Being Torn Apart

"Where does the love of God go, when the waves turn the minutes to hours?" sang Gordon Lightfoot, decades ago.

Yet, there's a ring of truth for that, yesterday and today, here in the Heartland, as we reach, bend, and stretch our minds to find the love and grace of our God in the aftermath of yesterday's disaster.  

Barry Trammel wrote of the ultimate horror, "Where are the children?" 

And I wondered about the children, who cries for you?  Who cries out for you, when the things most sedentary, safe, and secure that you can imagine, are literally ripped out of your grasp?

What do you hold on to?  When you grasp a tree, a tree you couldn't fall with a car, without hours of work with an ax...and it is ripped up in seconds, along with you?

What do you depend on, when you're in a building, that in a million years you couldn't pull down with your 3rd grade hands, disintegrates around you?  You watch it being pulled apart in seconds...the roof above your head is gone, the walls rumbling and crumbling in on you.  When you see a car fly by...in the air?

What do you do, when you are in a storm shelter, and the door is ripped open, or off?  You did what you were supposed to do!  You took cover, you got in the cellar, only to have the Beast overcome your safehold.

There are things in this life that we depend upon each and every day, things we cannot move, break, and destroy...and we learn that these things are safe.  Buildings, homes, schools, and cars...only to have that innocent perspective ripped away from us in a flash by Mother Nature.

You reach out mentally, from home, wanting to help, not wanting to watch TV, but being pulled, like a black hole to the only information source that can help you find out more....morbidly watching, rationalizing that maybe there's something good about to happen.

Because, for most of us, we understand the dangers...and then we forget.  The day before, I watched a nice and beautiful storm swirling around our heads, hoping to see my first tornado live...even as the NWS, located here in Norman stopped momentarily monitoring to seek shelter themselves.  10 minutes later, that beautiful swirl dropped a tornado that killed two.  Yesterday the Monster drove through Moore like a gigantic bulldozer...destroying everything in its way.

Then it isn't fun anymore, it isn't interesting...still fascinating, you watch the TV...literally staring at something that looks like a fake monster eating up a town...it is surreal, and somewhere in your head, you know that not everybody is going to be ok.  You slowly make the connection from 'awestruck' to 'serious and deadly situation'...and yet you can't quite meld the two together in a cohesive thought.  "Do I turn the TV off?"   "Do I keep watching?"  

I sent the kids outside, in the immediate aftermath...because of a quote I once heard..."you cannot unsee what you've seen".  Perhaps I'm old fashioned, but I'll let a bit of their innocence escape to be stolen a bit later in life.

Then you realize it hit a school....two schools...and you see the pictures, and you hear the newscaster say "Oh NO...No....Oh my God"...and you do the same math in your mind...Not everybody will be ok.  There are people's children...that will no be ok.

My son forgot his lunch today, and I was barely able to hold it together as I walked down the hallway of his school to his room...imagining the walls being pulled, twisted, broken, with shit flying everywhere...I had to shut off for a minute.  I made it to my car, before I started to cry.

We ask "What do we do?  To cope?  How many times does the same damn town have to get hit?"...followed...by a sense of relief that it wasn't your city or town...Guilt, shame, angst, and amazement swirl around as you sit in your home, nice and safe.

You volunteer.  You give blood. You donate.  You see who you know that's affected, and help.  You move, that's what you do...numb with disappointment, grief, and serious violation of personal safety...yet spurned on by a sense of compassion, community and identity as an Oklahoman, or as most of our country today, an Oklahuman.  

Last night, before I went to bed...I watched as rescuers continued to dig through the rubble, looking for children and teachers.  I hoped...but, eventually you have to go to bed...there's another day to live tomorrow.  The practicality of life smacks you in the face, your kids have to go to school, you have to work, the world continues to turn.  It makes you want to scream "Stop for just a damn minute, World!!  Something very wrong just happened, and I'm quite ready to move on just yet!!"

As I tucked my kids in, they both told me that they no longer liked storms, and that the Joplin tornado hit in the middle of the night.  I told them that it was my job to keep them safe, and that I would be watching the weather, and that my phone beeped really loud when a warning came on....but, I was never able to shake the dad on TV, saying his daughter was still buried out there somewhere...it was his job too.

Frail, our grasp on life is...and control can be a serious illusion.

I don't know if the God I believe in hears tears as prayer, or if it even helped...but last night, and again today...

