My Mother Mary A. Lake 6/4/17 to 7/1/11 Click Link to Read Memorial Speech

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sandys memorial speech

My Kindergarten Day

Kindergarten Day

I love teaching. We all have something we do well. Working in a classroom is the talent God gave me in abundance.

Many of you know I’ve recently made the decision to return to the workforce. I’m looking for a position in the public school system. Until I find that special principal who will overlook my faults, I’m doing substitute teaching. I split my time between the Mansfield ISD and Midlothian ISD. Both are south of Dallas.

I recently spent a day in Mansfield as a kindergarten teacher for Ms. H. I’d like to describe some of the highlights or lowlights depending on your perspective. The names, of course changed to protect the guilty.

I arrived on time, looked over the substitute file, and then consulted with my sub buddy, Ms. M.

Ms. M is a veteran teacher and told me not to put up with any nonsense. I assured her that was my intention. Unfortunately, nobody told the kids in my class.

It took less than 10 seconds for a reminder that I was back in kindergarten.

“Tie my shoes!” said Jane. (not her real name, not innocent either)
I said, “Sure, let me bend down and help.” After 5 knee surgeries this is not an easy task. I’d do this at least 25 more times during the day.

The kids arrived one by one. The last one wouldn’t step into the room until the tardy bell rang. The first set of directions from Ms. H seemed easy enough: Do Math Calendar

What could go wrong?

Me, “Class, let’s do the calendar.”

Class, “No, Ms. H does the days of the week first.”

Me, “Okay, Monday, Tuesday, Wed-“

Class, “Nooooo, we need the song.”

Me, “Well, okay, where is the song?”

Class laughing and pointing, “In the CD player.”

Me, “Okay, let me figure out how to work this thing.”

I turn it on, not the first song, not the second, but finally the tenth song was about the days of the week. We sing the song and I turn off the CD.

Me, “Okay, look at the calendar.”

Class, “No, Ms. H does the months of the year.”

Me, “Okay, January, Feb-“

Class, laughing, “Nooooo, we need the song.”

Me, “Don’t tell me, it’s on the CD?”

Class, clapping, (Either their thankful I finally get it or they’ve figured out I have no idea what I’m doing.) “Yees!”

Now, this means I have to go back through all the songs again to find the one for the months of the year. I do exactly as they tell me. Who could resist those innocent and angelic faces?

We sing about the months of the year. Then they tell me about a song involving five mice. I tell them, “Ms. H said we could skip that one today.” I’m starting to wise up.

I look at the clock. The schedule gave me 15 minutes to do the calendar. It’s been 45 minutes. Ms. H, now you know why I didn’t finish the morning projects.

Lunch went okay; I know how to open milk, plastic utensils, etc…

After lunch, a planning period turned into a blessing. In orientation, they told us to go to the office and ask if we’re needed elsewhere during our planning period. Let them come spend a day with kindergarten kids and then volunteer for other duty during the one break. I hid inside the room.

The other interesting period was computer. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent time with 5-year-olds. How much could they know about computers? We went to the computer lab, no teacher. I thought to myself, jerk! We stood outside the lab for 3 minutes or so and I finally decided to ask one of the students what happened during computer lab.

She said, (teacher’s kid, mom works at the school) “We go in, open the program and play games.”

Who would have thought that kindergarten kids could do this much with computers? I didn’t and it was amazing to watch them work the software.

We finished the day at the library. The librarian showed them how to check out books using a scanner. Amazing, these kids are in kindergarten.

Finally, the end of the day arrived. I sent some kids off to the daycare line, some to walk home and the rest out to their parents. I got hugs, high fives and fist bumps.

It was an amazing day. I loved every minute.

Ms. H, you’re an amazing teacher. The routines you’ve taught your kids allowed them to have a successful day despite the bumbling teacher.

Thanks for sharing your class.

Dan

Excerpt from short story, “Manhattan”

This is an excerpt from the Seger song, “Manhattan”. I read to my wife and she thought it was funny, so I decided to share this part with my readers, enjoy.

June 2010
I quietly opened the door, my back hurt. My feet were swollen and killing me. I was seven months pregnant, miserable, and somebody needed to share my misery. I looked across the small restaurant run by our good friend, “Chef Adam B.” My husband Randy sat nursing a glass of wine, oblivious to me. What was going to happen next wasn’t fair to him, but he wasn’t the one carrying twenty-five extra pounds. My husband finally noticed me, jumped up, and pulled out my chair. I clumsily sat down. My department issued sidearm slamming into my kidneys.
“Dang!” I groaned.

Chef Adam drifted out of the kitchen, hovered next to me for just an instant, bowed, kissed my hand and said, “Relax Teresa, my favorite cold case police woman. I’ve made your favorite dinner, Rainbow Trout.”

I sighed, shifting my weight again, trying to find a comfortable position, “Bless you Adam, your wife is truly a lucky woman.”

He gave me his shy, unassuming smile, “I’ll make sure I remind her how lucky she is when I see her tonight.”

Randy said, “What about me?”

I tried to sound mad, “You made me in a family way. You’re the reason I’m miserable.”

He said, “But honey, we both contributed equally to the effort.”

I said, “No, I gave an XX chromosome, and you gave an XY. You determine the sex of the child; therefore, your burden is greater. We’re having a boy. I’m thirty-seven, what were you thinking Randy?”

My husband was speechless and I was doing well. Therefore, I pressed my advantage.

“I spoke to the doctor’s office today. They’ve allowing my plan for you to share in the childbirth experience.”

His look said confusion, uncertainty. A woman would stop and ask for clarification at this point, not my husband and most men would have fallen for my trap.

His voice weak, “That’s great honey, uh, exactly what is this planned childbirth experience.”

I laughed, couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I get to tie a string to your testicles and every time I feel a contraction I pull.”

He unconsciously crossed his legs, covered his crotch with both hands, and bent slightly forward. “You’re just having fun with me, right?”

I reached across the table and pinched his cheek, “Yes, for now, but remember how miserable I am everyday dear.”

What is a paraprosdokian?

From the Bluebook Newsletter, enjoy.

A paraprosdokian is a figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected in a way that causes the reader or listener to reframe or reinterpret the first part. It is frequently used for humorous or dramatic effect. For this reason, it is extremely popular among comedians and satirists. I hope you enjoy these!

I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn’t work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness.

Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.

