tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21874346956813909792024-03-05T08:33:20.872-08:00CoachdadListen Up... Or take a lap!Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-11360739631803660622011-04-08T18:45:00.000-07:002017-04-03T07:56:00.484-07:00Feeling good about being 40On most birthdays, I am reflective. I look back on the past year and find fault in nearly everything I have done and promise not to make the same mistakes.<br /><br />Not this year.<br /><br />I turned 40 yesterday and it was undoubtedly the best birthday I have had as an adult. Instead of reflecting, I sat back and enjoyed my day at work, enjoyed my four daughters, and had found great peace in the time that I spent with Jen. <br /><br />It couldn't have gone any better. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say that I am truly happy. I have everything that I could possibly want at this time in my life.<br /><br />Despite major budget concerns, I still have a great job. I have great kids that still drive me nuts, however, I wouldn't want it any other way. And, I have a meaningful, loving relationship with a woman who allows me to be me. <br /><br />As great as all those things are, the most important aspect of my happiness falls directly on the fact that I am content and happy with myself as a person. There is no better feeling to have.<br /><br />I recently ran into a friend who used to read my blog when I posted on a regular basis and he ended our conversation with a question. His question was simply, "Coach, why don't you blog anymore? You used to write all the time and I really enjoyed your shit."<br /><br />Seems like an easy enough question to answer, however, I was stumped. It is isn't because I am too busy with work or being a single father. I probably have more free time than ever since I stepped down as my school's head football coach in December.<br /><br />The answer came as I was driving home and it was answer that I hadn't expected. Simply put, I don't post as much now because I no longer need the affirmation that I received from the readers with their comments and emails after I finished a post.<br /><br />When I started blogging, I was in a relationship with a woman that I loved dearly. However, the relationship was unfulfilling for us both as we never seemed able to find time for each other. There were other issues, however, it came down to the simple fact that neither of us were truly getting what we wanted or needed in a relationship.<br /><br />Also during the start of my blogging experience, the constant losing in football made others and myself constantly questioning my ability as a coach and left me miserable more times than not. It was ugly for me in every sense of the word, as my feelings of self-worth centered around what we did on the football field and how people thought of me as a coach.<br /><br />While myself and a lot of the other people ridiculed me on a daily basis on my team's performances, people who read my blog had no problem complimenting my writing and complimenting me as a father, and with it, I felt good about myself again.<br /><br />I fed off the comments and would run to the computer at all times of the day, hoping someone left me a comment. It felt good to feel good again about something <em>I</em> was doing.<br /><br />Two years later, I don't need any one else to make me feel good about myself. All I need to do is look at the relationships I have with my kids, my students, my co-workers, and with Jen, and that is all the affirmation I need now.<br /><br />If there is anything that I would like to change from yesterday to my next birthday, it is this: I want to blog again on a consistent basis. This time around, I am going to blog because I enjoy writing and I enjoyed getting to know so many of you who I would still consider friends.<br /><br />Hell... this time around, you don't even have to leave me a comment.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-67741885767914309872011-01-02T21:10:00.000-08:002011-01-02T21:13:24.627-08:00Giving the bird to Mother Nature<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjETg8JBQhowTgvCj49rtlvT4ysYwSV1te5nID4PvWNhB2prCRYpe6ks8Mr-22W-SKn2odTH6QXJsyccgnz2KhhYYnQ2-BMaS_71hUJ3E4xIhEFnp0r8MLX_huGuviCYxQA7E4AwGfZ9da/s1600/snow+pics.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjETg8JBQhowTgvCj49rtlvT4ysYwSV1te5nID4PvWNhB2prCRYpe6ks8Mr-22W-SKn2odTH6QXJsyccgnz2KhhYYnQ2-BMaS_71hUJ3E4xIhEFnp0r8MLX_huGuviCYxQA7E4AwGfZ9da/s400/snow+pics.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557823383055829794" /></a><br /><br />Dear Mother Nature,<br /><br />Let me to take a minute to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. You picked the day before my girls were to go back to school to blanket my Southern California desert town with snow. Thank you so much for that. I was so looking forward to driving them to school, opening the passenger door, throwing them out, and heading home for a day of quiet and doing nothing. But, no. At 8 p.m., the school called with an automated message confirming my fears that there would be no school. And, with the way California schools react to the oddity of snow, they will more than likely cancel school again Tuesday. I cannot wait to have them come in and out of the house all day long, bringing with them wet clothes, snowballs, every kid on the block, and requests for hot chocolate. Ahh, and to do it on a day that I already had off. You couldn't wait till next Monday, the first day I was to be back in the classroom. Nope, you decide to really mess with me. So, thank you. Thank you very much you selfish bitch.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Coachdad<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-74805245630427639682010-12-24T00:41:00.001-08:002010-12-24T01:18:45.070-08:00Finding perspective just in time<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCIOWFvhHd4C39dPcGF48QgySdiOGrQL6U8MyLeZsuu0hKY1IKn1TulbKIK29WjjLjqXTi4TN9x5KqiI3FrypELMHdCnUdw2cW0lJG97Z7Rs_tR1MfAOEP_yiZtt3MpZ01zGgMOELuE_a/s1600/DSC01390.