train tracks and airport of Amarillo, Texas. When not
at a campsite or hotel, we stayed with family in Missouri and Utah, catching up
on lost time and learning about life across the Mississippi.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We
traveled a lot in those 26 days, and we saw a lot of stuff. I can say that part
of my goal was to broaden my girls’ horizons, and help them see how big and
beautiful this country is. But parenting does not always give you a clear
answer as to whether your intentions were met. I know the girls kept a
scrapbook, and I know they told us they liked some of the places we visited.
But I also know they complained a lot about seeing “too many rocks,” about
hiking too much, and about enduring the dreadful lengths of some of our car
rides. I had hoped they would spend time off their iPads, but a nine-hour drive
from western Missouri to West Texas cannot be sustained by license-plate games
and sing-a-longs. In some ways, the jury’s out on just what our girls gained
from the trip. They’ll process it all in time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But Amy
and I are old enough to digest these things more quickly. We know what we gained
from those 26 days. Perhaps it is best described through a moment, rather than
a sweeping, overall summary. For instance, take the afternoon we were all floating
down the Colorado River, bulky life vests keeping us afloat, while a guide
rowed our raft nearby. We stared at the sun-splashed canyons towering above us
in a blur of orange and brown. Amy and I looked over at each other in
disbelief. We didn’t say anything except “Wow,” but I think what we really
meant to say was “What have we been waiting for?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life in
the 40s is shaping up to be a whole lot better than I thought. It seems as
though a frantic focus on “What’s next?” has been replaced by a more centered
query of “What’s now?” Amy and I don’t expect to have the amazing opportunity
to drive cross country every year. But we think we can keep up some of this
spontaneity and adventure. We are, after all, children of the ‘80s. And while
driving through Chicago, we were reminded of Ferris Bueller, who once gave us
some advice that might serve as impetus for a cross-country trip or two.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> “Life moves pretty fast,” Ferris
said. “If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.” We
hear you, Ferris. It may have taken some time, but we got the message.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-25982028130515079232015-07-28T10:21:00.000-04:002015-07-28T10:22:38.986-04:00Keeping Score<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPstkBGKZQvQb7SX-aFt88Eg9e4kvQp9eoGXDl0afZT7WU5g1FvdJ5WF54xCvWbpVrREFkPqzwj_LeU8TYVLYZVvgP1NKttksA1JhUc_luf5FvzQ8B3s4gZYNtMNaMmjRVb-hBlAD9pI/s1600/11058268_10206209779180106_7939219251393761290_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCPstkBGKZQvQb7SX-aFt88Eg9e4kvQp9eoGXDl0afZT7WU5g1FvdJ5WF54xCvWbpVrREFkPqzwj_LeU8TYVLYZVvgP1NKttksA1JhUc_luf5FvzQ8B3s4gZYNtMNaMmjRVb-hBlAD9pI/s320/11058268_10206209779180106_7939219251393761290_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> My daughter and I sat in a lifeguard chair perched beyond
the left-field fence at FirstEnergy Park in Lakewood, N.J. These unique seats
offered us a bird’s-eye view of a minor-league baseball game on a sunny Sunday
afternoon a few weeks ago. And for my 10-year-old and me, it was the perfect
setting for what we were about to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">After
all, it wasn’t just a baseball game we were ready to watch. On this day, we had
decided to try keeping score together. This antiquated skill, which I had
learned as a kid, was going to find its way into the brain of my daughter
Chelsea. She said she was ready and wanted to learn. So we gave it a try.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Why
bother with keeping score, you might ask? Even for a minor-league game like
this, the play-by-play was available online, in real time, along with a running
box score and up-to-date statistics for each player. Why bother sitting there
with a pencil, circling “2B” if the hitter smacked a double, or writing in
“6-3” if he grounded out to the shortstop? It’s a good question, and one my
13-year-old daughter was more than ready to ask as she chose not to participate
in our exercise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But
on this day, Chelsea sensed that there was something about tallying your own numbers
that seemed worth the effort. There was no algorithm or app involved in the data
we were compiling. It was just us, with our trusty pencil and scorebook, keeping
track of the game before us. And instead of blindly relying on others to tell
us what we needed to know, we could glance at our scorecard and see who was hitting
well that day, and who was struggling. Chelsea was particularly intrigued by
the backwards “K” that indicates a batter struck out looking, and she was
excited to shade in the full baseball diamond to indicate that a batter scored
a run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Of
course, this day of keeping score was always about more than just numbers. The
game itself was fun, but nothing extraordinary happened on the field. For my
daughter and me, the most interesting part of that game took place in that
lifeguard chair, when we sat down together and tried something new. Chelsea
said it was fun, and I believe her. What I think she really meant, though, was
it was fun to spend time with her dad.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">No
number-crunching or scorecards are needed to understand the importance of that.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-63352427806398238202015-07-17T22:29:00.000-04:002015-07-17T22:29:04.950-04:00The Power of Our Passions<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> When people ask me if my girls like baseball as much as I
do, I have to be honest – they don’t. But in a lot of ways, that’s not really the
point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> When my brother and I spent our summer days immersed in
all things baseball as kids, it wasn’t just the love of a game that we were
developing. We were finding a passion, a hobby that we could hold onto for the
rest of our lives. That passion would assist us in so many ways during our own
personal growth, as passions often do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">When
we made friends in school, baseball served as a conversation-starter. When our
mother told us to read books over the summer, we often chose baseball
biographies. As we discovered our mutual passion for writing, we practiced that
skill by scribbling about baseball. And when we were in need of a thought to
help divert our minds from a fear, stressor or family crisis, our thoughts bent
toward the diamond. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As
an adult, I learned that when you have a passion for something, people are
energized by your expression of that hobby. My wife has always said that she
loves to go to baseball games with me, because she can see the glimmer in my
eyes. When I’m talking about baseball, friends and colleagues who know little