I want to die peacefully in my sleep, like my grandfather. Not screaming and yelling like the passengers in his car.

Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.

The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it’s still on the list.

Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

If I agreed with you, we’d both be wrong.

We never really grow up; we only learn how to act in public.

War does not determine who is right – only who is left.

Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit; Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.

Evening news is where they begin with ‘Good evening’ and then proceed to tell you why it isn’t.

To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism. To steal from many is research.

A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. On my desk, I have a work station.

How is it one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to start a campfire?

Some people are like Slinkies … not really good for anything, but you can’t help smiling when you see one tumble down the stairs.

Dolphins are so smart that within a few weeks of captivity, they can train people to stand on the very edge of the pool and throw them fish.

I didn’t say it was your fault; I said I was blaming you.

Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars but check when you say the paint is wet?

Why do Americans choose from just two people to run for president and 50 for Miss America ?

Behind every successful man is his woman. Behind the fall of a successful man is usually another woman.

A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.

You do not need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.

The voices in my head may not be real, but they have some good ideas!

Always borrow money from a pessimist. He won’t expect it back.

A diplomat is someone who can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you will look forward to the trip.

Hospitality: making your guests feel like they’re at home, even if you wish they were.

Money can’t buy happiness, but it sure makes misery easier to live with.

Some cause happiness wherever they go. Others whenever they go.

I used to be indecisive. Now I’m not sure.

When tempted to fight fire with fire, remember that the Fire Department usually uses water.

You’re never too old to learn something stupid.

To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target.

Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.

Some people hear voices. Some see invisible people. Others have no imagination whatsoever.

A bus is a vehicle that runs twice as fast when you are after it as when you are in it.

If you are supposed to learn from your mistakes, why do some people have more than one child?

Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine

Father

So let’s talk about Father’s day.

My dad died in 1995, six weeks after I earned my PhD.

When the University called and said my dissertation had passed the review process the first person I called was Sharon. I told her, “You’ve reached the dreams of all nurses, because you’ve married a doctor.”

My next call was to my parent’s house in Carefree. I couldn’t tell you the last time dad answered the phone.

That day he answered and I told him he finally had a son who was a doctor.

Over the last ten years of his life, my rough and tough dad slowly changed. The new version was milder, and caring.

We always made a yearly trip to see my mom and dad and those last years he hugged me, kissed me and told me he loved me. Quite a change from the dad I grew up that could always find fault with my effort.

Shortly after telling him about the PhD, we went to see them over the Christmas holiday. For the first time in my life, my dad told me he was proud of me. I guess it’s better late than never to hear those words.

His death three weeks later hit me hard. It took me a few years to accept that he was gone from this earth.

Because of the tough love, dad showed me, I always bent over backwards to tell my kids how proud I was when they put out a good effort. This included hugs, kisses, and assurance of how proud I was of their efforts.

In the last few years, the relationship between my kids and I has subtly changed. Maybe I should say the change has occurred between my daughters and me. They were always daddy’s little girls growing up. Now, they hug, kiss their mom, tell her they love her and I get a hug and a soft, I love you.

Time to change subjects and talk about something else.

I celebrated my one-month being prescription drug free on the 16th.

My body is slowly returning to normal. My sleep pattern has changed for the better. I can’t believe how much energy I have today compared to three months ago. I bounce around like a kid with ADD, no jokes please.

I’ve lost 56 pounds simply by decreasing my food intake and increasing my exercise. Typically, I work out three times a week. I do 20 minutes of hard cardio vascular and then 30-40 minutes of weight training.

I started out wearing a 42 waist, today I bought a pair of 34’s, and they fit. My wife made me turn around 4 times when I tried them on at home. I finally realized she was just looking at my butt, I feel exploited and used, not.

Act-houston’s accepted me into their alternative certificate-teaching program. I took the Watson Glaser Critical Thinking test and my counselor told me I blew the top off with a super high score.

My overall GPA for my Bachelor’s and Master’s degree is 3.7 and I’ve always done well on tests.

I actually graduated in the bottom half of my high school class. Yes, it took a great deal of effort to be such an underachiever.

Later this summer I’ll attend a two-week institute over subjects that I know, but that’s how they play the game.

My writing, I haven’t written a word in weeks. I stare at the screen and nothing comes to my head. I did talk to a division of Random House about publishing my volume one of my anthologies of short stories, “God’s Songs”.

I might have more to report in three months.

My summer motorcycle trip is on hold until my bike is finished. When he finishes rebuilding the carburetors I’ll take five days and do a Dallas-Clifton-Phoenix-Dallas trip. In the meantime, I continue to sulk and be depressed over the bike.

In Peace,

Dan

Happy Birthday Mary

How do we make a family?

Each family is different. Some are traditional and have a mom and a dad. Others come spliced together with step-moms and step-dads.

Our family required a gift from a very caring and scared nineteen-year-old girl. She was pregnant and knew she wasn’t ready to become a parent.

God knew we desperately wanted a little girl to complete our family.

Sharon and Hal were in the family and I’d tossed Jennifer and Kevin in the mix, but something was missing, a loose thread. We were five, mom, dad and three kids.

On June 10, 1985, Deanna gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She couldn’t bring herself to hold her. She feared she couldn’t go through with placing her for adoption.

Our little thread spent nine plus days in the ICU, low birth weight.

The adoption agency called us on 6/19, and we missed the call. I was out running and Sharon was biking next to me.

Her best friend, Evelyn took the call, drove over, and found us.

The next morning we picked you up in the back of a warehouse. That’s where the adoption agency offices were located.

Your mom cried, I might have too, but the love we felt as you slowly wound your thread around our hearts felt instantly right.

We drove home, making sure you were breathing as the miles clicked on by.

You made our family complete. We no longer were two families, but one and that’s the greatest gift you have given us. Your love has defined our family.

Your birth mom, yeah we share you with her. Wasn’t that cool when you turned twenty-one and you met Deanna for the first time and Chelsea your half sister. The three of you look like Twinkies.

Remember when you were four; you named your baby doll Chelsea. Chelsea was born the same year. How could anybody doubt that this wasn’t part of God’s plan?

You were born at the same hospital that your Godmother took her nurses training. You were born on our eighth wedding anniversary.

Wow, Happy 25th Birthday Mary Lake, our little thread.

Mary and Chelsea        Dad and Mary 1997  Sharon, Mary and Daddy 1996

Love, Daddy

Death of a Spider and the Funeral

My blog, I get to pick the subjects.