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCIOWFvhHd4C39dPcGF48QgySdiOGrQL6U8MyLeZsuu0hKY1IKn1TulbKIK29WjjLjqXTi4TN9x5KqiI3FrypELMHdCnUdw2cW0lJG97Z7Rs_tR1MfAOEP_yiZtt3MpZ01zGgMOELuE_a/s400/DSC01390.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554163362240813794" /></a><br />It's time to start writing again. It has been too long.<br /><br />A lot has happened since I last posted with any regularity. Life changing events that I may or may not get into at a later date. What I will say is that I am glad to be back.<br /><br />It has been too long.<br /><br />Christmas is tomorrow and I couldn't be happier. All four of my daughters, my brother and sister-in-law, two of Jen's kids, and her sister and mother will all be at my house for dinner tonight. Jen and I no doubt will be going nuts with all the company, yet, neither of us would have it any other way.<br /><br />The fact that Jen and her kids will be over is a huge victory for me. I almost lost her two months ago. Seems she could no longer handle my inability to handle coaching football in the no-win situation I was in.<br /><br />I got so bad during this last football season that I alienated every one I worked for, with, and those who worked under me. And, in the process, I forgot those who were most important, my girls and Jen.<br /><br />My girls never really complained. They continued to go to practice day after day with me and put up with my yelling at them for not leaving me alone while I coached. They did it in weather that ranged from hotter than hell in the late summer, to colder than shit in the early winter.<br /><br />And, they have done it their whole lives while never complaining that my career has kept them from playing youth sports, taking piano lessons, or cheer leading for their schools with their friends. To them, me coaching football was what WE did as a family. But, it shouldn't be that way.<br /><br />I should be the one in the stands watching them.<br /><br />It took looking over at my girls during a practice in late October that it was time for a change. They were bundled up and huddled together while trying to do their homework. And, that change meant that Coachdad was about to be just Dad.<br /><br />Ironically, a week after I made my decision to walk away from the <a href="http://coachblogger25.blogspot.com/2009/02/realizing-dream.html">only job</a> I have ever wanted, Jen informed me that she would be moving out in November. I was told I allowed the job to affect me to the point that she can no longer handle being around me and that for her own sanity, she had to leave.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUehDww4Jv8KcNHx4Vcc2EM2Vr5aHYjBSRvxcyme9QHP9WHwMg4SKghsy186XJ-fCOhjdJnFLQ5oy80Jvifz4ve1-rDpAasKOea8kngBE7sffS2hJKdO0TsTtcn1mde2Un7T8SyT2MkbUz/s1600/photo+jen.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUehDww4Jv8KcNHx4Vcc2EM2Vr5aHYjBSRvxcyme9QHP9WHwMg4SKghsy186XJ-fCOhjdJnFLQ5oy80Jvifz4ve1-rDpAasKOea8kngBE7sffS2hJKdO0TsTtcn1mde2Un7T8SyT2MkbUz/s400/photo+jen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554164114287198770" /></a><br /><br />Thankfully, she didn't leave. I was able to convince her that the Brett that she fell in love would be back. The Brett that had perspective, that was able to put family and loved ones ahead of everything else, and the Brett that was able to make her laugh endlessly.<br /><br />That Brett is still here and isn't going anywhere. And, like I said earlier, I am glad to be back.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-31608458542269130472010-06-20T16:55:00.001-07:002010-06-20T16:57:59.541-07:00Happy Fathers' Day, Dad!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2OQV_xkRMFaMg1Qcg-6Jxz0Ei2xyP21CSCdDVMXxtz_P3gYPGuzKkfiEAkWrdp4-9H4OKmxVPkJG39Qa-WRFp72wkb7shXSpj2U5GKuLTqCOiUhrm2OTuj-GWb73LeMsWVQOYCwJYuaRG/s1600/dad+and+girls.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 104px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2OQV_xkRMFaMg1Qcg-6Jxz0Ei2xyP21CSCdDVMXxtz_P3gYPGuzKkfiEAkWrdp4-9H4OKmxVPkJG39Qa-WRFp72wkb7shXSpj2U5GKuLTqCOiUhrm2OTuj-GWb73LeMsWVQOYCwJYuaRG/s400/dad+and+girls.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485009044533293218" /></a><br />My father with my girls and !<br /><br />Thank you for everything, Dad! I love you and can't thank you enough for teaching me how to be a single father. You truly are my hero!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-29840389693818612922010-02-13T11:01:00.000-08:002010-02-13T11:03:44.197-08:00Valentines' Day(My post from 2009... I am poet, and didn't know it. Glad to say that I am one of the ones with love.)<br /><br /><strong>Those with love</strong><br />Smile in the joy of having what so many of us desire<br />Embrace this perfect gift and remember what brought it to you<br />Every detail and loving gesture that lit the heart's fire<br />Should be continued through and through by you two<br /><br /><strong>Those without love</strong><br />The hope of love can be the greatest love of all<br />Beating inside you with what you seek out<br />Never compromise youself, never fall<br />For one day you will find love, there is no doubt<br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qWBKBkEJQRk&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qWBKBkEJQRk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-69657643122305264952010-02-10T06:57:00.000-08:002010-02-10T06:59:38.069-08:00Help us all<em>(I have been super busy with work and working on another project to write lately. So, here is an older post that relates to the weather we are currntly experiencing in Southern California.)</em><br /><br />If you turn on the local news in Southern California the last couple of days, you would think that we were under attack.