about the sport will listen intently to my stories. When I’m finished, they
often tell me I should write a book about baseball. Sometimes I tell them, yes,
I’m doing that. Other times, I just smile and nod and thank them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">My
daughters haven’t yet read the full manuscript I’ve written about coming of age
with baseball at my side. But they’ve seen the passion, and it rubs off on them
a bit. On Father’s Day, when we went to a minor-league game in Lakewood, N.J., my
10-year-old let me teach her how to keep score, and we sat in a big lifeguard
chair beyond the left-field fence and tallied the hits and walks and strikeouts
in our scorebook. When my wife and I gave our 13-year-old a Brett Gardner
T-shirt this spring, she researched the Yankees left fielder on her phone and decided
that he was a cutie. When I told her that Gardner had been named to the
All-Star team this month, she said she knew that already. She’s keeping tabs on
the guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">So
whether or not we pass along the affection we have for a specific hobby, the
people around us still get something out of the energy we exude over it. Our
10-year-old may not know much about the Yankees, but Chelsea loves to talk
about <i>Star Wars</i>, Indiana Jones, Percy
Jackson and Harry Potter, and she’s finding a newfound interest in tennis. Our
13-year-old might not know who roams the New York outfield with Brett Gardner,
but Katie teaches me plenty about pop music, fashion, photography and, yes,
social media. When I’m teaching high school English and I describe the
Shakespearean complexity of Yankee slugger Alex Rodriguez, my students might
not care a lot about that particular comparison, but it often helps them to
make their own text-to-life connections. Mr. Hynes, how about Tupac Shakur? Or Lance
Armstrong? Or Bill Clinton? All good, guys. All good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So when I think about the role baseball plays in my life,
I see it as twofold: There are the personal thoughts and ideas I have while
thinking about the game, which have clearly meant a lot to me; and then there are
the little sparks of inspiration that others might gain from my enthusiastic discussions
of the sport. The people around me will do what they wish with those sparks,
but it’s exciting to know that my own spirited love for something has left even
the smallest mark on readers, colleagues, friends, students and family – and, yes,
even on two particular daughters.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-84939052705359637672015-06-24T22:43:00.000-04:002015-06-24T22:43:31.213-04:00A Poem for Summer<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There’s a white Chevy ice cream van<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
playing Greensleeves<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
on
my street.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As I mow the lawn I hear<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
the canned music.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My daughter, her brows pursed, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
stops the van<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
and
speaks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What song is this, who, laid<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
to rest / on Sandford Ave is beeping?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The driver is an old Italian guy<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
selling popsicles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He looks at my daughter and says,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You no like-a?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
There are two other songs <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
on this truck. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Here
they are.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He plays them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My
girl winces.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You
see?” he says.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My daughter tells him<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
it’s OK. Go on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Give
us </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Christmas in summer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Give us this mixture of seasons <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
that flicker<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
for
a moment<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
and
then are gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She buys an ice pop</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and he drives off,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While fireflies, their silent anthems sweet,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
venture
out to play.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-70664011235776969662015-02-22T18:27:00.000-05:002015-02-22T18:27:13.412-05:00When Movies Move Us<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> Every year, the number of journalists covering the Academy
Awards season seems to increase exponentially. We may have reached a point
where more reporters are covering the Oscars than the conflicts in Syria, Iraq
and Afghanistan. These legions of experts are feeding us loads of predictions,
including the not-so-surprising news that the best movie of 2014 may not win
the award for Best Picture tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> If that happens, and Richard Linklater’s masterpiece <i>Boyhood </i>fails to grab the award tonight,
it will be nothing new. In recent years, it has become commonplace for the best
film to lose out due to the peculiarities of Hollywood politics. <i>Lincoln </i>loses to <i>Argo. The Social Network </i>falls to <i>The King’s Speech. Brokeback Mountain </i>is upended by <i>Crash. Saving Private Ryan </i>and <i>The Thin Red Line </i>are beaten by <i>Shakespeare in Love</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> Of course, there is a long line of great films that didn’t
win the Oscar; you don’t need that award to be considered a classic. From <i>Goodfellas </i>to <i>Raging Bull</i>, from <i>E.T. </i>to
<i>The Graduate</i>,<i> </i>from <i>It’s a Wonderful Life </i>to
<i>Citizen Kane, </i>it’s a prestigious
list. And that’s not even counting the amazing films that weren’t even
nominated (<i>Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Singin’
in the Rain, 2001: A Space Odyssey </i>and<i>
Close Encounters of the Third Kind</i>, just to name a few).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> If you’ve seen <i>Boyhood</i>,
you probably walked away from the film rather amazed by Linklater’s depiction
of a child’s coming of age from first-grader to college freshman. As a parent
whose oldest child’s first 12 years span the same dozen years in which the film
was made, I found it even more stunning. And I can’t quite understand the
criticism that this film doesn’t have a straight, linear plot. Because in these