I don’t have any real phobias. I don’t like heights, but not to the point that it would keep me from jumping out of an airplane.

I don’t like snakes, but when I run across one, I just go the other way. Growing up in Arizona I developed a litmus test for snakes. If I could see rattles on its tails, I turned and ran.

I’m ambivalent towards spiders, but something happened yesterday that created quite a scene in the bathroom.

Sharon, my wife, has a true spider phobia. She broke her leg trying to jump over a couch to get away from a spider.

I’m in the bathroom, evening constitutional, and I noticed a spider on the wall.

I whacked at him with a cane and missed. He fell onto the floor, I’m trying to squish him with the cane tip, and I missed four of five times.

Then he ran onto the rug that sits in front of the commode. The rug is dark brown and the spider was black.

I realized I didn’t know where he was at, and then it dawned on me, my shorts were on the ground. The next thoughts, what might happen if he crawls into my shorts or my shoes?

I’m wearing my motorcycle boots. They have metal cleats at the top. I’m kicking off my shorts, grab the underwear, it catches on a cleat and rips.

I moved my boot across the rug and saw him scamper across the floor. The solution, stomp that sucker to death.

The problem, my boots are hiking boots and have big rubber ridges. I’m stomping on the spider, and I keep missing. How much luck can one slow moving spider possess in life.

Finally, on the fifth or sixth attempt, I connected and sent him to spider heaven.

By this time, all the animals, two cats, a dog, were in hiding. My wife was laughing so hard she was having trouble breathing.

I’m so glad my life is amusing to her.

That’s how the spider died.

Hal’s dad’s funeral was today at the VA cemetery in Dallas.

His dad and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on anything, but he was a veteran and everybody knows the respect I hold for those men and women who put their life on the line for this great country.

My son and daughter in law held up well until the honor guard presented the US flag to him.

The honor guard spokesman said, “On behalf of the President of the United States, a grateful nation, and a proud Navy, this flag is presented as a token of our appreciation for the honorable and faithful service rendered by your loved one to his country and Navy.”

The verses below are pertinent as I think about the pain in Hal’s face; his wife and finally even his mother broke down when she saw her son in tears.

2 Corinthians 1:3-5
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.

God will judge his father, it’s not my place, and I won’t speak ill of the dead. I’m thankful, as I told my son, hugging him after, “It’s over, it’s over, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

I’m the only grandpa the kids here see regularly.

What is the job of a grandparent?

I try to spend time with them, give both solicited and unsolicited advice on life. Spoil them just enough to irritate their parents, but then back off and show I really do stand behind their mom and dad.

I try to show them spiritual strength. They need to see Christ is central in every part of my life. Kids believe what they see, not what they hear.

In Peace this Memorial Day weekend,

Dan

Journal Entry 5/22/10

This entry is an update on my detoxification progress, writing, and other subjects I find amusing.
I find sneezing to be amusing and quite joyful. That’s my big thought for the day. I took Allegra, Sudafed, Guaifenesin, and used nose spray to keep from sneezing. Not anymore, and my body naturally takes care of the allergens by forcing me to sneeze.
I know, childlike, but that’s how I deal with everything in life.
There have been some rough parts this week. Nights, sleeping or trying to sleep is elusive. The homeopathic doctor warned me this would be the problem area for the first thirty to ninety days.
I’ve upped my melatonin to 6 mg and my Xanax from 1 mg to 1.5 mg at bedtime. Last night I slept from 11-6, only woke up once at 4:00 for thirty minutes or so and then went back to sleep.
The neuropathy in my feet bothers me more at night than any other time of the day. I lie down and feel like my feet are on fire, and I can’t keep them still. This leads to no sleep, and then I’m grumpy or grumpier.
I could take Neurontin for the neuropathy. The discomfort is my cross to bear. Therefore, the Neurontin stays on the shelf until things change dramatically for the worse.
I read two paragraphs in “The Imitation of Christ” that helped me have faith that my decision not to use the Neurontin is correct. This little red book, filled with great wisdom, stays next to my bedside.
It is not the tendency of human beings to bear the cross and to love it, to flee honors and to put up with reproaches, to despise themselves and to wish others to despise them, to bear all opposition and losses and not to desire any prosperity in this world.
If you trust in yourself, you will never accomplish this; but if you put your trust in God, you will be given strength from heaven, and the world and the flesh will be made subject to your command. If you are armed with faith and marked with the cross of Christ, you will not fear your enemy, the devil; for he will have no power over you.
****
I’m still whining about my motorcycle. My son believes the person who owned the bike before me let it sit for a long time and this clogged the carburetor jets. I agree, because my son is always right.
Somewhere in the last few years, he’s taken charge of the family and my role is secondary. That’s okay with me, it reflects well on his mother and I.
I want to say, “Okay, just tell the guy to fix the thing, so I can ride!”
There is nothing like coming out of a corner, rolling on the throttle and feeling the rear wheel bite into the asphalt or cement. The rear of the bike grabs down, you feel the power, and a smile will break across your face. Then hitting a long open stretch, the wind, the sky, everything is in slow motion, and you feel the elements. Of course, rain sucks and will ruin a great riding day; I’m still like a child.
When the bike broke down, between three chicks stopping and asking if I needed help, I noticed birds, beautiful rolling hills, the grass, trees, flowers, even insects crawling on the ground. I found all of this amazing to watch and experience, God’s wonderful world right in front of me. In a car, I would have never noticed, but on the bike, I’m much more aware of nature.
I’m still laughing about the girls, what were they thinking? However, I know how non-threatening I appear.
When I took my motorcycle training class, two girls and eleven guys were present. Every break the two girls stood next to me. Somebody spilled that I was a doctor and the women quickly referred to me as doc. “Hey doc, come over here and join us for the break.”” That nickname beat the instructors calling me pops.
****
We’ve joined a health club, 24-hour fitness. I’ve gone twice, still waiting for my wife to attend. I’m not going there anymore, it just creates a negative field in my life, and only she can decide to change. I know she can’t make the kind of changes I made, but enough said on the subject.
A fitness trainer evaluated me the first day. Jeez, even after losing fifty pounds, I carry a lot of body fat.
I hate to exercise, just as I used to dislike running, until I start. The thought of going to the gym is nauseating. However, once I’m working out, I enjoy myself.
I discovered how weak and flabby my body has become in the last 15 years. I’ll just get after it, hitting the weights, cardiovascular and stretching. I’m sure my muse would find something I missed, but communication is off, and I miss her advice.
****
This week I’ll call social security and request a ticket to work. My first choice is to return to where I started in 1979, the classroom.
Working with young kids is my first love and one where God gave me liberal doses of talent. I’ve taught for years in private schools, but never in public. I passed my test to be an EC-4 Generalist in 2003, but nobody can tell me if the test results are still valid. The problem arises when you don’t receive a teaching contract, and I went to work for a church school in 2004 and dropped the opportunity to return to the public classroom.
My worst nightmare would be to return to childcare licensing as a regulator. Please God don’t do that to me. I worked for the state of Texas in 2003 and disliked much of the experience.
I contacted the TEA (Texas Education Agency) and asked about my test results, no response. I contacted the testing company, same thing, no response. My next step is to act like a child and pitch a fit. It usually works, but leaves me frustrated.
Why does it take somebody to start yelling before people will listen?
Enough rambling for one day, time to get back to editing Volume One of the Seger Chronicles, “God’s Songs”.
I’m returning to each story and placing tags to help the reader feel the story, tone of voice, body language, etc…..
I’m about a fourth of the way through the editing process, still looking for an agent of a publisher. I’m hesitant to pay somebody to publish the book.
I’ve pledged all the money from the book sales will go to charitable organizations, and I won’t take a penny. I didn’t write the stories; God’s hand stayed on my fingers, the glory belongs to Him.
In His Service,
Dan Lake, PhD