Who cries for the children....I do.

Is it wrong? Am I bad person?

Coaching my kids' teams for the past 5 years, I ask myself the following 5 questions after every game:

1. Did my team have fun?
2. Am I proud of my team?
3. Did my team work hard and learn or accomplish something today?
4. Am I proud of the other team?
5. Am I proud of myself, that I did all I could to make this contest fun for all kids involved, from both teams?

You see, my father taught me that I would never be average.  He taught me that while it was "ok" for others to behave in certain ways, I wouldn't ever behave in the same manner.  He taught me about a higher way of living, without ever addressing it directly.  He made sure that I paid attention to inequities, and used my interaction to recsolve them.  He taught me that it really was my job to be aware of situations, and that it was my responsibility to watch out for my fellows.  I don't know why.  I won't get a chance to ask him anytime soon, why he did that...but, thanks Dad, I finally got it.

I've watched two games in the past week, that ended up 46-2, and 40something-1. One of those games was a loss for me and my team, and the other was a win for our team.

I'm stuck trying to see why I feel worse about the victory, than I do about the defeat.

I think it has to do with the 5th question I ask myself...and it makes me tremendously troubled, and saddened, that it might have been my father that caused me to ask that final question.  I'm troubled that other people don't seem to ask themselves that question, as coaches, or players.

What do kid's learn when they beat another team 46 - 2?  What exactly did they "win"?

I'm a very competitive person.  However, I want competition to be just that...evenly matched squads, meeting to test their skills, as an exercise of body and mind, at a game that has little consequence in their life. I am very comfortable with the concept of winning, and of losing...there's no true shame in either.

I'm trying to figure out exactly what the other team "won".    And, as I grow older, I continue to come up with more questions for myself, than I have answers to give to others.

When did the stakes become so high, at such a young age?

When did playing sports as a child, become so serious?

Where are the adults?  You know, the ones watching the playground, like at school, that kept kids' from playing unfairly...that split up teams that were clearly unfair.  Does anybody remember teachers telling them that fairly matched teams are more fun for everybody, because it makes the game more even?

How many points are enough?  46-2, 66-2, 86-2?

At how many points, does a coach turn internally and ask themselves "what am I accomplishing by beating this team so incredibly badly"?

I realize that I think too much, and I'll admit that fact..and that I take the little things in life too seriously...I'll own that as well.

Doesn't anyone hear their father's voice inside their head say "That's good enough, now call them off and let the other team learn how to play the game a bit"?

I do.  I go out of my way to.  I do it because my father taught me to...

If the love of Christ were to be gauged on the playing surfaces of children's sports leagues... would we feel spiritual then?  Or just on Sundays when we get to talk about taking care of the poor, and not the team that played "poor"?

"Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours?"

Sung by Gordon Lightfoot...ignored by coaches of children...coaches that believe a foot on the throat of a child does them good, somehow.

I've really not learned to be subtle, or not to come down on myself as hard as the situation deserves...if you read my blog, then you know I've personally been guilty of this very thing that's bothering me now.

I suppose that I may come down too hard on others as well, and while it is because I know they are better than that, I'll not make that an excuse for calling them out.  Those games weren't subtle either, and I believe the responsibility lies within the adults that coach them...who volunteered to coach them.

Am I proud of how I helped all of the kids out there today?  Or, did I help to beat the ever loving crap out of an 11 year old...watch it happen, and intentionally prevent mercy from entering a situation?

I left today wondering if it was anyone's birthday, on the losing team...  wondering if any of them are going back to broken homes...  I know I sent at least one girl home to a broken home... a girl that said to me two weeks ago, "This is the greatest night of my life, I scored a bucket, and for the first time ever...I won a game."  Don't all kids deserve to win a little...or at the least not lose their dignity along with the game?

You see, little things make big things.  Big people make little people.  And...unfortunately, Big Dickheads, make littler ones, waiting to grow up...

I have two rules in life;  1. Do your job, and 2. Don't be a dick.

These kids are 8, 9, 10, 11...they're kids, for Christ's sake...If you need to prove something, or test yourself...let me know, I'll get my five, you can have your five, and we'll meet anywhere you like...but, as an adult, I'll tell you now...it'll only be fun for me, and your likely to get pissed.

I'll end with question #5...


5. Am I proud of myself, that I did all I could to make this contest fun for all kids involved, from both teams?

Feng

He may not have much...but damn...he gives it all...