past 13 years of being a parent, I haven’t ever found our family’s story to
ever be a tight, well-defined storyline.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> We do the best we can as parents and as kids, trying to
negotiate the different individuals with whom we live, and the different
situations we’re faced with in life. Sometimes we make mistakes – big ones,
even – and sometimes things work out better than we even deserve. It’s a
day-to-day journey, and there’s no telling what tomorrow will bring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">We
go to school, and meet new kids. We change jobs or move to new homes. We argue
at the dinner table. We hop in the car and go somewhere, and learn more about
one another in the process. We dance to pop songs. We head out to baseball
games, parties and bowling alleys together. We hold each other close.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> It’s a story, all right, but one that’s told better in
snapshots than in structured narrative. It’s the kind of story that <i>Boyhood </i>shows us so beautifully. Give me
a few minutes of my girls at each age, and I’ll remember the main themes of our
lives together at that point. In fact, those brief moments will probably tell
the story more authentically than anything else could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> If you took a few snapshots of our family right now, you’d
see a lot of different images. You’d see two girls hunkered over their homework
at the kitchen table. A 42-year-old mom sitting at her laptop to prepare lesson
plans for the week. A 44-year-old dad researching map routes for a summer
cross-country trip with his family. A teenager fighting through the shifting
hormones and anxieties that come with adolescence. A 10-year-old in love with reading,
from <i>Harry Potter </i>to Judy Blume. Two
sisters on the living room carpet, dancing to Taylor Swift. A husband and wife
trying, somehow, to grab a couple of hours alone together – but settling, most
of the time, for a half-hour chat while making tomorrow’s lunches in the
kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"> None of these images tell the whole story. But put a few
of them together, and you’ve got what you need. In truth, there’s no way to
tell the whole story of a life. Maybe that’s why <i>Boyhood </i>is so breathtaking – because it actually understands that. It
sees the rich narrative in those moments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In
one scene, Ethan Hawke’s character is camping with his son Mason, played by
Ellar Coltrane. They’re eating s’mores while talking about <i>Star Wars, </i>and whether there will ever be a seventh film. “Return
of the Jedi, it’s over, there’s nothing,” Hawke says. “I mean, what are you
going to turn Han Solo into a Sith Lord?” After watching the <i>Star Wars </i>films together, my 10-year-old
and I had nearly the same conversation. And I know I’m not the only one. This doesn’t
tell you anything specific about either of us, except that we both love <i>Star Wars. </i>But then again, it also tells
you that we know how to talk with one another, and hang out, and pay attention
to the things that draw us closer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">So
tonight, they can give the Oscar to whatever film they want. We’ll fill out our
Oscar ballots and enjoy the red carpet, the dresses, the envelopes and the
speeches. But we won’t stress over who gets the trophy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">When
you see a movie that speaks to you from somewhere deep within, you don’t need
an award to validate that. In the end, I’ll take the movies that move me, and
hold onto those for the long haul.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-36165028168230163782014-12-24T08:43:00.000-05:002014-12-24T08:43:59.098-05:00Tuning in to the Holidays<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> It starts in our house around
Halloween. That’s a solid month too soon, in my opinion. But I do not cast the
deciding vote. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> You walk into my wife’s car, or into
our house, on, say, Oct. 25, and you hear it right away – the jingle of bells,
accompanied by a catchy tune about Santa or Frosty or Rudolph. Along with this
music you hear the singing voices of three individuals – my wife, my older
daughter, and my younger daughter. The dog does not sing along, nor do the
guinea pigs. But if they could, I’m sure they would. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Everyone in our house loves an early
start to Christmas music – except for me. Call me crazy, but I prefer to hear
my Christmas music <i>during the Christmas
season</i>. Of course, the rest of my family reminds me that the season is
whatever time period you define it to be. My wife and daughters happen to view
it as a two-month advent season; I prefer the more standard, after-Thanksgiving
definition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The interesting thing is, my
definition seems to be the one on its way out. In recent years, there has been
a dramatic increase in the number of holiday-themed radio stations in America,
and many of them are switching to this format earlier in November, if not
sooner. A recent <i>New York Times </i>article
by Ben Sisario identified an Atlantic City, N.J., station that switched to
all-holiday music two weeks before Halloween. We’ve always noticed retail
stores setting up for Christmas early; now the dials on our car radio are doing
the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> In our house, we have an agreement
that they don’t play Christmas music when I’m in the house until after Veterans
Day. Amy and the girls kind of honor that, and I kind of let it go when they
forget once in awhile. My reasons for holding off on holiday music are twofold.
For one, I find the season to be a whirlwind of both joy and stress, and I prefer
to take on that combo for one month instead of two. And second, I really,
really like Christmas music – therefore, I don’t want to ruin it by playing
those songs too much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Scrooge said he would keep Christmas in his heart all year
long; he didn’t say he would play “Jingle Bells” 24/7. There is a difference,
in this man’s opinion. So while I’m always ready for community service, or
gift-giving, or time with family, my ideal window for actual holiday songs is
after Dec. 10.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And on a day like today – here on the doorstep of Christmas –
I’m ready for all the holiday music you’ve got. Give me Mariah, give me those <i>Very Special Christmas </i>albums, give me
the Rat Pack and Elvis and Band Aid and Burl Ives. Play it loud today. Jingle
those bells. Run, run, Rudolph.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The cool thing about my family’s obsession with this music is
that when I am in the mood for the stuff, I have quite the collection of
holiday music from which to choose. A few years ago, I even bought Amy an iPod
Nano specifically for her Christmas songs. It is completely full. So there’s a
bounty of songs at my fingertips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And there are is a lot of underrated holiday music out there.
