Making the Most of the Day

"It's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." -Abraham Lincoln

This summer, I find myself saying, "I could have used one more day" a lot. To save days off for a two-week trip My Director and I are taking to Europe later this month, I can't afford to extend weekend trips by taking off a Friday or Monday, like I normally would. This past weekend, for example, we made the drive to see My Director's brother and his wife in Vermont. Normally I would have taken Friday or Monday off, not only to extend the trip but to ease the burden of the six-hour drive as well. For the third time this summer, I didn't. Or couldn't. Once again this prompted my, "I could have used one more day." (All of this is a nice problem to have, I know.)

The three of us, rocking the canoe.

We are also not taking Peanut to Europe with us. This is a trip to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. European vacations are not for six year-olds, but that's a topic for another post. So we're trying to jam in as much Peanut quality time as we can when we're all together. With that in mind. I found myself trying to relax by the lake on Saturday, sitting in my beach chair and reading my book. Peanut, my brother-in-law, and I had just returned from a fun one-hour canoe trip around the lake. (See: Jamming in fun memories with Peanut before we desert her with my sister for two weeks.) That's when I noticed Peanut had taken my football out of the beach bag.

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Today is the Greatest

"Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans." -John Lennon

You've heard what I am about to say before, either here or somewhere else. But it bears repeating. Especially after two events, one routine and one unbearably tragic, over Thanksgiving.

Thankful for today

When thinking about what I'd like to say at Thanksgiving dinner when my turn to speak would come around, I kept coming back to the same thing for which I am thankful: today. So that's what I said. "I'm thankful for today because tomorrow isn't guaranteed." I've been thinking recently about my dad and my cousin, both of whom died way too soon.

Little did I know at the time I spoke those words at the dinner table that a former co-worker's 19 year-old daughter had died suddenly the day before of apparent cardiac arrest. Just out of the blue. She wasn't sick. Had no prior symptoms. Just died while watching a movie with her mom.

When I hear things like this it makes me wonder how or why something like this would ever happen, COULD ever happen. I pray for my colleague and his wife to find comfort. But at times like these I doubt God, his plan, even his existence. I couldn't fathom the horror of what they are going through.

Not making any comparisons, or making light of it, I also couldn't believe the coincidence given the feelings I had shared at Thanksgiving dinner. That I am thankful for today because tomorrow isn't guaranteed. But if I'm being completely honest, I often wish I would practice what I preach. Even though that heartbreaking tragedy is so fresh in my mind, it's still easier said than done. To carpe the diem.

My wife and I have been slogging through one of those rough patches where it's tough to see the positive in a sea of negatives. She's been having some health issues, we've both been experiencing some added stress at work, and money issues are rearing their ugly head again as a result. Our plans to have a second child have once more been put on hold because of all of the above.

Maybe it's a sign? Maybe we truly ARE meant to be a one-child family. Not that we would be unhappy, because we HAVE considered that prospect.
Maybe it's a test. Of will, of faith, of love. Of patience (something with which I struggle daily).

What's best for them is best for me

But I guess that's how I AM seizing the day. And being thankful for today. By taking care of my family. By giving them the most basic but most crucial parts of me: my heart, my time, my attention. Before putting these thoughts into words I was actually worried we were just going through the motions recently. Existing but not doing. Hoping it gets better. Living with our lives on hold. Now I'm realizing that living IS loving. As is having faith that everything will work out for the best (which I truly believe).

There are things I keep putting off. Starting my book, finding another race to run, fixing the sink in the upstairs bathroom (or calling someone who can). I get mad at myself for being lazy. For procrastinating. But these are all little things, all things considered.

Then I realize that just being there for my wife and the Peanut is the best way to make the most of the day. What's best for my family, and what they need, is what today is all about. What better way to be thankful for today? To make sure they're happy, safe, comfortable. Thats all I can do right now. And that's enough for now. Because tomorrow is not guaranteed.