I tend to fall on the under side of coaching and competitive discussions, and I've finally put to words where I stand on a couple of things...the memory of an old friend and my father drew me out to write this today.

I've struggled with the concept of competition for a number of years...which, in discussion we could split a room of little league parents and coaches, resulting in a small cataclysmic event in a short while.  

I was a hell of a competitor, and most will still tell you that I still am...This isn't about that competition...its about team competition.

The OKC Thunder slogan is "Team is One"...and a good one at that...I'm not a downer on slogans...but...

Team is something other than a slogan, and Trophies aren't things that just sit on shelves.

Team is about you, a picture of you, either now, or in the past.  And what came along with you through the winds of time. 

Team to me...well, that's what I've been thinking about.  Team is about a time with young men that are gone.  They're fat now, most of them, or most of us, anyway...anything but young, and the time has definitely passed us by.  Enough, though with my worthless nostalgia, and start with a little story:

You-shoot and Brick were two kids that played recently on a basketball team that I coached.  I name them appropriately, and imply no shame to them, only as a descriptive term and leave them nameless.  We had a non-competitive league, which I've heard other coaches remark about as developmental, or a feel good league.  Personally speaking, I'm a better player and a better coach than any of the men I've ever heard say such things.  I'm an aging athlete that has come to realize the value of elevating a human being through sports represents far more attainment than any all-star, or select team ever could.

Out team scored more points than a couple of others, but most days, we were on the struggling end of playing.  I was proud of the better kids on our team, because they learned, from me, that our team was about getting shots for everyone, including You-shoot and Brick [something I could have learned at a much younger age].  You-shoot generally wanted to find the most effective solution for the problem, passing to one of the better shooters...tremendously smart kid.  You-Shoot even took himself out once, saying he didn't feel well...until his dad made him admit that "the team had a better chance of winning if I sat down".  Brick, on the other hand,  learned the value system of our society at an early age describing his failure through the words, "I realize I won't score many points, but I want to learn to rebound and play defense".  His words betrayed him...he knew his failure would be imminent if he didn't score.  Defense and rebounding are concepts above our age group, though I laud his dad for working hard to show him more than scoring.  Brick and You-shoot struggled through most every game, but they clocked in, and played the games in practice and I made sure they had fun doing it.

In our final game, we continued our strategy...which drew ire from my assistant from time to time...understandably...I was aiming at a much higher picture, and honestly didn't feel the need to communicate that much about it.  We scored as many points as the other team and played hard.  We worked the ball around and as you can imagine, You-shoot and Brick both scored a couple of times, by creating their own shots... which helped us come out a few points on top (though we supposedly weren't counting).  Both teams and the people in the stands jumped out of their seats each time one of them scored...they knew those kids, it was a small league.  That's a trophy.  That's a team. 

Team is about my high school baseball team... a bunch of guys, some of whom couldn't stand each other, coming together for a common cause.  Team was Alan telling coach we were hitting soft tosses, while we were really playing football in the gym, (go figure).  Team was Aaron apologizing for something he had done before the whole team to keep from getting kicked off...and Team was us forgiving him and welcoming him back.  Team was us learning that our coaches contract hadn't been renewed...and that he'd be leaving at the end of the school year.  Team was the guys that didn't really ever get to play much, but when they did...the whole bench wanted to see them hit and score.  Team was goofing off on the bus on the way back from games where we lost horribly...or distracting the coach at the quick stop, so one of us could buy tobacco.  Team, in a single scene, was a guy who wanted to punch my face in a few days before, talking me under a fly ball that I couldn't see because of the lights...right underneath it.  I never saw it until it hit my glove.  

You can go see the trophy we won that particular night, a trophy we weren't expected to win.  I'm pretty sure it still sits down there somewhere.  I don't need to go see it, I lived it.  I know what it meant then, and I know what it means now...that together, we can accomplish things that we cannot do alone.

I hope that is what our kids are learning in sports.  It doesn't appear that way from the outside.  From the outside, it appears that most of the teams I've seen are working very hard to find 5 Kevin Durant's and Russell Westbrook's to fill the court, or 9 Josh Hamilton's, Albert Pujols', or Derek Jeter's to put on the field.  

Who do they stand up and cheer for, when there are no Never-shoot's, or Brick's on their team.  When each weekend is another weekend tournament for yet another trophy?  What exactly are they learning about being on a team with people of different skill levels?  Are they learning the value of sacrifice of personal glory to give that light to another?

