That Day

This morning, at 7:46 AM CST, I sat at my son's preschool in Liberty, Missouri, and tried to coax him into playing with the playdough. Five years ago, at that exact moment, I was standing in line at the Chase Manhattan Bank on 3rd Ave in midtown Manhattan. Relatively speaking, I wasn't anywhere close to the World Trade Center on That Day.

At the time, I didn't know anyone who worked in the towers. To this day, I don't know anyone who lost a loved one. But I can still smell the horrible fumes. I remember the fliers with the faces of the missing. And I can still hear my mother sobbing when she finally got in touch with me at work. I still remember walking up a deserted Park Avenue at 5:30 PM. I still remember feeling trapped on the island, and buying whatever food was available at our neighborhood cafe. I still remember how safe I felt inside Park Avenue Christian Church, yet so vulnerable at the same time.

To this day, I am still learning how I felt That Day. I am still learning how my wife felt That Day.

This morning, though, as I sat with my son and quietly noticed the time ... I didn't know how to feel. It seemed everything around me was telling me that time marches on. My son is only 2 and a half years old and will probably never believe where his mother and father where when the planes hit the towers.

There's still a part of me, though, that refuses to forget the emotions of that day. I worry that if I don't watch the clips and look at the pictures that I will somehow eventually gloss over what happened. I'm afraid that it will somehow get sanitized in my mind.

I do know that day is a watershed day for everyone. For me, it seems so much of who I am has been shaped by the events of those days.

This blog started out with the goal of learning who I was at 30. Obviously, the answer to that question begins with a story of who I was at 25 and how I dealt with pain, anger, fear, frustration, love, kindness, hope and growth.

I believe the greatest impact, though, has been on my spirituality and what I believe. A direct result of That Day is this simple belief: God's grace is for everyone.

Trust Yourself

Last year Steve Jobs gave a commencement speech at Stanford. Transcripts of the speech are now circulating around the world. If you want to read it, just Google "transcript commencement speech Steve Jobs." You'll find it, trust me.

The first portion of the speech is about trusting yourself because at some point in your life, you'll be able to look back and connect the dots. At that point, everything will make sense.

It reminded me of one of the most powerful lines I've ever heard: "Where there is no faith in the future, there is no power in the present." I would give proper attribution, but I couldn't tell you where I heard it. Despite what you know about copyright law, some messages are more important than the messenger.

I was reminded of these messages today as I sat in church. It was around this time last year when my wife and I came to the conclusion we needed a new church home. There were many reasons, but we both knew it was true.

We trusted our instincts. And looking back, the power in that moment is stunning.

Today our son is attending the day care at our new church (he loves it). My wife and I have found new friends and a Sunday School class we love. And our minister is amazingly dynamic and intellectually challenging. The bottom line is we feel more at home in this church than we have since leaving our church in New York.

Trust yourself. There is power in the present.

What happened?

If this blog was meant to create a snapshot of who I am at 30, then it is safe to say I am someone who can lose an entire month with a blink of an eye.

I meant to post something. Honest.

It would seem silly to try to sum up a month in one post -- especially with a two-year-old son sleeping upstairs. Needless to say, a lot has happened. Most significantly, the aforementioned son turned two.

We also went on vacation to Florida to see the Cardinals' Spring Training (my birthday gift from my wonderful wife), and it seems as though I've been trying to catch up at work ever since.

I've tried to finish a paper for a law journal (It's coming tomorrow, Rich. I promise!). I've obligated myself to co-author another article (The outline is coming this week, Joe. I promise!).

And that's just the fun stuff.

Can someone mow my yard?

A New Bed

My son is growing up quickly. Of course, as I told my wife, children tend to do that.

It is a rare day that goes by when my son does not amaze me or my wife. On Saturday, after I went into the garage to get the last of the groceries, my son called out “Dad. Dad! … Russ!” It was the first time he had ever referred to me by my name.

When I came back in, my wife was in absolute awe as she told me the story.