In terms of holiday albums, some of the best underplayed CDs are Annie Lennox’s
<i>A Christmas Cornucopia, </i>Darlene Love’s
<i>It’s Christmas, Of Course, </i>and Chris
Isaak’s <i>Christmas. </i>In terms of underrated
holiday songs, I love Billy Squier’s “Christmas is the Time to Say I Love You,”
The Kinks’ “Father Christmas,” Fiona Apple’s version of “Frosty the Snowman,”
Louis Armstrong’s “Cool Yule” and Coldplay’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little
Christmas,” to name just a few. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I could go on. If you buy the Andy Williams/Johnny Mathis-fueled
cliché of it being “the most wonderful time of the year,” you can see why
artists would want to write songs about happiness, faith and goodwill. The
matching of catchy tunes with joyful hearts creates the perfect setting for uplifting
art. We peer into the details of our lives and find it all there for the
taking: Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, treetops glistening, sleigh bells
jingling – a beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When you think about how much great holiday music is out
there, it almost makes you want to play those songs a little earl – wait a
minute. What am I saying? That’s not what I mean – the music’s good, yes, and I
honestly could use a good two months to play it all, but do I really want to
start it so soon? Wait, do I? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">See, that’s the problem with these blog posts – you meander
too much and you end up contradicting yourself! Or maybe, as you probe deeper
into the issue, you start to recognize your true feelings. Maybe Scrooge <i>does </i>play holiday songs all year.
Perhaps that’s the whole point. If these songs are a reminder of who we are at
our best, why cap their timeliness?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">It’s a question best left to each individual. For now, it’s
December 24, and that’s as good a day for Christmas music as any. So soak it
up, and sing it out. Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-55638844814056711452014-11-02T15:45:00.000-05:002014-11-02T15:45:17.158-05:00The Final Out<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The
evening chill has added its November bite, the jack-o’-lanterns are starting to
sag, and the darkness is upon us an hour earlier. This can mean only one thing:
Another baseball season has ended. Indeed, the parade has already been held in
San Francisco, where the Giants are world champions once again. And a season-ending
celebration has taken place in Kansas City, where the Royals took pride in
going from also-rans for 29 straight years to World Series runners-up in 2014.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> For all who follow baseball, though,
the end of a season is sad no matter which team you follow. The odyssey that
began with Spring Training in mid-February has wound its way through a six-month,
162-game regular season, followed by another month of Wild Card games and three
full rounds of playoff series. And now it’s over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The bitter chill arrives. Bundle up,
and bake some cookies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> While the season’s end brings a kind
of mourning for many of us, it’s also a time of more poignant regret for those
who made their teams’ final out of the year. Those players have the added bonus
of reliving a moment of failure again and again, wondering what might have
happened had they taken a different swing, or managed their at-bat differently.
Salvador Perez of the Royals will see his ninth-inning pop-up to Giants third
baseman Pablo Sandoval on repeat in his mind, wishing he had just made better
contact. But he didn’t, and he can’t get that moment back again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> In our family, we’ve got a
ballplayer who made her team’s final out of the year. Chelsea, our 9-year-old, enjoyed
her travel team’s fall season very much, and she clubbed her share of hits for
her team, the Wolves. But on a drizzly Monday evening a few weeks ago, Chelsea
found herself up at bat with her team trailing in the last inning of a
single-elimination playoff game. The Wolves were down by three runs, the bases were
loaded, and there were two outs. As her team cheered her on, Chelsea smacked a
shot toward second base. And then … the ball landed right in the glove of the
opposing team’s second baseman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> As the teams congratulated each
other and the winning club celebrated, Chelsea felt the tears begin to stream
down her cheeks. Her coaches assured her that there was nothing to feel sorry
about, that she had done a great job all year. But Chelsea had wanted to win,
and she felt embarrassed that she had made the last out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> When we got home that night, I told
Chelsea that some of the best hitters in baseball history have made the final
out in playoff games. I showed her the line drive that Hall of Famer Willie
McCovey hit to second base to end Game 7 of the 1962 World Series. I showed her
Bob Welch’s strikeout of Reggie Jackson to end Game 2 of the 1978 World Series.
This at-bat is one of the more electrifying playoff encounters you’ll ever see,
and Chelsea found herself captivated by the competitive fire of that moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This week, I shared with her the news
that another player had made his team’s last out. Perez popped up to third with
the tying run on third base, 90 feet away. Perez was an All-Star this year, and
he started more games at catcher in one season than any player in Major League history.
He had been hit in the knee with a pitch earlier in Game 7, making it difficult
for him to stride at full strength. Perez’s season was anything but a failure.
And yet, here he was, making that dreaded last out – just as Mike Trout,
baseball’s best player, had done two weeks earlier against Perez’s Royals in
the Division Series.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The best thing about baseball is that
there is always another season ahead, another set of games to play. But for a
few dark months between November and March, there is no baseball. And that is
sadder than any final out – the reality that balls and strikes and pitches and
swings are gone for now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chelsea has her uniform ready for the
spring softball season. She wants her glove to be oiled some more, and she’d
love a new softball bag. The final out was a sad one for her, but it was also a
motivator. She’ll keep practicing. And somewhere out there, beyond the
darkness, spring awaits. There will be more games, and more chances. Whether
you’re the Royals or the Wolves, you know it’s true. Baseball never dies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-1199609043698509592014-09-26T16:17:00.000-04:002014-09-26T16:22:30.207-04:00The American Dream: A Shortstop with Standards<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> When
Derek Jeter made his Major League Baseball debut in the spring and summer of 1995, it
was a busy time in America. An act of domestic terrorism had recently struck
Oklahoma City, and the Unabomber was on the loose. The United States Congress
was at sharp odds with the president. Acts of savage cruelty abroad had led the
U.S. to take military action in Bosnia. Extreme heat waves in the Midwest had many
wondering what was happening to our climate. A trial in Manhattan was under way
for the 1993 terrorist bombing of the World Trade Center. A Brooklyn man had
recently been sent to prison for life after shooting and killing several people
on a Long Island train. And a certain former NFL running back was on trial for
murder in Los Angeles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There
were a lot of frightening things happening, and it was hard sometimes to find
your footing in what felt like an uneven world. But one September evening, a
baseball shortstop helped us remember how inspiring humans can be when they’re
at their best. Baltimore Orioles shortstop Cal Ripken Jr. had been playing his
position every day for nearly 14 years without missing a single game. On
September 6, he broke the record that many had thought to be untouchable – Lou Gehrig’s
mark for consecutive games played. When the 2,131</span><sup style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">st</sup><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> game of Ripken’s
career became official, his teammates encouraged him to jog around Oriole Park
at Camden Yards, shaking hands and slapping high-fives with fans. As millions
of people watched Ripken on TV, they shared a moment that was clearly about
much more than baseball.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> In
the 19 years since that summer, you can argue that a lot has changed in this
world and this country, but that an awful lot has also stayed the same. There
are still too many people out there engaged in activities that we struggle to
understand, from terrorism to domestic shootings to governmental infighting to ignorance
of global warming. We read more of our news online these days than we did in
1995, but we often hesitate to scan the headlines, sometimes because we just
don’t want to hear about another crisis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Derek
Jeter has been working at his job in the Bronx during every one of these past
19 years, often excelling at his job during our most frightful collective moments.