I learned quite a bit about life in sports...when I was a kid.  Some kids need help scoring.  Some kids are better than you.  Some the same as you...but grew up in a broken home.  Some kids had awesome ability, but never had owned a glove before in their life.  Some kids I knew borrowed uniforms from kids the year before.  Some kids had more expensive gear than our school could afford, and they still stunk.

I grew up as a Warrior, from my high school, and while the school has continued to grow well past the size when I was there...I still keep up with it when I can.  I look forward to seeing the people that helped me become better....a better me.  Becoming a Warrior was trophy enough for me.  I suppose that's the trophy I want for my son for participating....a better him.  He doesn't need a ribbon, nor want one...he keeps his little trophies, but doesn't really care for them much.  

I suppose I'm not asking for non-competitive sports...I think I'm asking for coaches that compete at coaching their kids...gauging their win / loss record on how far each kid progresses not on games won or lost.  Focusing on the kids..asking them, "did they have fun?  real fun?"  Teaching them to have fun when they lose.  Nobody goes undefeated forever..that's rule #1...and every coach should make it their mantra to make sure that no kid ever goes 0 and forever.

I got on this thought from a man known as Old Ben Parker...who once said to me, "Scotty, that boy ain't got much out there, and he's sure funny to watch....but, damn, he gives it all, every shot."

Of course he was talking about a father of four at an old man's alumni game...but I think he was talking more than just basketball....miss you Ben.

Blue..............................and pink

I shook your hand.  I'd have kissed your lips gladly.  I'm a married man, but it wouldn't have mattered...my wife would have kissed you too.

I was with the Senior Vice President of Sales and Business Development.

But he couldn't hear.

He bought the tickets.

Though he couldn't see.

I was in your world for a few minutes tonight.  You welcomed me as a long lost brother, waiting to see me home again.

I was alive.  Again.

You were older than I thought.  But beautiful nonetheless.  I shook your hand.

You gave me more than you could imagine.

You gave me my God back.

You were only a part of the show...a mime...bangin on your drums...dancing...reminding me that I was alive once again.  I'm not sure what language you spoke, but I got it....deep within me, something moved...again.

The Three opened the world as they do many nights...bringing lights, color and sound...serving as tour guides for those that would go...and playing a show for those that won't.

I saw the Blue Man Group tonight.  As I promised a friend I would, the next time I was in Vegas...on their home turf.

I can't even describe to you what it was like for me, save that I found something I'd lost, and had forgotten...like Toodles losing his marbles.

My good friend, I think you knew I'd find it.  I can't stop crying.  I just can't, I don't want to...it is so much fun.

Few places in this world speak my language, and it seemed that I'd forgotten it myself.  But, I found it.  It found me, however you want to put it.

What I saw in the Pink Drummer, I don't even know.  I kept asking myself, why am I watching them, but looking at you.  They were the show, and they were awesome...maybe it was that you...you get to live in that world...being a part of my temporary.

I mumbled a prayer before it started...something about worship, because I see God in places others don't...and it was heard.

If you are ever in Vegas...the Blue Man Group won't do you wrong.

Even if you don't speak the language.

I asked my colleague if he liked the show..."Yeah, it was a bit odd and sort of different, what'd you think?"

"They speak my language."

Upon Discussing The Lebron...a side tracked post from my other side...

I shall not rant against the Lebron.  I will share my thoughts on him though...

He has taken much criticism recently, and over the past year for the mistakes he made, or may not have made.  I've heard talk show hosts and their guests discuss his performance in the Finals, and the past year, since his departure from Cleveland.  A few people work to defend Lebron, claiming that he never asked to be a role model, while others appear to pin the weight of an entire team upon him.  I'm not so sure, but we Americans find this concept a bit difficult to hold in our Westernized brains...perhaps they are both a bit right and a bit off at the same time.

Did he ask for "it"?  Depends on how you describe "it" Mr. Senator.  

Is too much being put on his shoulders?  Probably.  We tend to mix emotions with facts, and our remembrance of history.  We also tend to blow up like Darth Vader when we are hurt...practically destroying everything around us.  

Did he bolt for a better opportunity?  Don't think we know just yet...but here's my take on the Man-Boy-King...