<br /><br />News vans in every suburban city, residents rushing to the local <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Walmart</span> to grab supplies, conversations in line at the bank yesterday centered on how long the suffering would continue, and cable/satellite and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">internet</span> services flickering off and on had it's customers wondering how long it would it last.<br /><br />What's going on in the land of movie stars, surgically-enhanced body parts, and just your every day quacks that reside with me in one of the most populated regions in our country?<br /><br />Rain.<br /><br />That's it. Fucking rain. I am embarrassed to even admit it. Rain is turning Southern California into a scene that resembles one you would find in the movie Independence Day.<br /><br />It started on Thursday and has continued sporadically ever since. In my desert community, we even had some hail. I even had to pull out a jacket with a <em>hood</em> last night when I went to my basketball game.<br /><br />Where is Barack Obama and government assistance when you need it?<br /><br />Already a bitch to drive in and around Los Angeles, the weather has made local drivers even harder to handle. A trip that normally takes five minutes to take, now takes 30 minutes as drivers limp through every intersection at the first sign of rain.<br /><br />Throw in the want-to-be NASCAR drivers who continue to drive 20 miles over the speed limit and you get a reported 104 accidents in Los Angeles in the first nine hours of the storm. Makes you want to just stay home and watch TV.<br /><br />The news is what entertains me the most on raining days.<br /><br />The first 15 minutes of the newscast is dedicated to the weather. The economy and the Senate's impending vote on the recovery plan would have to wait. Forget about getting any real news.<br /><br />Thanks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">TiVO</span>, I couldn't help but continually rewind reporters interviewing residents and how they are dealing with the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">phenomenon of water falling from the sky. Here is my favorite:</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Reporter: "How are you handling all the rain?"</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">LA resident: "We are trying not to go out in it. I know we need it, but it has just been so much. I am afraid to even go out and drive in it. My husband has been in the garage making sand bags just in case we need it. We just hope we can make it through the weekend."</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Reporter: "Well, thank you. Good luck to you and your family."</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Make it through the weekend? Are you kidding me? It's rain and according to the Los Angeles Times, LA has had a grand total 1.47 inches in two days. </span>Reports are a new storm is supposed to hit Southern California some time Monday.<br /><br />Please pray for us as we go through this tough time.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-43545112245861382572010-02-02T22:36:00.001-08:002010-02-02T22:40:15.374-08:00Girls will be boys?There are times as a single father that I think God is looking down at me and laughing his butt off. In so many ways, he really did play a cruel joke on me.<br /><br />Four girls. Four of them. Not one little boy in the whole litter.<br /><br />When I found out that I was going to be a father for the first time in 1997, I continually daydreamed of playing catch with "little Brett". Day after day, me and the little guy outside laughing it up while throwing around the pigskin.<br /><br />Then, after nine months of playing out this fantasy, came Kern. A beautiful, healthy, blue-eyed girl. Disappointment was non-existent as I was thrilled to be a father. Besides, I had plenty of time to have a boy.<br /><br />Then, came Savannah. Followed by Shelby, And, finally, Alani. Four girls for the football coach. There would be no more trying for the elusive boy. I was done after four.<br /><br />I'd like to think that I have done a pretty good job of raising girls on my own. I do as much as any man can be expected to do to allow girls to be girls. The last thing I have wanted to do was to try and raise my girls as boys by only introducing them to what would typically be classified as "boy" stuff.<br /><br />I have let them apply make-up to my face, have played Barbies with them, and have watched endless amounts of fashion shows. I have even participated in a conversation with them over who would be a better a boyfriend, Troy from the High School Musical trilogy or Jackson from the Hannah Montana television show.<br /><br />I picked Troy because he was the better athlete, while they picked him because he was "cuter". Whatever.<br /><br />So... Sunday morning I stood in the hallway watching my girls pretty themselves up on their own while getting ready for Church. They were facing a full-length mirror on the closet door, admiring their outfits and hairdo. It was one of the cutest things I have seen as a father.<br /><br />With a great sense of pride, I continued to watch while thinking that I was actually playing a role in raising girls who would one day grow into beautiful women. I finally turned around and began to walk back to my room when Alani said something that made me stop.<br /><br />"Hey Vannah," she said.<br /><br />"Yea?"<br /><br />"Fart on my face, then I will fart on yours. OK?"<br /><br />"OK."<br /><br />Damn. Looks like there is more work to be done.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-49705473587761580772010-01-31T17:58:00.000-08:002010-01-31T18:26:26.174-08:00Just keep swimmingSitting in a bar last weekend with some of the top high school football coaches in the country, a coach with more than 100 career wins came to my table and asked me if he could sit down and talk for a few minutes. He was one of the presenters at the clinic and said he wanted to ask me a few questions.