He led the New York Yankees to 125 wins in 1998, when the Clinton-Lewinski scandal
held Americans’ attention. He won the World Series MVP award in 2000, leading
the Yanks past the cross-town Mets a few days before the American presidential electoral
process entered a state of chaos. He made two of the most extraordinary plays
in playoff history during the fall of 2001, just weeks after the attacks of
September 11. He led the Yankees to their 27<sup>th</sup> championship in 2009,
one day before the Fort Hood shootings. He led the American League in hits in
2012 at age 38, with the Yankees finishing their postseason run a few days
before Hurricane Sandy hit. During these moments, Jeter didn’t ask for the
applause, nor did he view himself as larger than life. He just said he was
living his dream, playing for his favorite team, and wanted only to win. His
modesty, maximum effort and grace under pressure were all we needed to feel
that maybe things were not so bad out there as they seemed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Human
nature being what it is, we can be sure that individuals will continue making
decisions that frighten, confuse and worry us in the days and years ahead. Even
in the world of sports, we have seen a whole host of poor decisions, from
steroid use among baseball players to off-the-field violence among football
players to neglect of head injuries in several sports. But in spite of this
constant turmoil, there are always individuals out there who inspire us. Some
of them are artists, others are teachers, and others are just people we love
who serve as our personal role models. And, yes, there are also athletes. Since
Cal Ripken’s moment 19 years ago, other sports stars have stepped forward and
provided more examples of excellence on and off the field. Athletes such as Tim
Duncan, Peyton Manning, Mariano Rivera and Grant Hill have gained such respect
within and beyond the world of sports because of the way they’ve carried themselves
day in and day out. When young athletes arrive in the pros saying they idolized
Manning or Hill while growing up, you know it’s not just because of how great
these players were in action. It’s also because of the class they showed while playing
the game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Before I knew the name
Derek Jeter, I was covering the University of North Carolina men’s basketball team
as a college senior in Chapel Hill. I had just written dozens of stories
chronicling the team’s second national championship under Coach Dean Smith in
1993, and I was invited to the program’s year-end dinner. As I sat in the arena
named for Smith and listened to him speak, I was struck by the tears this
often-stoic coach shed while speaking of his players. He cared just as much for
the walk-on bench player as he did the leading scorer, and he spoke more about
players’ grades and post-college plans than their basketball accomplishments. That
evening, I sat next to the late Doug Marlette, whose editorial cartoons had won
him a well-deserved Pulitzer Prize. Marlette, who lived in a nearby town, was a
big Tar Heels fan. When I asked why he loved UNC basketball, Marlette began
speaking of Smith. “He has such standards,” Marlette said, explaining that when
you set such high goals for yourself and those you lead, you tend to win – and
win with integrity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Three years later, I
was watching Derek Jeter celebrate his first championship with the Yankees, and
I heard him speak reverently of the Yankees’ manager, Joe Torre. I saw him embrace
his parents, and refrain from even the slightest boast. This, you could tell,
was a man with standards. It’s hard to believe that he’s already 40 now, and
that his career will end this weekend in Boston. Last night, in his final game
at Yankee Stadium, Jeter heard more than 48,000 people cheer his name for more
than three hours straight. He said he nearly cried several times, and felt it
was he who should be thanking the fans. Again, the modesty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The highlight reels
can show you all the clutch hits, diving catches and great throws in Jeter’s
career. But really, that’s just part of the story. You needed to hear those
fans last night, chanting “Thank you, Derek,” just as you needed to see Cal
Ripken take his lap around Camden Yards. These were gifted, millionaire athletes,
on the receiving end of adulation that seemed at odds with a harsh, cynical
world. We’ve taken a lot of hits over the past two decades. But somehow, we
keep finding the sparks of light. Sometimes those sparks are standing at
shortstop. Only in moments like these can you see just how ready and willing we
are to applaud those who hold onto standards in this crazy world of ours.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-44707628928888603632014-08-23T17:01:00.002-04:002014-08-23T17:01:31.740-04:00Pennant-Race Memories: Handle with Care<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s
likely that the New York Yankees won’t make the playoffs this year, giving them
two straight seasons without a playoff berth since 1992 and ‘93. If the Yankees
are your favorite team, as they are for the residents of the Hynes household, this
is disappointing. But if you’re paying attention to the full baseball season,
you know that several groups of long-suffering fans are getting the chance to
see their teams in a pennant race this summer. That is the story of baseball in
2014, and it’s a great one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
You’ve got the Kansas City Royals,
absent from the playoffs for 29 years, standing in first place in their
division. The Baltimore Orioles, out of the playoffs for 28 of the last 31
years, also in first place. The Milwaukee Brewers, who have made the playoffs just
four times in their 45-year existence, holding onto first place. The Pittsburgh
Pirates, who last year made the playoffs for the first time in 20 years, in the
Wild Card chase. And the Toronto Blue Jays, absent from the playoffs for 21
years, also in the Wild Card hunt. Even the Washington Nationals, trying to
bring playoff baseball to the nation’s capital for just the second time in 81
years, in first place. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When you look at this season from
the vantage point of long-awaited hope, it gives you reason to worry little about
whether usual playoff suspects such as the Yankees, Philadelphia Phillies,
Detroit Tigers, St. Louis Cardinals, Atlanta Braves and Boston Red Sox will
make the postseason this year. These teams and their fans certainly will survive.