Detox Journal

My red face after standing in the sun talking to women waiting for my son to pick me up today.

Me and my Mistress, a Yamaha Venture Royale 1200 CC Touring Bike

This next post will be a journal. I’ll try to make it a chronological report on how each day went and the reasons leading to my decision to stop my prescription medications.
I became ill in 1996 to the point it affected my work. However, I can trace the start of decline in energy to 1992.
Nobody can definitively say why I became sick, and I’m not going to speculate.
Soon joint pain and fatigue were part of each day and then neuropathy set into my feet and hands. I went from being physically active, running, swimming, biking, to walking with a cane.
I swore I wouldn’t become my father, but there I was, using his cane.
The doctors diagnosed me with psoriatic arthritis, and peripheral neuropathy of unknown origin. Then I applied for life insurance and discovered a blood protein associated with Multiple Myeloma, a cancer of the blood. My rate was elevated, but not high enough to meet the active case standard. For thirteen years, each October, I undergo a blood test to show my SPEP level. Each year, five percent of the people with elevated levels test positive for active Multiple Myeloma, and statistically I should convert within the next seven years. However, God might allow me to fulfill good works on this earth for forty more years.
By this time, the doctors prescribed thirteen medications that I took daily. In January, they did an MRI of the brain and an EEG and decided my EEG waves were intermittently slowing. The culprit, a football injury or medication side effects caused the problem, so they added a fourteenth medication.
I’d already battled Social Security and won my disability case three years ago so it made no sense to try to return to work with all of my medical problems and this new one felt like a stab in the heart.
When I was younger, I took great pride in my physical condition and my brain. I ran marathons, took 18 graduate hours one semester while writing my dissertation proposal.
All of this, physical and brainpower, became a point of pride and God is dismayed at pride. Therefore, I believe he took it away from me to make me humble and repentant.
God wanted me to do something different with my life, but needed to catch my attention. Sadly, it’s caught my wife up in this same cycle, punished because of me. Only her physical condition baseline isn’t as strong as mine is, and I believe she’ll die early, in part because of my sins.
In late January of this year, I got on my knees and prayed, “God, I’m not worthy, but only say the word, and I shall be healed. My life will be dedicated to You. Send me somebody to show me the way.”
In February, I attended a concert by John Michael Talbot. Lightening struck that night, his message of simplicity in life. How less is more and the power of contemplative meditation is so powerful. His songs brought tears to my eyes as he sang of his love for
God. I knew I needed to follow and read what this man had to say about living a good, simple life.
God decided I needed a close friend, so he sent me a former high school classmate. We reconnected on a level that only people who’ve known each other when they were awkward at 15 and 16 can relate.
We spoke about God, our lives, dreams, hopes, families and again the Lord. We shared thoughts and ideas in e-mails, and on Facebook that inspired me to change my life, including, losing weight and getting off my medications. I finally possessed a sliver of hope that one day I might return to work with children as I worshiped God in this new and wonderful way of constant prayer and meditation, simplifying my life each step so that less became more.
Perhaps we spoke more openly and honestly than two married people should, because I heard rumors of us becoming too close even from my own extended family. Then her husband made an accusation, and we realized the relationship needed to end.
I pray each day, “My dear Christian sister, I’ve grievously injured you and your family with my actions and offended your principles of what’s right and wrong. I don’t deserve forgiveness but if you could somehow find it in your heart to issue me absolution, I wish to remain your friend.”
I learned that sometimes God needs us to give up something we love for Him. Now, I can only see and speak to her when I close my eyes and whisper her name, blind love of a Christian sister.
She helped me take my short story writing from crude versions of Bob Seger songs, to God’s Songs. My Christian sister, I’ll forever pray for you each morning, your teaching, sign ministry and always remember what we shared. You’re still my muse. I also pray, one day, God in His benevolence will allow us to commune together in His name.
I started to wean down and off my medications in March. Sulfasalazine was the first to go, then Plaquenil, Acyclovir, Neurontin, Allegra, Albuterol, Flonase, and Methotrexate. I reduced my methadone and Darvocet as quickly as possible each week. Prednisone I started to drop one mg every one to two weeks, and as long as I felt okay, I continued moving down.
Finally, on Friday I stopped my Wellbutrin, on Sunday morning took my last dose, 1 mg of prednisone, 5 mg of methadone a Darvocet, then settled in for the withdrawals to hit.
****
Accidentally, I performed a test run for the first 24 hours on Friday night, Saturday morning. I felt so tired before bedtime; I forgot to take my evening dose of pain medicine. Since I needed to take a two-day motorcycle safety course on Saturday and Sunday, I thought it best to take my meds on Saturday morning.
Monday morning I didn’t feel so hot. Fortunately, I’d found a home course for going off opiates and methadone on an Arkansas state drug page and followed a homeopathic doctor advice to the letter. I think I’m taking 25-30 pills day, vitamins and supplements, plus amino acids, and it works great.
I took 1.5 mg of Xanax during the day to help chill my nerves. Wise choice, fortunately no vomiting from withdrawals for day one of my detoxification from prescription drugs. I’m taking 3 mg of melatonin at night to help me sleep. Wow, what a great sleep aid and I need all the help I can find right now.
I probably slept 7-8 hours today during the daytime hours. I did walk a mile this morning, but it felt like somebody placed lead in my shoes.
My appetite, usually poor, is worse and my caloric intake is barely 700 calories the last three days. The weekend was due to spending 10 hours in the sun, and today I just felt like garbage. Still, all things considering, 13 years of addiction, both Sharon and I felt God’s touch by how well I did.
Tuesday was better than Monday. I went and took my motorcycle test, passed, and felt well physically all day long. The loose stools started today and Sharon wasn’t surprised. She thought it would happen on day one and my brilliant RN wife was ready with Imodium capsules. I took 0.5 mg of Xanax this afternoon for anxiety and to counter a funny feeling in my stomach.
I walked a mile this morning instead of my usual 1.5 miles, and again it felt like slow going. I’m taking an extra minute for every half mile I walk, but not sure if that’s because of the withdrawals or the soreness of 20 hours of riding a motorcycle over the weekend.
Wednesday, today, even better, because I didn’t think I felt any different than I have for the last two months.
My motorcycle broke down on the highway this morning, sad. Two guys and three women stopped and asked if I needed help. I waved all but the last one through. What could young women be thinking about, stopping to help a man stranded by the side of the road?
The one who stopped, a woman, I asked, “Why do women stop to help a guy on the side of the road with a motorcycle?” She operates a motorcycle moving company. She gave me a bottle of water and asked directions to the town of Venus.
She said, “A bike like that, a good looking guy like you!”
I blushed, “But I’m old!”
“Not that old honey.” She told me as she drove off.
Okay, it felt good, but weird in a way because I’ve always shunned the attention of any females except my wife,
What will happen next? I don’t fear a relapse because our doctor always told us that if the pain stops, the patient finds a way to quite taking the drugs. That’s the difference between a drug addict and a medical user of opiates and methadone.
Why did I suddenly start to feel better? Prayer, yes, in part, but I made many changes to help myself. The changes were through God’s name and with His help. I’ve lost over fifty pounds and still need to lose more weight, and I’m eating natural foods. Much of my protein is by eating beans and rice. Funny, the diet doesn’t get boring, and I feel as if I’m feeding the shell that houses my soul and spirit. I finally turned the triangle the right way, soul and spirit at the base and the body insignificant. I struggle to reach 1200-1400 calories each day, and I start lifting weights tomorrow at a 24-hour fitness club. Oh boy, more women to protect and look harmless around. Even my daughters and daughter-in-laws say I look harmless. I’m not insulted, it’s just how my parents raised me and the role I’ve played around all women except one, my wife.
What do I do about going back to work? I feel called to live a contemplative life. Not long ago, my plan if my wife dies was to join a contemplative monastery and live a celibate life. Yet, God’s given me this opportunity to return and work with his children as a teacher. I could and was working on meditation and prayer when I felt sick each day.
Perhaps He’s preparing for a longer life of service and in a different capacity. I’ll also admit, a life of celibacy doesn’t feel right. I need human contact, but also realize the only way I can receive that needed touch is through the bonds of marriage.
Sometimes I’m guilty of speaking as if my wife is already gone, and I know God didn’t guarantee any of us would see the sun set today. However, her health is so poor and each year, sigh. Each time the subject comes up it brings tears to my eyes. We’ve been married for almost 33 years. That’s my entire adult life.
Enough rambling for one day, I need to pray about the future and God’s plan for me. How about you, what’s God’s plan?
Dan Lake PhD
Drug Free