<br /><br />What the hell would he want to ask me? I have won one game in the last two years. Does he want to know how to keep a head coaching job despite not winning?<br /><br />"Yea Coach, ask me anything," I said. <br /><br />"First, can I buy you a beer or anything?"<br /><br />"No, thank you. I am good."<br /><br />"Well, I overheard you last night talking to some other coaches about how you lucked out that your kids were with your ex-wive this weekend, allowing you to come to the clinic. My wife just left me and took my three kids. She told me she is going to fight for full custody because she doesn't think I can be a single Dad with all the responsibilities that come along with coaching.<br /><br />"I don't know what to do. She is right in a way... football takes so much time. I don't know how I can do it all and yet still do what it takes to be a coach. But, I can't not be around my kids. I am seriously thinking about quitting football."<br /><br />I was floored. I never imagined that this is what he wanted to talk about when he sat down next to me. <br /><br />I have been exactly where he is now. Five years ago and two months after my youngest daughter was born, my ex and I officially separated. At that time, I wasn't coaching football and there was no way I could have coached at that time.<br /><br />I was too heartbroken, too emotional, and too overwhelmed to do anything than other than survive. In a flash, my whole life was in disarray and I saw no way to overcome the state I was in.<br /><br />The only thing that got me out of bed at that time was my kids. I had no choice. They needed me to function as mininmally as I was for their own survival.<br /><br />Honestly, if I was given a choice of staying and raising my kids on my own or running as far away as possible, I might have chosen the latter. I'd like to be able to say that my love for my girls made me stay. But, what really made me stay was that those little girls needed me to.<br /><br />I remember so many nights leaving work, rushing over to their daycare facility to pick up a four-month-old, two-year-old, and three-year-old, running to my piece of shit two-bedroom apartment (after leaving a beautiful five-bedroom, two-story house), feeding them anything remotely healthy, bathing them all, and then finally getting them to bed. That three-hour process was much harder and exhausting than the nine hours of teaching and coaching high school kids.<br /><br />The things is, I always hated when I was complimented for being a good Dad. To me, all I was doing is what I had to do. Single mothers do it all the time and never get praise for it.<br /><br />Instead of throwing kudos out to those men who remain Dads and do their share of parenting after a divorce, people should look down on men who don't do it. That is something I have no empathy for... men who turn their backs on the children when the marriage falls apart. <br /><br />Reliving all that, I had an answer for the Coach.<br /><br />"Coach... you have to decide how important football is and how important being a dad is to you. If they both are important and are worth fighting for... then do it. My kids are at football practices, games, and team functions with me. If I am there and it is their week to be with me, then they are with me."<br /><br />"You can do this Coach. You can do both. It isn't always easy, but it is better than not doing it. And, you know what? My kids love being a part of it all. They feel like they are on the team and take the losses just as hard if not harder than me. But, they wouldn't want to be anywhere else.<br /><br />"Coach, this is going to sound stupid, but I have watched a million kids' movies over the last few years and one really helped me through this. You ever watch, "Finding Nemo"?<br /><br />"Yea," the Coach said with a laugh.<br /><br />"Remember when Dory and Nemo's Dad begin their journey looking for Nemo? Dory kept singing that song, "Just Keep Swimming". Didn't matter how far they had to go, the only way they they would get there was to keep swimming.<br /><br />"Well, Coach... you may not always want to do it, but you got to keep swimming."<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CmyUkm2qlhA&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CmyUkm2qlhA&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-89884465441887666522010-01-20T16:26:00.000-08:002010-01-20T16:35:51.156-08:00Done with me... Facebook FeaturesBlah, blah, blah and more blah. That's what I see every time I read something that I wrote about me and my daily goings on.<br /><br />It's getting old. Like an overplayed song you can't get away from when you turn on the radio.<br /><br />I am done with it. At least I am done with me or my girls <strong>always</strong> being what I write about on my blog.<br /><br />No more of me rambling on about how miserable I have been over the last two weeks while going through chemotherapy, or how I just celebrated my sixth month of sobriety, or what one of my little girls may have done to make me laugh, cry, or scream.<br /><br />But, I am not done with writing.<br /><br />Nope. Now, I want to write about people. People that I have known for years or who I have recently met. People with stories.<br /><br />I have always been a people person. And, I am often moved by what they have gone through, overcome, or simply accomplished in our little world.<br /><br />During my days as a sportswriter, I was lucky enough to cover the Los Angeles Dodgers and Angels, the Los Angeles Kings, the Los Angeles Lakers, and a Rose Bowl. Great fun and a dream come true for a someone whose life revolved around the Los Angeles' sports scene.