But the Royals! How can you not root for the kids in Kansas City? Even baseball’s
two most consistent teams this year, the first-place Oakland Athletics and Los
Angeles Dodgers, have not won a World Series since Rick Astley, Richard Marx
and Gloria Estefan were ruling <i>Billboard</i>’s
Top 40.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A few weeks ago, I took a weekend
trip with my brother and our friend Neil, to spend some time together and
celebrate Eric and Neil both turning 40 this year. When we go away together,
the three of us usually travel to baseball stadiums. This time, it was an
Orioles game one night, followed by a Nationals game the next. We watched the home
teams win their games, and the stadiums were loud and full. We were impressed
by how many fans dressed in the colors of their teams – Orioles orange and
Nationals red. It also was impressive to see the teams enjoying their own
traditions – Orioles fans belting out John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country
Boy” during the seventh-inning stretch, and Nationals fans cheering wildly for Teddy
Roosevelt as he won the nightly race of mascot presidents, beating out Lincoln,
Washington, Jefferson and Taft.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
There was a lot of late-summer hope
in the voices and eyes of these Mid-Atlantic baseball fans. The same can be
heard and seen in Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Milwaukee and other mid-size cities
around the country, where the local teams are giving their fans reason to avoid
thinking about football quite yet. In the end, though, these pennant-race ballgames
always mean more than wins and losses. If you’re traveling to a game with your
friends or family, you’re going to have time to sit together in the stands and
talk, perhaps even about stuff more important than balls and strikes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I can tell you about a lot of the
Yankee games I’ve seen with Eric and Neil, but I also can tell you about many
good talks and laughs we’ve had at the ballpark in the Bronx. During our
Maryland weekend, we talked a lot of baseball but also caught up on one another’s
lives, sharing stories of recent trips, photos of kids, and songs we’ve been
enjoying. We took in the games, but also searched for tasty ballpark food together,
with Eric raving over the jerk chicken in Nationals Park and Neil savoring his
chili dog. I’m sure I can dig up some details of the games from my memory, but
none of them come to mind as clearly as the three of us munching on late-night
nachos in a pub in Alexandria, Va., or discovering the historic Maine Avenue Fish
Market on our walk to the Nationals game, or singing the Traveling Wilburys’ <i>Handle with Care </i>together as Neil drove
north on I-295, heading home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
So in this late summer of 2014,
those of us in New York will never be Royals. We’re Yankees fans, so we’ll take
what we can get. But as the people in Kansas City and Pittsburgh and Baltimore
and D.C. get together for an energizing pennant race, we know that their fans
will love the baseball. But Eric, Neil and I can tell you that in the end, a
great game is really just an invitation to deepen a friendship. Put on those
orange or red T-shirts, grab some jerk chicken, and create some memories
together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Everybody’s
got somebody to lean on.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-21065345853939048062014-08-12T16:08:00.000-04:002014-08-12T16:08:09.415-04:00Where Bounty Hunters Meet Center Fielders <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like so
many kids her age, my 9-year-old daughter has become a <i>Star Wars</i> fanatic. It’s amazing that <i>Star Wars</i> has never become retro; it remains current, be it through
the films, the LEGO phenomenon, the action figures or the books. For Chelsea, her
immersion happened out of the blue; we were talking about the <i>Star Wars</i> movies, she expressed a desire
to watch them, and before you know it we had watched all six films together in
the course of a week’s time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like my brother and me three
decades earlier, Chelsea was not content with merely watching the films; she wanted
to talk about them in-depth, to the point where we continuously pressed pause
on our DVD remote so we could debrief what had just happened. She wanted to
know whether the Emperor had really died when Darth Vader threw him down a
seemingly endless shaft at the end of <i>Return
of the Jedi. </i>She wanted to know why Darth Maul was killed so quickly in <i>The Phantom Menace. </i>She wanted to know
what exactly was happening with all the Senate proceedings in Episodes I, II
and III (if only I could help her there). Chelsea loved Yoda and R2-D2, sure,
but she also was fascinated with Greedo, Lando and, of course, Boba Fett.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was discussing Chelsea’s <i>Star Wars </i>fascination with my brother,
who was my childhood companion in all things <i>Star Wars</i> (Eric even went so far as to leave one of his Han Solo
figures outside our house one winter so that Han could be frozen, as he had
been in <i>The Empire Strikes Back</i>). My
brother was, of course, thrilled with Chelsea’s appreciation for the films, and
we got to talking about some of Chelsea’s questions and interests. As gripping
as the George Lucas’ <i>Star Wars </i>stories
are, there are flaws in the films, and Chelsea’s questions raise some of them.