Still the Same or The Glory Game

Tuck the ball in tight, I never fumbled.

Tina Turner sings a version of the song, “Proud Mary.” The first part her voice is soft and easy, and then she lets it all hang out and sings it easy and rough.

I’m going to tell you a true story in which the author played a small part. The stars are a group of young boys fifteen to eighteen years of age trying to become men and playing the American version of football. On October 19, 1973 in Phoenix, Arizona, the Paradise Valley Trojans met the St. Mary’s Knight’s.

There isn’t a surprise ending, at least not for our team. We didn’t possess talent in bunches. We speak of the Hold Spirit as something unidentifiable. Team spirit and desire are the same, you can’t see it, but you can feel it. This team came together that night and played an outstanding game.

St. Mary’s was 5-0, ranked fifth in the state of Arizona.

 It started in the end zone during the pre-game warm up, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me give you the Scottsdale Progress version of the game and Tom Owens, reporter, thoughts of the evening.

The story starts with a picture, a cartoon of a large Trojan Warrior holding a knife to the throat of a Knight and the caption, “So you “Thought” you could beat us, Huh? A small figure at the bottom of the cartoon, a referee, giving thumbs down to the Knight.

By Tom Owens

Sports Writer

The picture above as drawn by Paradise Valley cheerleader Ann Meade seems to sum up Trojan sentiment after soundly defeating St. Mary’s, 26-13. And the score should have been much worse.

As the saying goes, “Beware of the Trojans…,” and this time the horse was in the person of Gene Arrandale, who racked up 186 yards on the night, tacking on TD runs of four and 46 yards.

But PV’s running attack owes a lot to the passing arm of sophomore quarterback Greg Clark, playing his first complete game. Following a fumble recovery by Greg Overend early in the first quarter, Clark made PV’s first offensive play a scoring effort with a 28-yard TD strike to Tom Stehower. Pete Barnhizer converted and the Trojans had a lead which they never relinquished.

Still in the first quarter, the two teams exchanged interceptions, with the second going to PV’s Danny Lake. Arrandale then rambled for 28 yards, and a few plays later carried the last four. Barnhizer kicked the point after, making the lead 14-0.

St. Mary’s came back early in the second quarter, scoring on a 29-yard pass play from quarterback Chris Skelly to wide receiver Alcee (Speedy) Hart. The extra point was blocked by Jerry Grim and the score stood 14-6.

Clark started the next PV drive with a nine-yard pass to Stehower. Several plays later, Mitch Elrod stunned the Knights as he took the hand off on a counter at the 25 and streaked into the end zone. The PAT was blocked, but the Trojans held a commanding 20-6 lead.