<br /><br />But, what I loved most about being a sportswriter was when I wrote feature stories about local athletes. <br /><br />Stories of high school athletes like the star softball player who went to bat every time hearing the same words from her deceased father who taught her eveything about hitting before being murdered. Or, the story I wrote about a football player who set state records as a running back while serving time at the only youth detention center in the country that is allowed to compete in athletics against high schools. <br /><br />Each person I encountered while writing features about them had an impact on me. In some way or another, they made me want to be a better person while giving me perspective.<br /><br />So... to prevent myself from reading more of the same blah, blah, blah stuff I always spew, I end by saying that I will post my first Facebook Feature in the next couple of days.<br /><br />The Facebook Feature came to me while glancing through the many so-called friends I have on Facebook and wanting to know more about these people that I have been in contact with at some point in my life. I look forward to bringing their stories to you.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-11266463604928496722010-01-06T12:46:00.000-08:002010-01-06T12:49:35.623-08:00When not to play with yourself<em>A conversation I had with my doctor Monday afternoon. What your about to read made me realize that there are people more stupid than me.</em><br /><br />Doctor: "I really think it is best if we start you on a chemotherapy right away. You have a lot more spots on your face that are cancerous and I don't want to have to keep cutting you up."<br /><br />Me: "You are the doctor. I will do whatever you think is best."<br /><br />Doctor: "OK, good. You will apply the ointment every day for 30 days. Your probably going to break out all over your face and it won't be pretty. But, it will kill any cancer cells we can't see."<br /><br />Me: "OK... let's do it."<br /><br />Doctor: "Make sure you wash your hands after you put it on your face. I had a patient last year who had a serious problem after not washing his hands."<br /><br />Me: "What happened? His hands swell up?"<br /><br />Doctor: "No. He decided to play with himself a little after putting the ointment on and his scrotum swelled up. It was quite embarrassing for him to have to come back in here."<br /><br />Me: "Good to know, Doc. No using the ointment when I masturbate. Got it."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-47254936118770096192009-12-14T22:56:00.001-08:002009-12-14T22:57:53.522-08:00Break needed so I can work again<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZA_d0Ruh-Y3a0kebb2PHBkYMgul36YsjiuS68AZSMwVLn1j0A6kPtbFBuHVdWs1LXb1R4n8s7fCm7Ks6noDZZPZ8cS52-dUEokA-N87WkFHu6VmGf5QjURfh6EbY-xtTmKSAbp2UOxxC/s1600-h/santa.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZA_d0Ruh-Y3a0kebb2PHBkYMgul36YsjiuS68AZSMwVLn1j0A6kPtbFBuHVdWs1LXb1R4n8s7fCm7Ks6noDZZPZ8cS52-dUEokA-N87WkFHu6VmGf5QjURfh6EbY-xtTmKSAbp2UOxxC/s400/santa.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415319466394312146" /></a><br /><br />To be honest, Christmas and the holiday break can't come soon enough for me. I am ready for three weeks off. Now!<br /><br />The last few weeks of dealing with the loss of a dear friend and having my second surgery in two months for skin cancer has left me yearning for days of sitting on the couch with nothing to do but write. I need to get back into it. I am suffering some serious withdrawals.<br /><br />It isn't this blog that I need to get back to writing on. Don't get me wrong... I love my blog. But, I need to find my muse again on something that I have always wanted to finish. <br /><br />A novel.<br /><br />And, up until a month ago, I was enjoying the fact that I had actually been making progress on it. Each day, I would spend an hour or two writing and everything was flowing. Most importantly, I was beginning to really like what I saw on the screen in front of me.<br /><br />Then, life came at me and everything came to an abrupt stop. It doesn't look as if it is going to settle down any time soon to allow me to focus completely on my little project.<br /><br />On Friday, my dermatologist took 20 stitches out of my forehead and informed me that in January he would like to start me on chemotherapy treatment. Fortunately, the therapy is simply applying an ointment cream on my face. It doesn't sound nearly as bad as the typical chemotherapy that goes along with most cancers.<br /><br />I can't help but laugh at the irony of me having to deal with any type of cancer while working on my novel. Cancer is at the center of my book. In fact, it is the reason behind everything that is the book.<br /><br />It was in the summer of 2006 when the motivation of the book came to fruition. I didn't know it at the time that it would be the motivation for a future novel, it was me simply dealing with real life again.<br /><br />Laying on hospital bed and awaiting to undergo a colonoscopy, I began to daydream about what I would do if the results of my test proved that I had colon cancer. The dream continued while I was under anestesia and it was so real, so beautiful, and so tangible.<br /><br />When I was fully awake from the procedure and received the news that all was well, I couldn't stop thinking about the dream. I was glad the whole cancer scare ordeal was over, but I didn't want to lose what I saw and felt in the dream. I eventually stopped thinking about it and the thoughts of the dream were gone forever... Or, so I thought.<br /><br />While struggling to come up with a post earlier this year, I stopped trying so hard and just started writing. Twenty minutes later, I had the start of my novel. I continued to work on it and I loved how everything I dreamed about came back to me so easily.