Run, Run, Get Some

Run, run, get some...

That is my favorite saying when I go out on a race or a long run.  I don’t know where it came from so I either made it up or stole it from someone or something so long ago I can no longer remember.  My kids know the saying and Lisa says it everyone in a while.

Today was TJ’s first track meet. Lisa signed him up for a community track team because TJ is a runner.  I love the boy with all my being but the poor guy has no hand and eye coordination for baseball, basketball, or soccer.  But, oh, he can run.

TJ is graceful when he runs.  It is as if he glides through the space in front of him. He has long legs and purposeful, deep, full strides.  It is a beautiful thing to watch him run.

I don’t know how fast he is compared to other runners but I told him that someone is always going to be faster than you, the only person you run against is yourself.  I don’t want him to get discouraged if he doesn’t come in the top three and he should never hear that kind of disappointment from a parent.  No, I want him to go out and have fun and love the moment.

Yes, this is about me too.  I see so much of me in him at that age.  I was lousy at team sports.  I didn’t run track until high school at John S. Burke Catholic.  When I did I was okay but not great.  Had I trained and focused I would have been a much better young athlete.  It wasn’t until my twenties until I began to run more regularly and even had some top thee finishes in some 5k races.  So, to see that potential in him makes me want and hope for TJ to like it too.

Next January, TJ is going to run part of the Disney marathon weekend with me - the 5k portion of my Dopey Challenge.  I can't wait to be in the starting corral with him waiting for the countdown and starting gun.

I watched the video of his first race.  A 100m dash.  His second race was a 400m race. 

I missed being there but I felt him soar.

. 

A Collection of Silly Faces

Tongue(s) Out: 1-0

Tongues Out: 3-0

Tongues Out 3-4

Tongues Out: 4-5

Tongues Out: 6-6

Tongues Out: 8-6 (Sam with the win!)

A Memory from My Youth

Odd that this should come to me now. For the record, it is 1:08am, April 24, 2017, and I am fighting jet lag from my trip back from Kansas, USA to Camp Arifjan, Kuwait.  It isn’t the time or place that is odd – it is the memory itself.

I remember tobogganing at the Monroe Country Club when I was a kid along with my brother, Andy, and friends, Pat and Mike. Growing up in Monroe, NY, I lived at 4 Barnett Road East, off of Still Road. Across the street was Monroe Country Club, an eighteen-hole golf course set in a little valley between Still Road and Stage Road.  The valley was steep in places and in the winter time the snow made for conditions that could not be passed up.  It seemed to snow more and deeper back then and I recall many trips in calf-to-knee deep snow to get to the top of the hill. 

The best hill on the course started off on a tee and sloped immediately down to another tee on another part of the course and then that tee dropped off.  This let the riders get up enough speed to jump – or get airborne – off the second tee. 

It was all about speed.  If you came off the first slope fast enough you would fly off the second tee and ride all the way to the bottom of the hill several hundred feet away. 

We owned a four-seat toboggan that my Uncle Ed Mooney made for us.  The contraption was solid wood, heavy as the dickens, had some padding, and yellow nylon rope to hold on to, but – and here is the important part – NO way to steer.  Maneuvering this beast required the rider to lean or drag a foot off of the left or right. In other words, you were at the mercy of gravity and the snow.  AND you did not want to be in its path.

We would pack two to six people on the toboggan.  Sometimes we would sit front to back with legs wrapped around the person in front creating a locked chain of humanity. Sometimes we would stack ourselves like cordwood three deep. If there were other people there that we knew we would make a train, ten kids on four sleds, careening down the hill.

Because one jump was never enough, kids would put their resources into build ramps further down the hill for a second attempt at flight.  It was a goal to get to the bottom but even more fun if you got thrown off on a jump.  How we never broke a bone or compressed a spinal column amazes me to this day. 

We were kids. Not even, or just barely teenagers. 

I can remember the long walks up and down the slope and the eventual longer walk back to the house, near frozen and red faced.  It. Was. Glorious. Looking back, nothing about those days was bad at all.

Fast forward to 2009.  I still owned that toboggan. I even used it a couple of times at the park in Cortland, NY. It was one of those family heirlooms that I had no desire to get rid of until we moved to North Carolina. I willed it, so to speak, to the Lime Hollow Nature Center in Cortland, NY, that is run by Glenn Reisweber, a friend of mine. It is still there, 2017, propped up outside along with a pair of snowshoes, still ready to go. 