Late in the half, Rick Pacius recovered a fumble deep in Knight territory. Clark passed to Stehower inside the five as the Trojans threatened to blow things wide open. Following a penalty against PV, and a nullified interception by St. Mary’s, the Trojans called their last time out. Faced with a third and goal with 15 seconds on the clock, Clark passed 10 yards to Stehower who was brought down at the 1 ½- yard line. The half ended with Barnhizer waiting for the snap for the field goal attempt.

The Trojan defense poured it on on the second half as Mike Clancy jarred the ball loose from a Knight ball carrier, which Dan Page recovered.

Clark started in the air again, this time going to Danny Lake for eight yards. Arrandale did the rest as he ripped off the last 46 yards in “one fell swoop,” as they say, upping the score to 26-6. A fake attempt and try for two failed.

With 18 seconds left in the third quarter, the Knights scored on a Skelly to Alen Whitaker aerial, covering seven yards. The point-after by Greg Gamez was good, and made the score 26-13, which may have been the last of the scoring, but not the last of the excitement.

St. Mary’s tried an off-side kick, but it was hauled in by PV’s Joe Demichele. The Trojans were forced to punt but got the ball back quickly when it was fumbled and recovered by Arrandale. PV marched inside St. Mary’s 10 but was held. A field goal attempt by Barnhizer was wide to the right, ending the threat.

In the waning minutes of the game, the ball was exchanged three times, deep in Trojan territory. Overend stymied the first scoring threat with an interception at his own five-yard line.

A few plays later, an Arrandale fumble was recovered by St. Mary’s Jeff Tipton. Once again it was Overend coming up with the big play as he nailed his second interception, sealing the victory, a first in the school’s history against the perennial powerhouse.

POINTS OF INTEREST: The only problem Dick Anders must have had after the game was trying to decide where to give credit first. I haven’t seen Dick since the game, but consider all the possibilities:

(a) The entire team; those of you who missed the game, missed one of the greatest shows of individual and team desire that’s ever been my pleasure to see.

(b) The defense; outstanding all year, they forced (and I do mean forced) eight turnovers with hard-hitting, aggressive play throughout the entire game.

(c) The offense; who finally put it all together behind quarterback Greg Clark against one of the best teams in the division.

(d) Gene Arrandale; always the workhorse of the offense, had one of his finest, if not the finest night of his career.

(e) Greg Overend; who spent the previous game on the sidelines with a throat infection putting up with the likes of me. First, he recovered a fumble which set up PV’s first score. In the second half he injured his knee making a solo tackle on an end-around, but he bounced back to make two critical interceptions at the end of the game.

(f) Greg Clark; only a sophomore, quarterbacked his first full game and led his team to victory against the odds-makers. Although he was intercepted twice, it was his passing that loosened up St. Mary’s defense and helped make the running game go.

(g) Mike Clancy; playing his usual game, which consists mainly of making the other team sorry he showed up. He recovered one fumble himself, and was responsible for jarring the ball loose several other went back in.

(h) Tom Stehower; usually known for his outstanding defensive play (which still is), is rapidly becoming known for his pass-catching feats.

(i) Jerry Grim; small, but a lot of talent per pound. Always seems to be where the ball is. Blocking a PAT attempt and throwing the ball carriers for losses is consistent with his kind of play.

(j) Dan Lake; slightly unheralded in the shadow of Arrandale, Lake does it all. He blocks well, runs hard, and is a good pass receiver. On defense, he had an interception, and plays a solid outside linebacker. He was injured during the game, but-

The list could go on; Van Pelt (who was also injured, but kept playing), Elrod, Pacius, McComb, Page, Godwin…see the problem?

“How sweet it is!” I guess that says it all.

****

The newspaper account reads interesting, but the real key is a couple of words, desire and intimidation.

St Mary’s was a powerhouse for as long as I could remember growing up in the Phoenix area. They are a private Catholic school and draw from the entire population, boys who wanted to go to school and receive a Catholic education and play for a terrific sports program.

Saint Mary’s High School was the first Catholic high school in Arizona and has been a part of the greater Phoenix metropolitan area since 1917. It was also Arizona’s first Catholic high school, founded by the Sisters of the Precious Blood. It began modestly, with classroom space for four boys and ten girls in Saint Anthony’s Elementary school.

In 1920, the school moved into a one-story home located on East Monroe Street. In 1928 all male students transferred to Brophy Preparatory School on Central Avenue. In 1936 because of the depression, Brophy closed its doors. For a short time, the boys were without a school, but then moved back to St. Mary’s and into a new building.

During the 1930s, a city block, bordered from Polk to Taylor and Second to Third Streets, was ultimately purchased for $24,000. Using this new land, the Franciscans built a second St. Marys. Their goal was to educate those boys displaced by the closure of Brophy High School. The separation of the boys and girls lasted until 1958 and then the girl’s school ended up condemned making way for a new Civic Plaza. On March 20, 1961, they held a dedication ceremony show casing the new seven-room addition to the school. Included in the expansion were a ramada and a library.

The Polk street campus sits on two acres. There are twenty-four classrooms and room for six hundred students.

The rapid development of downtown Phoenix created a land lock and forced cancellation of additional expansion plans for the inner city school.

Since the night of the game in 1973, the building the boys attended, ended up torn down in 1988. The school moved to its present location at Third Street and Sheridan. They renovated existing buildings, and constructed a multi-purpose building to house administration, classrooms, and a cafeteria. For the 2008-09 school year, Saint Mary’s enrollment of 778 students consisted of kids many different backgrounds.

****

Paradise Valley isn’t rich in history. A request to the current Principal went unanswered, so I’ll fill in the blanks with what little knowledge I possess and what’s available on the Internet.

The original school built in 1957, served a rural community spread out over a large geographical area. Within the community was a stratum of socio-economic sub-groups. From the extreme wealthy to the dirt poor, the school displayed a true melting pot of young people.

When I arrived, the school was in the throes of a population explosion. The summer before I arrived in 1972, they built a temporary 30,00 square foot, combination student center and classroom building.

In comparison to the stable, rich tradition of my previous school, I felt like I’d arrived in an outlaw school. The first one to greet me was Rick Bartelt. I quietly dressed for my initial football practice when a kid with floppy hair showed up next to my locker.

He said, “You played for Washington high, didn’t you?”