<br /><br />Wanting to get some feedback on what I wrote, I started a new blog and posted the first five days of a man heading out to live what he was told would be his last year of life. I have gotten some favorable and some not so favorable feedback on the early stuff.<br /><br />But, what I have really found is that <em>I</em> like it. Most importantly, I love writing it. The whole process has been so enjoyable for me and I can't wait to get back into it once I get back into it. Does that make sense?<br /><br />I don't know what will ever happen from it, and at this time, I don't really care what comes from it. I just want to continue to enjoy the process en route to finishing it.<br /><br />I equate this journey to when I set out to finish my first marathon in 2002. I didn't care how fast I ran or what my time was when I completed the Los Angeles Marathons' 26.2-mile course. I just wanted to finish it. And, I did.<br /><br />That's all I want to do now. Finish it.<br /><br /><em>(In his book <strong>Stephen King On Writing</strong>, King said the worst thing to do when trying to write a book is to have people read it while it is being written. The writer gets too caught up on what the reader thinks and stops staying true to his/her story. I figured King probably knows what he is talking about, so I stopped posting entries on the other blog after five days. If you would like to read the first five days, head over to <a href="http://www.365todeath.blogspot.com">www.365todeath.blogspot.com.</a> Start with Day 1 and work back up to Day 5.)</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-82497223896923826552009-12-01T23:12:00.000-08:002009-12-01T23:13:07.611-08:00Here is my rock<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gd4czzn7roAcHcHW-OXx8jnHWKn2awxQyvo2uXN79SUjbcC6puNk5bqBGLULoFN49a1cLRYYcwKzIv-YxyZgqeYeS5snK9j-fvH27Ox3Wg1bdfj1ahpKwVIW7NzfrBa2GGZiSWyXO01b/s1600-h/jenn.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 334px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gd4czzn7roAcHcHW-OXx8jnHWKn2awxQyvo2uXN79SUjbcC6puNk5bqBGLULoFN49a1cLRYYcwKzIv-YxyZgqeYeS5snK9j-fvH27Ox3Wg1bdfj1ahpKwVIW7NzfrBa2GGZiSWyXO01b/s400/jenn.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410522147824493682" /></a><br /><br />When it comes to my blog, my life is an open book. I write about anything from my alcoholism to the discomfort my balls have given me at times.<br /><br />There really has been no limits to what I will write about on here. It is my opinion that if you can't open yourself up in your writing, then what's the point of doing it?<br /><br />However, I do have my limits. And, my limits have always centered around writing about the people I am close to. I try and stay away from writing about anybody who might not want their personal life on a blog for anyone to read.<br /><br />That rule is especially true when it comes to who I am dating. Until now.<br /><br />Meet Jen. She is the hot chick in the picture. But more than being hot, she is my best friend, my biggest supporter, and my rock. <br /><br />From picking me up in Los Angeles after I spent a night in jail to roaming the sidelines during football games, she is always there for me. And, I am there for her.<br /><br />We had been close friends for four years before we started dating and it has been so natural for us to be together. There is nothing we can't say to each other and nothing we wouldn't do for each other.<br /><br />I am truly blessed to have her in my life. It is so great for me to be able say that she feels just as blessed to have me. <br /><br />So, there you go. You have met Jen.<br /><br />I probably won't write much about her again. My rule hasn't changed. But, I am pretty confident that as long as I am on here writing, she won't be too far away.<br /><br />For more Wordful Wednesdays go to <a href="http://angiescircus.blogspot.com/">Seven Clown Circus</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-4794737562971452782009-11-30T22:01:00.001-08:002009-12-01T08:05:56.342-08:00Another one goneFor the second time this year, I have lost a dear friend and coaching mentor. Coach Jim passed away Friday morning after suffering a heart attack. He was 59 and a single father of three young men that I have seen grown up over the last 13 years.<br /><br />Despite coaching at different schools and never working together, Coach and I developed a strong friendship that really blossomed over the last year. He retired two years ago from football, having coached his last game against my team. We won that game 42-20 and it was the only time that I actually felt a little bad about winning.<br /><br />Coach and I spent many nights sitting next to each other on bar stools, having a few beers while talking football. He was a wealth of knowledge and was never apprehensive of sharing what he knew with an opposing coach.<br /><br />We were two of three coaches who are at the bar often together. We were like court jesters, making others at the bar laugh with our friendly banter that never seemed to stop. It was great fun among three single men who leaned on each other during rough times on and off the field.<br /><br />There was no tougher time than when one of the three - Coach Bill - passed away in March at 47. <a href="http://coachblogger25.blogspot.com/2009/03/saying-goodbye-to-friend.html">Coach Bill</a> worked for me in the late '90s and then went and worked for Coach Jim before he retired in 2007. After Jim's retirement, Bill worked for me in 2008.<br /><br />Coach Jim and I were devistated with the loss of our friend. However, we were forced to go into survival mode as we - along with the owner of the bar - had to plan a memorial service for Bill. It was beatifully done and had more than 100 coaches from the area attend.<br /><br />Ironically, it was just last Wednesday that Coach Jim and I were at the bar and briefly talked about it being the first Thanksgiving without Bill. Two days later, Coach Jim was gone as well.