Perhaps none is so obvious, though, as the decision to offhandedly kill Boba
Fett at the beginning of <i>Return of the
Jedi. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Over the past three decades, Boba
Fett has grown into one of the most popular <i>Star
Wars </i>characters of all, which is amazing considering how few lines he has,
and how marginal he is to the overall plot (his main job is to bring Han Solo,
frozen in carbonite, to Jabba the Hutt during <i>The Empire Strikes Back</i>). But Boba looks cool, has a Dirty
Harry-like, minimalist swagger to him, and never shows his face beneath his green,
red and black mask. And yet, during a fight scene early in <i>Return of the Jedi,</i> Han Solo accidentally knocks into Boba Fett,
igniting his jet pack and sending the bounty hunter directly into the mouth of
an alien with giant teeth, located inside a desert pit. With that careless
move, Boba Fett is gone from the <i>Star
Wars </i>saga. As the Walt Disney Company, which now owns <i>Star Wars, </i>prepares for Episode VII, it must do so without Boba
Fett and his cult-like following.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, that needn’t stop Disney;
there’s already talk of a stand-alone <i>Boba
Fett </i>film that would cover more of his life before he wound up in the alien’s
mouth. But even so, this character’s story does say something about how
important it is to keep your eyes on the ball when crafting a narrative. Sometimes,
you have a jewel in your hand and don’t realize it. With the <i>Star Wars </i>saga<i>, </i>George Lucas created a modern-day version of the Greek myths, which
has delighted my generation and my daughter’s; but he missed the boat on Boba
Fett.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This kind of thing happens all the
time, in fact. We’re often so intent on adding one piece to the story that we
forget another, perhaps more important piece. Other than <i>Star Wars, </i>the only narrative I’ve had time to watch this summer<i> </i>is the six-month-long epic known as a
baseball season. But even here, in Major League Baseball, there are Boba Fetts
among us. Several ambitious big-league teams made daring trades on the July 31
trading deadline in an attempt to stockpile enough dominant pitching to win the
World Series. But in making these trades, clubs such as the Detroit Tigers, St.
Louis Cardinals and Oakland A’s traded away players who were important
contributors to the clubs they had. By tossing those players into trades, they
may have lost themselves a Boba Fett and gained nothing more than another
Stormtrooper. When the Tigers traded their leadoff hitter and center fielder
Austin Jackson for starting pitcher David Price, Jackson actually had to be
removed from the game in the middle of an inning. When the Tigers fans realized
what was happening, they gave Jackson a standing ovation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Austin Jackson is not the best
player in baseball; David Price, on the other hand, is among the game’s elite right
now. But in order to win, baseball teams must rely heavily on the delicate
chemistry of their club. To trade a young, developing player who has done
nothing but contribute during his 4½ years in Detroit is risky. The Tigers are a
different team now, as their plotline has been altered. They may still win, but
it won’t feel the same without Austin Jackson in center.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My daughter, of course, doesn’t
care about the Detroit Tigers. But she is still excited about <i>Star Wars. </i>She bought some LEGO “microfighter”
ships the other day, and she borrowed an armful of <i>Star Wars </i>books from the library as well. As she scanned the book,
Chelsea asked me who my favorite character was from all the films. I told her
right away: Boba Fett. She nodded, understanding completely. We turned to his
page in the <i>Star Wars Character
Encyclopedia, </i>tucked in between Bib Fortuna and Boga. “Cool and
calculating, Boba Fett is a legendary bounty hunter,” the page begins. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At
that point, I should have shown Chelsea the Boba Fett death scene, and compared
it with the clip of Austin Jackson jogging off the field in Detroit. But she
would have just said I was being weird like English teachers can be sometimes,
making all those deep connections. And she’d be right. But it’s also true that some
of us have to stand guard over our stories, lest the next bounty hunter – or center
fielder – end up in the desert pit. </span></span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-66621605698641507962014-07-30T21:18:00.000-04:002014-07-30T21:18:00.007-04:00The Flying Leap<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d hit
another grounder to the left side of the infield. It was probably going to be
an out, I knew. But I was 12 years old and I wanted a hit, so I clenched my
teeth and ran as fast as I could toward first base. As I neared first base, my
cleats pounding the dirt, I saw the first baseman reaching for the throw. I was
about a stride and a half short of the bag, so if I wanted to beat the throw I
was going to have to make this stride longer than normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I leapt
in the air like a clumsy gazelle, and landed just short of first base as the
throw landed softly in the first baseman’s mitt. I was still in hustle mode, though,
and recognized that I hadn’t yet touched the base. So as I lifted my right
foot, just centimeters in front of the base, I tried to graze the bag with the
toe of my cleat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As I did so, I did more than graze
the base; I tripped myself. Before I knew it, I was flying headfirst toward
right field. I landed in the dirt and chalk behind first base, and closed my
eyes as a cloud of dust surrounded me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My
parents, brother and mother’s parents attended nearly every game I played. At
this game, my mom, brother and grandparents were sitting in the stands right
along the first-base line. After my self-tripping belly-flop, there was silence
for a moment. And then, I heard it: My family erupted in laughter, much louder
than anyone else in the stands or dugouts. I turned my head, and they were
standing up, pointing at me, covering their mouths, crying tears of laughter. I
think I recall hearing the word “stupid” at least once. I know I heard my
grandfather’s contagious laugh, which had a rhythmic wheeze to it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We all
play different roles in families, and sometimes those roles are unhealthy
reactions to family dynamics and personal struggles. Other times, those roles
are simply a natural part of who we are, and they serve to solidify our familial
bonds somehow. In my childhood, I was an athletic kid who also had a knack for
being clumsy in dramatic, hilarious fashion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There
was the time in Wildwood, N.J., when I was on crutches with a broken leg and