What could I say, busted, “Yes, I played for the Rams.”

“You were that guy we couldn’t guard in basketball, the one who never missed your shots, you killed us.”

I wasn’t that good at shooting, but I’d had a hot day against the Trojans. “Yep, that’s me, in the flesh, good old hot hand, my name is Dan.”

He stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Rick, danged glad you’re playing for us now and not against us. It made me tired guarding you.”

Rick turned out to be a great friend. We played basketball and baseball together, and he was a gifted athlete. He had some physical problems and couldn’t play football anymore, but his friends told me he was a great quarterback. Sadly, Rick died a few years after high school from a disease that is curable today. I can’t think of a better person to dedicate the story to than him. Rick, I’m sure you’re in Heaven, watching the rest of us fools, I love you my Christian brother.

At PV, there was no law; no order and chaos ruled each day. Streakers rode through the school on motorcycles and on foot, nobody to my knowledge, ever caught, but we sure laughed. Each day heralded the arrival of new teachers, students and a change in routine. We attended a free period each day where games were available to play for the students, crazy and wild.

The administrators weren’t in control and a pavilion they built for the students was a free sex, drinking and pot zone before school. This is my version, and when you don’t answer a simple request for information, don’t complain when the story that’s told travels through the eyes of a sixteen and seventeen year old.

One teacher who tried to intervene in the morning routine of crazy behavior ended up hospitalized. Sad, a result of the anything goes in the sixties, early seventies, and incompetent administrators.

Sometime after I attended the school, they demolished the old school and Paradise Valley High moved to a different location. The new school built at that location arrived with a new name, but a few years later public sentiment demanded they change the name back to Paradise Valley.

Today, the athletic facilities are first class. I went there in 2008, and took an unguided tour one fine summer day. I could still feel and sense the sounds from the football field and baseball diamond. The baseball field is perfect, gone is the dirt infield strewn with rocks that made any ground ball a guessing game.

I bet Tom Stehower our shortstop would love to play on the new field.

The football stadium surface is no longer grass, but now artificial turf, fantastic seating and a wonderful scoreboard for the players and fans to enjoy the Friday night games.

The field we played on sported large patches of dirt in the middle and the ground felt rock hard. I’m thrilled the kids today receive the best facilities available. I’ll give credit to PV for starting to upgrade the program when I arrived. However, that credit goes to the board of trustees. They gave us the latest equipment, and we were the first team in Arizona to have a college educated team trainer. That simple fact saved a young mans life one game my senior year. He suffered a broken neck tackling with his head down and only the prompt and correct action of our trainer, Mike Shimensky, saved him from becoming a paraplegic for life or possible death.

That’s the history of PV based on my knowledge.

One last name I need to mention, Mike Carns. Mike played a year ahead of me, I’ll speak about this group later and some of the things I say aren’t very complimentary. It’s not personal, but that group messed up a golden chance to be state champions. Why did it mean so much? Drugs and drinking were the primary reason they failed. I still display the card from his funeral on my religious altar to remember how fragile life can be for the young.

Mike was a great guy and enjoyed partying. His death held one key to our season and the victory over St. Mary. On a senior ditch day, him and a group of his friends went to the Verde River to drink and tube. Mike always said he wanted to die with a Budweiser in one hand and a joint in the other. I wasn’t there to see what really happened, but his friends told us he received his wish. He rode a motorcycle and coming back from the river his cycle collided with a one-ton truck head on at 55 miles per hour. Mike, our God is benevolent, and I’m sure you’re with Him, but it makes me sad to think how short your life ended up because of drugs and alcohol. It’s because of you that I ride so carefully. Each trip I make on my bike, I promise my family that I’ll return in one piece.

****

I found myself at Paradise Valley High School in the summer of 1972. I didn’t want to be a Trojan. I didn’t like the school or the kids who played sports and represented them. Schools earn a reputation, earned or not and poor sportsmanship was PV’s moniker. I grew to love the kids and today am proud to call myself a Trojan.

****

The evening of October 19, 1973 seemed filled with a sense of anticipation and excitement. I think we knew as a team something special would happen tonight.

The week of practice felt very intense. The season started well for us, but then fell apart with two losses in our next four games. We won our first game, but then tied one, won one and lost two. We entered that week, 2-2-1.

I played fullback on offense and left cornerback on defense. Forget what the newspaper said, no linebacker position for me.  I just played close to the line of scrimmage and defended the run very well. Not brag, but I was the only player who started both offense and defense each week. At the end of the game, it left me totally exhausted.

St. Mary’s started a defensive end who was an all-state player and the coaches changed the blocking assignment on our bread and butter play, a 26 or 27 depending on the side of the field we ran the play, that’s the tailback running between the tackle and the end.

My job was to kick out the defensive end and open the hole. I took great pride in sticking my helmet into the opposing player’s numbers and trying to drive my facemask into his spine. Football is a very violent game and today my neck is arthritic. However, I wouldn’t give up a single experience from playing sports. Giving me help on blocking offended me, and I vowed to make my man pay all night. At halftime, they dropped the blocking change because the coaches said I made the guy sorry he showed up. If they were trying to motivate me, it worked.

The electricity started with the pre-game pep talk. Normally Coach Dick Anders, a man who I tremendously respected gave the talk. Tonight it was the Pollock. Coach Crofcheck, a man proud of his heritage. Usually he spoke few words, but that night, he electrified us with a speech that included references to the other team’s fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and how he expected us to kick them from one end of the field to the other. It might be their homecoming, but we were going to ruin the night for them.

Our other coaches were just smiling as Crofcheck screamed and yelled, spittle flying from his mouth, Craig Anderson was the linebacker coach, Paul Hibbert, Mike Gray, and last but not least, Roy Muller.

I remember seeing the managers, Boyd Smith and Tom Redman readying the equipment. Somewhere, I still have the kicking tee from that night. What, after thirty-seven years do you think the school will bill me for the equipment I borrowed?

Our first tactic involved interrupting St. Mary’s routine. They always warmed up in the same end zone. Visiting team chooses which end zone they want to use. Before that night, all the teams had acquiesced to their request to use a certain end zone.

The visitor takes the field first. Our cheerleaders and pom-pom line waited. I remember seeing each face, Annie Meade, Karen Hayes, Sherri Pewterbaugh, Tempest Alford, and Sue Babbitt made up the cheerleaders. These were girls with true character. Today the typical cheerleader seems characterized as an empty-headed zombie. The football players, cheerleaders and pom-pom line were good friends and without their support, this night wouldn’t have happened.