<br /><br />I can only hope that the two of them are up there together now, looking down at me and cracking jokes at my expense. I wouldn't want it any other way.<br /><br />(Here is a <a href="http://www.insidesocal.com/prepsports/2009/11/hs-foot-knight-athletic-direct.html">news report</a> on his loss in a Los Angeles area newspaper last Saturday.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQvxoU0L84QM5tFlC2R0VJH3Jv2MOIKSOaLnuEHoGBzaRbQgeEYmmLRhlyNX2ZWQFS_fqPcBZrjFJSykts2h4UDLmZqMBOqjhbAHLWL9zv9kLWTF_I4O4gRFdUT9pSG4R946sT5RQaRvp/s1600/baur's+spot.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQvxoU0L84QM5tFlC2R0VJH3Jv2MOIKSOaLnuEHoGBzaRbQgeEYmmLRhlyNX2ZWQFS_fqPcBZrjFJSykts2h4UDLmZqMBOqjhbAHLWL9zv9kLWTF_I4O4gRFdUT9pSG4R946sT5RQaRvp/s400/baur's+spot.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410141554631625986" /></a><br />Forever Coach Jim's spot at the bar<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-44705578959085470492009-11-23T10:14:00.001-08:002009-11-23T10:14:47.121-08:00Should it stay or go?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRw-lTx1u9uxTkuozu4UzaqCfqefdWqUHA3pn0I06SJhQAEPwynCsw1F-Rvty0GzkCQkVuIiTYib4P2y7PsBTFW5CNFcOUnyGCMJM-jGUBPrkuBSlmnnuQVade0rgjSXyn4Op_GINjY0O/s1600/shave.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRw-lTx1u9uxTkuozu4UzaqCfqefdWqUHA3pn0I06SJhQAEPwynCsw1F-Rvty0GzkCQkVuIiTYib4P2y7PsBTFW5CNFcOUnyGCMJM-jGUBPrkuBSlmnnuQVade0rgjSXyn4Op_GINjY0O/s400/shave.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407362640186770274" /></a><br /><br />About the biggest decsion I am going to have to make during my week off is whether or not I should shave my beard off. I stopped shaving midway through the football season after losing a bet with the team.<br /><br />The season is thankfully over. So, should the beard stay or go? That is the question. Think it over and get back to me.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-20190217718612071912009-11-21T13:50:00.000-08:002009-11-21T15:19:14.949-08:00My testicles and meHi. I'm Coachdad. I stop by every now and then and share a story or two. I usually throw something on here that relates to me and the crazy little girls that are with me when they are not with their mother.<br /><br />Not this time, though. This isn't your typical post from me. Don't you feel lucky? Well, don't. <br /><br />I want and need to write about my balls. <br /><br />Those two little fuckers have given me so much grief over the last three years. And, this time I am not even talking about the four girls that they helped produce.<br /><br />Seems my testicles don't like when another man starts touching them. I can't blame them. I wasn't all that fond of a 74-year-old man playing with my balls either.<br /><br />However, if 30 minutes of his pulling, prodding, and cutting into my sack meant that I would be free of the worries of fathering another child, then have at it Doc. Do whatever you want with them, just buy me lunch the next time we see each other on the golf course.<br /><br />The procedure wasn't all that bad. It was a little uncomfortable, but certainly not painful. Walking out of his office, I felt free to drop my seed anywhere without the worries if it developing into anything other than another relationship that would go wrong.<br /><br />After three days of limping around, I was back to normal and ready to take them out for a test drive. Satisfied literally and figuratively, I was content with my decision and proud of what I thought was one of the first times that I actually acted like a responsible adult.<br /><br />Fast-forward six months with me if you will. <br /><br />It was Christmas morning in 2006 and I woke up to four little girls crawling all over me in my bed. I got up and started walking into the living room to watch them open their gifts when a sharp pain started shooting up the right side of my abdomen. From there, the pain turned into a dull, pounding sensation that never went away, only to be interrupted by more shots of pain.<br /><br />Two hours later and after dropping the girls off at their Mom's house, I drove to the hospital and began to wait in a overcrowded emergency waiting room. After 45 minutes, I was led into triage and was told that I wasn't suffering from a appendicitis attack and that I should go back to the waiting room and wait to undergo some tests.<br /><br />Sitting for 15 minutes and knowing that I had much to do before heading to my then fiance's house for Christmas dinner, I left the hospital confident that I wasn't going to die in the next 24 hours. <br /><br />I didn't die that day, but I fucking wanted to after I found the source of my pain in a bathroom at the fiance's house. Unzippping my pants to piss, I saw what is and will always be the scariest thing I have ever looked at.<br /><br />My right testicle didn't look like a testicle. It was three times it's normal size and decorated in a deep red and purple color. How the hell did I not see this plum-looking thing earlier?<br /><br />I hobbled out of her house, drove back to the hospital, sat in the waiting room, went back into triage, underwent an ultrasound on my boys (which I actually enjoyed), and then finally got an answer from a young female doctor who looked like she just got out of medical school.<br /><br />"You have a condition called Epididymitis," she said.<br /><br />"Ok. How did I get it and what can I do to get rid of it?"<br /><br />"It's an infection that is associated with syphilis, gonorrhea, and HIV. We can't test you for those here, so you need to go see your family doctor. You are free to go home now."<br /><br />What? Merry Fucking Chritmas to you, too. Syphilis, gonorrhea, or HIV? Are you kidding me? Can't wait to call the fiance and tell her the great news.<br /><br />I didn't tell her that that night, instead I went straight to Dr. Fuck-Your-Balls-Up the next morning with my medical report from the prior night. As soon as he glanced at the report, he looked at me and laughed.