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A Brush with a Legend

"This field, this game: it's part of our past. It reminds us of all that was once good and could be again." -James Earl Jones in Field of Dreams

If you had the opportunity to meet one of your childhood heroes, you'd take it right? And when you did, you would tell him that your dad (gulp) hated him, right?

I think my dad would have gotten a kick out of my meeting former Yankees center fielder Bernie Williams. Even though, for no reason at all, he had the most irrational hatred for Bernie. Could not stand the man. He'd say things like, "He's the slowest fast guy I've ever seen." Whatever that means. And, "I just hate how he runs." Huh?

The man was a little crazy, and this is just one example.

Suffice it to say, even though I think my dad was being ridiculous and I found it amusing enough to goad him about it during Yankees games, I wasn't going to bring it up to Bernie.

Bernie Williams was appearing as a guest on my show. I watched him help the Yankees finally win a World Series in 1996, then three more in the next four years. As soon as I was told that he arrived, I waited for a long commercial break, unplugged my headset, and hightailed it out of the control room.

Working in the news business at a national network, I occasionally get to meet sports, entertainment, and political celebrities. I rarely go out of my way to meet them. But this time I made an exception.

I spotted our stage manager in the hallway, handed him my blackberry and said, "You mind taking a picture of me with Bernie?" He understood. I didn't even have to ask. I didn't even have to wait for an answer.

I burst into the green room (where the guests wait) and spotted Bernie sitting there, watching television. (Watching my show, which was still in commercial.) Here is a man behind so many great Yankees memories. So many great stories. I had no time to tell him any of them.

I shouted Bernie's name, almost startling him. I introduced myself and explained that I was actually producing the show on which he was about to appear. And would he mind taking a picture.

"Yeah, no problem." Bernie stood up and shook my hand. I was surprised at how tall he was, impressed at how in shape he still appeared, thankful he was friendly, and relieved he had a strong handshake.

Before the picture, I considered putting my arm around him. Then I thought if Bernie wanted a half-man hug with a complete stranger, he would have made the first move. So I just settled for a kind of awkward standing next to each other pose:

If I had the time, I would have loved to tell him about watching Game 6 of the 1996 World Series with a bunch of my fraternity buddies (Yankees fans only) at that crowded off-campus apartment. Bernie came up in the bottom of the sixth inning. The Yankees clinging to a 3-1 lead. We were on the verge of witnessing our first ever World Series title. Even though we were all alive for the Yankees last championship in 1978, none of us remembered. That's when I made my pledge.

"If Bernie hits a home run right now, I swear I will name my first born 'Bernardo Mannato.'" I didn't even have a girlfriend at the time. (I wonder why.) That's when everyone began to chant, "Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato" at the top of their lungs. For the entire at bat. Then, Bernie connected. He lofted a 1-1 pitch deep down the left field line. Everyone still chanting, "Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato, Bernardo Mannato." It had a chance. At the warning track. At the wall. The left fielder leaped and made the catch.

The Peanut has no idea, but she was a few inches away from being named Bernardo or Bernice or Bernadine. One day I hope she gets as big a kick out of that story as my fraternity buddies still do.

Bernie came up again in the eighth inning and I repeated my pledge. The chant started up again. On the fifth pitch, he singled up the middle.

The Yankees won that game, clinching that memorable World Series title. We were all drunk and happy and hugging and crying with each other. As soon as things settled down, I went outside and called my dad. I didn't plan it, I just felt it. At that point, my dad and I weren't as close as we would become. But I imagined him sitting there in his reclining chair, with his ashtray on his chest and an open bag of ShopRite Krinkle Cut potato chips on the floor next to him. My mom asleep on the couch. No one to enjoy this with.
That's exactly where he was when he picked up on the second ring. I heard his joy when the first thing he said was, "How 'bout them Yankees?!" This was my favorite conversation I ever had with my dad. We talked about the game. I told him how cool it was that they finally did it and I finally got to see it myself.

Then I told him I loved him. That's the first time I said that to him and actually meant it. I always felt it, but never really said it without having to, without my mom asking me or telling me to.

Just another great memory involving Bernie.