The pom-pom line came next, again all solid students; they made two rows for us to run through. Each face etched in my memory, Jennifer Bingamon, Kim Haines, Mary Graham, Karen Boldby, Jackie Lebrun, Terri Scheller, Kelli Royer, Diane Melanson, Karen Caserta, Claudia Bloom, Laurie Svoma, Terri Davis, Karen Neary, Janet Parker, Denise Harkinson, Beth Rohe and Beverly Sherrick.

We took their end zone and started our pre-game warm-up. Mike Clancy and Peter Barnhizer were leading the warm-up. The two of them were our offensive and defensive captains.

St. Mary’s came out on the field and their players told us to move. I don’t remember who told them to get lost. Either Tom Stehower or Mike Clancy was the one who spoke first. Before long players were screaming at each other, shoves exchanged and finally all the coaches showed up.

The St. Mary’s coach tried to state his case, Dick Anders gave him a shrug as if to say, “What can I do, the boys want this end of the field.”

We stayed and as they walked away, we called them every name in the book.

****

Very few fans showed up to watch us play that night. Again, that’s why the support of the cheerleaders and pom-pom line meant so much.

I remember each play. Repeatedly, I tried to bury their defensive end on run plays. I gave up a touchdown pass. I’d made three tackles in a row on trap plays and the fourth play; they ran a trap option pass and I fell for the fake. No excuse, I could say the safety, Dan Page, should have covered the deep half, but that’s blaming somebody else.

The coaches told us in practice, they liked to throw a ten-yard out on third and long. I jumped the pattern and that led to my interception. Teams rarely threw to my side of the field. My reputation for man on man coverage was excellent, plus I loved to make the receiver pay each time they threw a ball in my zone.

I’d never seen so many turnovers in one game. Every time I turned around, they fumbled the ball, or we intercepted a pass. The key to the game started in the end zone when we upset their routine. Then when we scored on the first play it threw them off balance. Their regular quarterback didn’t play because of an injury, and they didn’t have the confidence in his back up to come back and win. However, I don’t think it would have mattered who quarterbacked them that night.

My good friend Greg Overend sealed the victory with two interceptions in the fourth quarter. I can’t tell you how thrilled it made me feel to see him perform at such a high level. Add the interceptions to his first quarter fumble recovery and he was a true hero that night.

The paper spoke a lot about Gene Arrandale. Maybe his brother liked him, but the rest of the team didn’t care for Gene. His primary interest seemed to be his statistics and how many yards he gained each game. Football takes a greater team effort than any other sport I played. All eleven men on the team need to do their job for a play to work. If Gene didn’t carry the ball, he didn’t care what happened. The paper said he gained 186 yards rushing and the official statistics showed he gained 188 yards. Gene complained to the newspaper writer about the discrepancy.

Mike Clancy is the player everybody knows at one time playing football, a true animal. Today I’d call him an M&M, hard on the outside, but soft inside. Few people knew how much he loved his mother, sister, and things that happened at home deeply affected him. For some reason, he liked me, and I’d much rather be his friend than his enemy. Mike was a terror that night. The entire defensive line tore their offense up.

Finally, the gun sounded, the game was over and a huge upset had occurred. We just looked at each other, grinned, hugged, the cheerleaders and pom-pom line joined in and so did our parents. The stands were empty because everybody celebrated on the field. The greatest game I ever played in finally over, and we went home and crashed, too tired to celebrate.

****

We were a special group and the seniors led the way. We didn’t possess talent in bunches, but we had heart and the desire to play our best. We never had a bad practice and only one time did the coaches manufacture a reason to send us home early. Fortunately, one of the assistants warned us before practice, so our hearts didn’t feel crushed. The seniors drove the underclassman, in part because the team the year before possessed loads of talent, but no self-discipline.

In 1972, it wasn’t unusual for players to show up before a game, drunk, stoned or both. This led to players wearing out during the game, jumping off sides and then laughing. We swore it wouldn’t happen again, and we kept that pledge.

I felt a bit sorry for Peter Barnhizer, a good friend. He’d been the starting quarterback, but that night the coaches decided to go with a sophomore, Greg Clark. It wasn’t because of anything Peter did or didn’t do, but it was more about what Greg could do with his arm. We never turned our back on Peter; we insisted that he continue as the team captain the entire season, that’s just the way we were.

Other events happened that season that I will not discuss, we took care of them internally and disciplined each other.

Monty Cole was a junior, and I liked the kid, but for some reason he didn’t like me. He dropped a pass my junior year that would have won a game. I climbed all over him and after that, nothing was the same between us.

The year after I graduated from Paradise Valley, the Trojans put together a 9-1 season. Nobody was happier for them that me. They were reaping the seeds, we sowed, and hard work, plus talent, good coaching, this equals wins and Dick Anders functioned as a heck of a head coach.

I went to a game the year after I graduated, after the game Monty came up to me, got in my face, and yelled, “We’re a lot better than you guys were!”

I’m thinking, “Man, I’m happy for you and real proud of your record.” Actually, their success reflected back on our leadership. Monty, wherever you are, no hard feelings, but you were a jerk that night, and I’m glad you guys won so many games.

I believe the only team they lost to, St. Mary. No, I’m not gloating.

****

Epilogue: Everything must end. At some point, you need to turn your back and walk away from playing team sports. Many players believe the cards would never do them wrong, now they walk with a permanent limp. The trick is never play the game too long. I guess if we used a Bob Seger song, we’d say only bet a gambler share, that’s the only loss you could forsake and the only bluff that can’t be faked.

Playing against St. Mary’s I believe we caught a team that became used to moving from one game to the next game, always winning. Helping them believe a win would be easy that night was our reputation and lousy game performance leading up to the game. All of these things bolstered their self-confidence. They believed all they needed to do was show up, and the game would be over.

We didn’t give up, everybody watched them start to play, but we just turned and walked away from their head games and played one of our own.

Today, most of my joints ache every day. I don’t know how much football plays a role in the pain, but it was worth the game. Later in life, I ran 10K’s, 15K’s; half marathons and even full marathons, so many opportunities existed to damage my joints. Still I wouldn’t trade any of those experiences to wipe away the hurt.

Thanks for reading my small glory game.

In Peace,

#21 Dan Lake aka Laker