It's going to be over 100 degrees today without a hill in sight for hundreds of miles. Yet I can close my eyes and feel that cold rush racing down the hill.  That is a good memory. 

The Precipice on a Foggy Day

I had the opportunity to walk through the National World War I Museum in Kansas City, Missouri last week as I was finishing up my Pre-Command Course.  It was one of those last minute decisions brought about by the chance of having half a day off and picking between sitting in my room and watching Netflix or driving 45 minutes to downtown KC,MO.  A word of advice, always pick the adventure.

As an aside, my grandfather, Rodney A. Brown, served in the Great War. My father served in Korea in 1953, immediately after the ceasefire, and then there is my service. 

The round museum compels you to walk counter clockwise starting with the war years from 1914-1917 – the years before the US entered the war. The second half of the museum focuses on the United States entering the war and goes through Armistice Day (now known as Veteran’s Day).  The museum is magnificent with uniforms, weapons, artifacts, memories, and a rich history of the Great War.

In the nineteen-teens the nations of Europe were very connected economically and socially to one another.  Even the leaders of some of the great nations of Britain, Germany, and Russia were related to one another. In the face of this prosperity, there was no real reason to go to war. Yet, the drum beats were there.  While the facts that started the War are known to history, one can only wonder what was on the minds of people in the months and weeks leading up to that first shot that brought the world to its knees.  

I cannot help but wonder if we hear those drum beats again across the Pacific and in Europe. The telltale signs are there. Leaders who will not back down. Military advantages that we don’t want our adversaries to have. Fear of losing power or not being powerful enough. The far too distant memories of a major war that sent thousands home in coffins and many more with scars, both visible and invisible.  Maybe I am too sensitive to war and think too much that “history repeats itself.”  

It seems like we are walking in a dense fog on the side of a mountain. We know there is a ledge there.  We know the fall is perilous. Yet we continue to walk around hoping that we do not step off rather than stop and wait until it gets clear.

I want to be wrong. I would like the “kind” in humankind to prevail. We don’t need another war museum.

The paradox is that I would want my children to serve our nation in uniform. I would prefer it was without ever having to pick up a weapon in anger.  Might is a deterrence and using it should be a last resort. 

I am glad that I went to the museum to honor those men who shipped off to war 100 years ago and to keep my perspective on who I am and where we are today.

Finally, (as not be a total downer of a post) remember that there is a lot of love in the world. Do not underestimate its power.  It starts with family and extends outward in the relationships we have. Love is a powerful weapon. 

What Matters

Sitting in Kansas with a moment to reflect on the things that matter on the eve of my 50th birthday.

I am blessed with three great kids, an amazing wife, and good friends and family who remind me that I am loved. 

At this age I suppose some people would be looking at the status quo in life, or at least a steady state of affairs that are predictable.  My life could be no further than that.  I suppose that is strange because when I was younger I knew I wanted stability and predictability. 

But then, what are those things?


I have the stability of a wonderful marriage and good children.  Everything else is simply not what I expected.  I am still in the Army after 30 years of service.  I am currently deployed to the Middle East for the third time.  I am about to take command of huge organization that is spread across five states with missions in Europe and Africa - with a current world outlook that is bleaker than it has been in twenty-five years.  And, oh by-the-way, this is my part time career.

I have full time job that I am currently on leave from and the promise of another fifteen plus years in for the government.  I could leave public service for great financial rewards and benefits - I suppose.  However, I seem to have enough plates spinning as it is.

But what matters?


What matters is Samantha, TJ, Grant, and Lisa. 

Samantha is still in NY - next to impossible to get her to Ft. Leavenworth for the limited time I had - but we got to FaceTime and chat.

I got to see the boys last week when I traveled to Kansas for my Pre Command Course and Betty (always gracious with her money) flew the kids out to see me.  Grant's hug was big and warm and long. TJ seemed thrilled to differ being the "man of the house" to me for a couple of days. We wrestled and played. We burped and farted.  All wonderful. 

I had two evenings alone with the one person who is keeping everything together.  I can't image my life without all that Lisa has brought to it; a home, children, and love. 

It's good to be 50 and know what matters.