I was told, growing up, the following adage:  "High School teaches you to be a good citizen, College teaches you how to think".  I would adjust it a bit, through my own experience:  "High School teaches you that you have super powers, and College teaches you how to use them".  

Lebron, to me...above all else, represents a stereotypical American product.  He's a great player.  He's stayed out of trouble, and he's a solid product of a system designed to produce excellence at basketball.  He's used the capitalist system to his advantage, taking care of himself and his family.  He has won the game already...no matter what he does on the court.  

He's not well rounded, balanced, or overly achieving in other parts of his life (now that's my opinion, i.e. Bill Gates giving away billions).  Hold this thought:  "Higher education, as a descriptive term, represents something "higher", or "above" the normal standard".  

In college, I began learning that the world remains full of gray...High School taught me right and wrong, but the gray areas...that's a different story.  Navigating life, making a living, and having meaning in your life...well that's more art than science.  I know a few folk that learned how to make a living in college, but living a life...is different.

I could go on, but I'm really trying to get off my butt and write...I've been out of a job for a few months, and the depression side of me has been void of thoughts and desire to write.  This has been therapeutic, at the very least...

I could erase it all and sum it up concisely, which means my exercise has worked, my brain is finally working upon command...except for all the passive sentences.  Somewhere...the perfect English teacher, Ms. Stokes has just suffered a sudden chill, without knowing why...(I must maintain a sense of humor, or I'd have to edit the post for hours)

Lebron, I don't think, ever had a situation where the coach didn't care how good he was...or where he had to perform off the court, in order to earn the right to be on the court.  I'm not saying college athletes are brain surgeons, but they have to learn some discipline.  

Lebron, I don't think, ever had a coach say "just shut up, and sit your ass down, until I say get up again".  

Michael Jordan did.  To me, that makes all the difference....learning how to use your super powers.

He can learn, I hope he does.  Any actor stepping upon the stage takes the risk...so, yes, Lebron has asked for it all, he can step off the stage at any time.  I wish him success, but I also would rather see him be more like David Duval...fat, happy, with a family and never needing to win another game again to be happy.

I don't even think college teaches that...

Church League Basketball and Why I'm not a Contender anymore...

Middle of the third quarter, we are winning...and a guy bumps me underneath the goal while I'm up in the air for a rebound.  I don't fall, but I get really irritated.  Next time down, he bumps me again...

I go to center court, as they bring up the ball.  "That's my ball", I said, pointing to it.  I took the ball from him and made a layup.  

Back to center court...scene repeats itself.

And....again....

My team calls a timeout.  One of my best friends in the world, at the time, meets me on the court and says, "Why don't you sit down and rest a minute."

I look back at my team, and they are all down on the defensive end...looking at their shoes, or the lights, but not at me.  

Walking to the bench, a guy from the other team, Jim, stops me.  "Scott, you're good, but your up 45 points man, give me a break."

The score was 65 - 20.

As I sat down, my wife leans down to me and says, "Look over there...".  The other team's stands were filled.   My wife was the only person sitting on our side.  "I've never been more embarrassed to be your wife....that kid is thirteen."

So I was 30.  What difference does that make...I thought.  

The fact that I was overly competitive had dawned on me once or twice, but never had I seen it bare it's teeth like that night.  Something inside of me broke.  I was ashamed.  

Fast forward 10 years later...

I haven't played basketball for over 3 years.  Of the last 2 games I've played, I wound up having micro-fracture surgery on my right knee, followed by 6 weeks on a couch...and 9 months of rehab...only to come back and get undercut and break my wrist in the next game back.  6 weeks in a cast, and another 2 months of rehab.  

"I'm not gonna lecture you Scott, but you might think about slowing down just a bit", the doctor had said.

I'm not against competition, not at all.  But I couldn't answer a question I'd come to ask myself, "What, exactly are you trying to accomplish?"  I realized that I am against a rabid need to win.  I see it in college athletics.  I see it in high school athletics.  I see it in little league. 

I wonder if we've seen the death of true competition.  To compete is to put forth your best, lay it out there and see...check, or test yourself, on faring against others.  Combining a need to win with competition creates an imbalance in your life...you're trying to feed yourself on something intended for enjoyment.  You compete, you win, you lose, you shake your opponents hand, or give him a hug.  When you need to win, and don't, you  turn inside of yourself...if not checked, you can turn hateful.