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Once in a Lifetime

"I'd like to thank the good Lord for making me a Yankee." - Joe DiMaggio

You don't get many chances to witness history. To experience something you may never experience again. To cross something off your 'bucket list,' if you will. So you have to recognize the opportunity when it presents itself, grab the moment, and capitalize on your good fortune.

I started my day pretty much the same way I've started every other for the past 18 months... shower, dress, breakfast, bus, work. The only difference was the nervous anticipation with which I was consumed for what I had hoped, and silently expected, to be the clinching victory for a Yankees World Series championship later that night. Quiet confidence. Cautious optimism.

Then it happened. A phone call that appeared to be like any other. It wasn't even a phone call for me. It was a co-worker's phone that rang. I didn't even pay attention it. I wasn't even listening to the conversation, even though I was sure it had something to do with the show we were both working on. I didn't even hear him put the person on hold. Then he asked me the question that changed my day, my mood, my life.

"Do you want to go to the game tonight?" Yeah, right. I answered honestly. "Only if the ticket is free." I have refused to enter the abomination that is now called Yankee Stadium if I have to pay my way in. I am a stubborn traditionalist who refuses to be gouged by the team he supports. "Yeah, it's free," my co-worker answered. It was a no-brainer.

I had no clothes, no way home, no place to sleep, no money in my wallet... but I also had no choice... I had to go. This was it. This was my shot to witness the Yankees win a World Series in person. To cheer and chant and scream until my throat hurt. To celebrate with the team and with the fans and in the Stadium, however much it is barely a reasonable facsimile of the original, lacking the charm, character, and history of the sad relic that now stands across the street.

And while for the first time ever, I got no goose bumps upon my entrance into the Stadium, I will forever get goose bumps thinking about what I saw, where I was, what I did. Dancing in the streets of the Bronx with tens of thousands of other fans. High-fiving police officers as they celebrated with us while on the job. Experiencing in person what I have watched on television four times before in my life - the other four times I can recall the Yankees winning the World Series in my lifetime (1996, 1998-2000).

Wow (from wix.com)

But it could have been better. I still wished my wife would have been there. Not necessarily because she wanted to be there. She didn't. But because she is the one who makes things like this possible for me. She is the keeper of my dreams. She's the one who doesn't require me to ask permission when something like this comes up. She helps me make it happen, without even giving it a second thought. She's the one who packed me a change of clothes and lugged it into the city for me. Who took on our cold-fighting daughter without me that night.

She has played an integral role in the best three nights of my life: our wedding, the birth of our child, and now Game 6 of the 2009 World Series.

That is why reliving the celebration the next evening with her and my daughter, through the magic of DVR, was even more special. You never get a second chance to experience something that may only come up once in your lifetime. Actually, apparently you do.

The Peanut watched with more obligation than interest as she nibbled on a cookie. She said, "Yay 'Ankees" a few times leading up to the final out. Once the initial celebration on the field commenced, and the novelty had worn off, she realized she had better things to do. "I'm going to go play in my playroom," she announced. And off she went.

You can be sure I will revisit Game 6, 2009 ad nauseum with her in the years to come. Not only the game itself, but the spirit of jumping at a chance you may never get again, despite the fear of failure. Failure in this case was knowing how angry, disappointed, and tired I'd be the next day if they were to lose. I've said throughout the playoffs that operating on minimal sleep is a lot easier after a victory. But that would have been a small price to pay for a shot to witness history.

from sullybaseball.blogspot.com

She also needs to know how important her mother is to my happiness, our happiness. I think she knows this already, actually. But how incredibly flexible and understanding she can be despite her best efforts to be the most anal person on the planet. That her mother is now a Yankees fan and cheered for them despite her geographical and familial links to Philadelphia and the Phillies. That keeping harmony in her house, keeping her irrational and sometimes insanely fanatic husband happy is more important to her than anything else.

She needs to know how lucky we are to have her mother, how you need to pounce on luck when it smiles upon you and make the best out of it. And how lucky we are to be Yankees fans.

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