walked into a restaurant with my parents. I leaned against a curtain, expecting
there to be a wall on the other side of it. There was no wall, and I fell to
the ground like Danny Kaye doing his best slapstick routine. A waitress rushed
over to me, and I smiled at her. “I’m just dropping in,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There
was the time outside Hershey, Pa., when I had just finished a bumper-boat ride
with my brother. I got up to step off the boat, and missed the deck. Next thing
I knew, I was underwater, looking up at the inner tubes of these boats, no
openings in sight. The attendant pushed the boats aside, reached in and pulled
me out before I could panic. I stood there, straightening my glasses, reeking of
gasoline, with water dripping off my clothes. My brother, then 8 years old, had
already watched too many commercials. He raised my hand and said, “Warren for
Pennzoil!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
stories go on – the day I tried to teach myself the harmonica and passed out
from hyperventilation; the afternoon I was throwing myself fly balls on the
front lawn and found myself waking up flat on my back, having missed a ball that
briefly knocked me out; the day I was climbing our flagpole and fell, only to
find myself hanging in mid-air by the hood of my jacket; and the multiple times
I found my Cub Scout self bandaged after trying to learn how to use a pocket
knife. It’s no wonder my grandfather nicknamed me “Charlie Brown.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I
tell these stories to my daughters, they laugh just as hard every time, and they
love to hear them again. It’s almost as if they were there, they know the
details so well. My parents and brother seem to enjoy the stories just as much
as ever, too. I know there’s something to that. In my adulthood so far, I’ve
been a pretty intense, earnest man, who has a tendency to take himself too
seriously. As I move into my mid-40s, I’m striving for the joy of the moment
more than the stress of perfectionism and to-do lists. Self-deprecating stories
seem like a good start.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
eventually got up from the dirt beyond first base, and kept playing that game. My
team probably lost – we lost most of the games that year – and I probably
begged my mom for a soda and knish from the refreshment stand afterward. But
those are just guesses – I honestly don’t remember anything else from that game
except my flying leap. There really isn’t anything else that matters as much.
It’s funny how the sound of your family laughing at you in public can feel so
much like love. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137765180192790464.post-34285362989169786552014-04-13T16:03:00.002-04:002014-04-13T16:05:28.695-04:00A Homemade Mess <div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s been quite a stretch. The Christmas
and New Year holidays were followed quickly by the punishing onslaught of snow
and freezing temperatures. Then, just as March revealed a possible light at the
end of the wintry tunnel, our household fell into illness mode, from the sinus
infections that struck us all to the mysterious ailment that slammed my wife,
landing her in bed for 10 days. As we turned the corner into April, everyone finally
started feeling a bit better. Now, as our Spring Break begins, there’s the task
of catching up on all the work that needs to be completed, from grading papers
to drafting lesson plans to completing free-lance writing assignments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> All of which leaves very little time
to address the house in which I live. So as I work at home this weekend with my
wife and girls away for the weekend with family, I push the laptop away for a
second and glance around me. And I must admit, what I see is not pretty. It’s
something we’ve all witnessed at one time or another. It’s just, well, it’s what
you’d call a mess. A mess that, in its own way, chronicles the four punishing
months that have ensued since we were singing Christmas carols and decking
those halls back in December.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I begin in our sunroom, which seems
to be inviting all seasons as it sits between our kitchen and backyard. I see
the softball-sized, red-and-green Christmas balls that were used on our front
lawn (for what, I’m still not sure), and the extension cord that lit our
evergreen in the backyard for the holidays. It took two months for the snow to
uncover that cord before we could retrieve it in March, and it might take
another two before the cord goes back in the basement tool closet. Next to that
cord, I see leftover lawn and leaf bags, unused bottles of liquid bubbles, metal
marshmallow roasters, a pair of winter gloves, and softball equipment. On the
table out there is an Easter egg-dyeing kit, and beneath that table is a
gingerbread village kit, and beside the gingerbread village is something called
a “Flower Pot Cupcake Baking Kit.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Things have to get better in the
other rooms; it can’t be that bad all around. And it’s true, the rest of our
house is more liveable. But wow, how things accumulate. In the kitchen, our
daughters’ January birthday napkins sit beside our younger daughter’s
first-communion certificate from March. In the living room, a stack of birthday
cards (also from January) lie beneath the winter-themed travel tissue packets,
which themselves lie beneath the never-to-be-used-Target-impulse-purchase Easter
lights. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In our study, which doubles as the girls’
playroom, a three-month-old “Super Size Crystals” experiment sits on yet
another hutch, while a magnetic bulletin board holds pieces of paper that read “St.
Patrick’s Day” and “Sale! Come Now,” followed by a reminder to those playing a
long-forgotten game of make-believe store that “Whoever is the first to spend 6
dollars or more will get the mystery item!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I think we’ve all won that
promotion, girls, as this house is nothing if not a harbor for mystery items. A
jar full of mushy green goo (more “Super Size Crystals,” perhaps?) A new
doorknob, to replace the one I had to break down when my older daughter accidentally
locked herself in her bedroom a few months ago. A pair of ice skates beside a
pair of shorts beside a hand-cranked flashlight beside a magnifying glass
beside a CD copy of <i>A Charlie Brown Christmas</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It is just too much. At the landing
beneath the stairs to my daughters’ upstairs bedrooms, a pink pig Pillow Pet sits
beside a board game titled “Pop the Pig.” It’s a fitting pair for this time of
year, when families like mine feel like we’ve been living in pigsties for just
too long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I guess that’s why they call it “Spring
Cleaning.” I’ll get to it one of these days.</span></div>
Warren Hyneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320362625908188637noreply@blogger.com1