I turned to athletics as a coping mechanism, for some dark years of my life...couple that with the Lord's blessing of a fairly athletic body with good coordination, and you wake up one day as a beast of sorts.  

Sports should be fun.  I could cartwheel onto a soapbox about professional sports, or little league select teams, but that's not my bag.  I don't know how to fix things of that magnitude.  

The last few years that I played basketball, I focused on the latter part of Michael Jordan's career.  He became an excellent leader, and a player who made his whole team better.  The days of Michael taking the last shot, in a clear out situation were long gone.  He spent time on the bench as well.   

Life has so much to offer, if you actually go and live "the life" part of a life...  Tucking yourself into a cocoon of  minor league, or neighborhood league, or city league stardom simply isn't worth it...if, that is, it costs you as much as it did me.  

I play golf now, and run (or at least I say I do).  I play against the course, and against myself.  Only rarely will I actually admit that I'd like to beat the person I'm with...  I'd also be honest to say that in golf...it is fun to want your partners to hit good shots, and to make putts...everybody can enjoy it.

It isn't that I subscribe to the notion that we can all be winners, though I think it is true of me.  When you enter into the ultra competitive world of athletics, Who you know, or Who your dad knows, or What team you are on, and a whole host of other non-sports related issues factor into the game.  I long for the days of my youth, when my country town had a little league, and we played the other towns around...nobody switched teams, nobody drafted...there were no select teams....just a bunch of 8-10 year olds wishing their uncle would give them some chewing tobacco...and that they wouldn't get caught.  

I've never beaten myself at golf.  I've never beaten a course...even one that's only 13 years old.

In God's Country

Bono rings out the words early:

Rivers run, but soon run dry, we need new dreams tonight.

I suppose it doesn't really matter who you are, or what you do, the river will eventually run dry....just ask Charlie Sheen.  I gotta love Charlie, but he's a total basket case.  Why do we love watching the freaks?  I might not know why, but I do.  I would, however, report to all you duffers out there that I would have said I had the blood of a Chupacabra, rather than a lame old tiger.  Charlie needs a new dream...and...I do too.

My wife completes her third year of medical school in a month or so.  Soon, probably sooner than I'll be ready, she'll be applying and hopefully gaining a residency.  To those of us that won't be doctors any time soon, that means that she'll become an income producer, which would be the next step to having Adonis DNA, on her way to making millions per hour (or so I like to keep the dream going in my head).  

Regardless of what she winds up doing, or where she winds up doing it...she'll be a fantastic doctor, you should come see her sometime...I will have an opportunity to chase a dream.  Whatever I want to do, I'll have the opportunity to branch out, and seek a new adventure.  I won't be able slack...much, if you've ever met my wife, but I will be able to chase different opportunities that were previously not within my grasp.

What will that be?

I've no friggin clue.  I started this journey believing that I had 5-6 years to decide what I wanted to do.  Time's a-wasting Speedy.

I have found myself in a situation, where I have to begin to define, and act, upon my dreams.  

I need new dreams.

A friend asked me a very eye-opening question earlier today,  "Are you having a hard time with this, because maybe you haven't ever gotten to choose?"

My life has been filled with adventure, mistakes, successes and tragedy.  I wouldn't trade any of it, but there's truth to what he's pointing at.  I've never chosen.  I've always lived my life seeking opportunities, and took them, when they opened up.  Not discriminately, mind you.  I graduated from college, yes, but that was a mission in itself.  I've had jobs after college, but that was because I had to work.  I've never started with an idea, researched it, and made good on acting it out in real life.  

Perhaps, I've lived my life passively, under the guise of being quick on my feet. 

Perhaps, it's time I got off my ass and figured out what I want to do with my life.  

I don't think you can do it for me...and I'm passed the point of believing that God will deliver a package, or a fortune cookie with a job title treasured within it.  I do believe that I have God's support...that is, as long as I don't start my own porn company, or something stupid like that.  I have permission.  I have a commission.  I have opportunity.  

When all you've done with your life centers around surviving, what do you do when the danger is gone?  No fight or flight...just an open road, full tank of gas, and a good set of tunes to serenade you...which road do you take?

I've got some boundaries, and a family to take care of, but other than that, I can do pretty much whatever I choose.  

How does the choice get chosen?

I could keep re-describing my situation for hours...I'd better get to doing some research.  

No 3-wood here, no iron off the tee...gotta take out the big stick and let her rip.  Head down, watch the ball, knees bent, follow through...