It then dawned on me that I had heard him calling for her by name two nights earlier – the pacifier had obscured the clarity of her name at the time, though it now rang clear in my mind.

As I told her the story of his calls for her by name, he looked at us and said, “Russ. Lauren.” He had proven his point. Not yet two, there is little that gets past him.

Another hurdle in his development was cleared on Sunday night when my son moved from his crib to his toddler bed.

We’ve been prepping him for the transition for a couple of weeks. It started with a new nightly routine of reading books in our bed from 7:30 to 8, then lights out. After he was fast asleep, I would move him to his crib.

Today we got the mattress for his new bed and finished the room’s transition from a nursery to a toddler room. At 7:30, it was time to read books in his new bed.

After lights out, I watched him try to get comfortable in his new bed. As he settled in, I prayed that this bed would one day be the most comfortable place he could imagine.

One of my most cherished memories from my childhood is waking up on a summer day, with the sun shining through the Venetian blinds. I can still feel the warmth of my water bed – which my childhood friends would swear was set at a temperature just a few degrees shy of boiling.

I felt safe and secure in my bed. I hope one day, my son feels the same about his bed.

Why We Spoil Our Children

I'll say up front this is not meant to be a story of avarice. I will be the first to admit my blessings and give thanks for each and every one of them. That said, I bought a soccer ball on the way home from work today because we were kicking a volleyball around the back yard over the weekend.

When I gave my son the new soccer ball, his delight was obvious. It's hard to forget the big smile as he hugged the ball and waved it back and forth.

I will say, I thought I had picked out a good one. It's a red ball with black and silver stripes. It's pretty cool.

Even though it was well past time for his bath and to the point when he needed to be winding down for the night, he was ready to put the new soccer ball to good use. His delight quickly turned to displeasure with me when I told him we couldn't go outside. "Tomorrow," I promised him.

Even despite the rebuke, the gift was clearly well received -- which is why I think parents can find it so easy to spoil their children.

Here's hoping there is more joy in putting the ball to good use.

Fun in the Sun

This weekend the weather warmed up enough to allow us to play outside. So we dug out the t-ball set and a ball to kick around. My son so enjoyed the chance to run around on Saturday that he eagerly agreed to reprise the activity on Sunday.

After about 20 minutes, my son was less inclined to play any sort of structured game. Instead, he was content to just roll in the grass like it was a million dollars.

It took a few minutes for my inner child to shout loud enough to drown out the adult struggling to get my son's attention. Just roll in the grass with him!

Here's to letting the inner child win and living in the moment.

The Sadness of Sport

During a rough stretch -- for instance, a three-week stretch at work where you're hopelessly overwhelmed by the volume of work and mired in a chain of unfortunate circumstances -- we naturally look for diversions. To many, sports provides a two- or three-hour escape from every-day pressures.

That's supposed to be the upside of sport.

The downside is often people put as much focus and importance on something even less under their control than their day-to-day lives. As a consequence, what should be a nice escape only fuels otherwise escalating pressures.

I've known this truth for a long time. It was one of the reasons I chose to get out of sports journalism and go to law school.

Even though I know this truth, and try to keep a healthy perspective, I still find it had to escape the sadness of sport.

I was reminded of this following the Men's National Team's 4-0 win over Guatemala. I was reading the game stories on-line, when I notices some of the International headlines. Managers under fire, fan misbehavior, etc.

I thought to myself: I'm glad that hasn't hit U.S. soccer.

Then it hit me -- fan support is a dual-edge sword. On one hand, U.S. soccer is growing its fanbase to ensure viability. On the other hand, without the unwashed masses, it avoids some of the ugliness that invades the "major" American sports. And therein lies the sadness of sport.

Of the games I watched this weekend, the one I enjoyed the most was the one I don't have to talk about on Monday.

Don't get me wrong -- I still love the shared experience sports provides. I love the time and connection it can provide with friends and family. What I could do without are those fans who turn sport into more than what it is, and the fans who make the shared experience some sort of intellectual challenge only they have mastered.