<br /><br />"Relax, Brett. She was correct on her diagnosis, but not how you got it. Read this pamphlet while I go and get you some antibiotics."<br /><br />It was a pamphlet that dealt with vesictomies and complications that could result from the procedure. The first one listed was epididymitis and it said:<br /><br />"One of the more common of the vasectomy complications, epididymitis is a condition which occurs when the larger tube behind the testicle, connected to the vas, becomes inflamed and swollen. The application of heat and the use of anti-inflammatory medication with or without antibiotics usually clear this up within a week."<br /><br />What the pamphlet didn't say is that it <em>can</em> come back every six months or so. Twice a year I am reminded of having my balls played with by an elderly man.<br /><br />If you ever see a 35- to 40-year-old man in Southern California in obvious pain and hobbling quickly after his girls in a mall, or a park, or anywhere... take solace in the fact that he will never have more than the kids he has with him.<br /><br />And, I will glady take that trade.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9alvLdf5eWw&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9alvLdf5eWw&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-80453760767494143292009-11-20T16:50:00.000-08:002009-11-20T18:54:36.643-08:00Frustrations of fatherhood<em>(I have been asked by an organization who produces materials, books and magazines for Single Parents to submit posts I have written on what it is like to be a single father. After not much thought because I am quite busy right now, I chose one that may turn some people off. It is one that deals with the frustrations of raising little girls on my own. I love them more than anything, but damn do they drive me nuts.)</em><br /><br />I remember being a kid and seeing a commercial with a woman having a rough day with her children. Her only escape was running to her bathroom, drawing a hot bath, and slipping deep inside with a smile spread across her face.<br /><br />I never got that commercial. What could be so hard about spending the day with your children? You wanted them, didn't you?<br /><br />Some 30 years and four daughters later, I get it. I get every fucking bit of it.<br /><br />Kids are nuts and aren't satisfied until you are, too. Do they ever slow down and shut up for two seconds? If I wasn't the one who fed them every meal and snack, I'd wonder what the hell they ate to give them all that energy.<br /><br />The energizer bunny has got nothing on my kids. <br /><br />For those who want to offer me advise on how to control my kids or what activities would keep them better occupied without my constant attention, kiss off. I have tried them and they don't work.<br /><br />Not with these girls. No, they can't seem to do anything without including me or allowing me to do anything without including them. What the hell do they do when I am work? Walk around the house all day calling, "Dad? Dad? Dad?"<br /><br />They really are pathetic little things. In the four years of being a single father who has his kids fifty percent of the time, I think I can count four or five times that I have gone to the bathroom without one of them walking in and sitting down to have a conversation with me.<br /><br />It really is a big joke to them. They seem to get so much pleasure out of watching me get so flustered by their actions.<br /><br />"Dad, your funny. You always make me laugh," said to me today as I threw my hands up in disgust after the four-year spilled her cup of milk for the fourth time at one sitting.<br /><br />"Yea, Dad," the oldest one piped in. "My teacher always says don't cry over spilled milk."<br /><br />Alright, that was funny. We all laughed for a few minutes as I wiped up the mess. Again. <br /><br />But, it was short-lived. They were right back to causing havoc within minutes. <br /><br />Like I said, I now know what that old commercial was all about. I totally get it.<br /><br />So, to the Calgon people and their commercials of women jumping into bath tubs, I challenge you to make a commercial for me. Something that includes a keg of beer, endless amount of pizza, big breasted women that don't talk, and a television that doesn't play Disney movies.<br /><br />Oh, and no kids.<br /><br />(For those who haven't read my blog, I love my kids more than anything, so forget about leaving me a comment about how lucky I am to have four beautiful girls. I know how lucky I am, so shut the hell up!)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HvE65VOcAL0&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HvE65VOcAL0&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-88989874154163132812009-11-20T09:45:00.001-08:002009-11-20T16:49:52.863-08:00Just for kicksTime really hasn't been too kind to me lately. So, no new post any time soon. Enjoy a few cartoon's that I received in an email yesterday. Have a great Friday.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGnk9YnDYIZaV1_lodWG1P5UfxgLoaZNCe3_tPMckrM6ocC2-xfhS0vXBktBNvZRR7Mw0yeOBd4rQoWKwAG1dPdq6B2fZ9criUuKHq3R7hIjeIfxBwF6Wh0gGchXgWVwk54Og2kI6-X0lV/s1600/untitled-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGnk9YnDYIZaV1_lodWG1P5UfxgLoaZNCe3_tPMckrM6ocC2-xfhS0vXBktBNvZRR7Mw0yeOBd4rQoWKwAG1dPdq6B2fZ9criUuKHq3R7hIjeIfxBwF6Wh0gGchXgWVwk54Og2kI6-X0lV/s400/untitled-2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406240955086119122" /></a><br />Drink anyone?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ivAKLeptqR1hcV1A8VSyBwktC6XLB6wmvw6XQlFFILNlVylDRDrlcdrsqcs_-I-2QSvnDq_A0byltQGE2cN4CK4HOyTHgq14dVvuuCs5pW-8ymAQlw8vIVJM4wcVb2r0Gytozc7yGbpS/s1600/untitled-3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ivAKLeptqR1hcV1A8VSyBwktC6XLB6wmvw6XQlFFILNlVylDRDrlcdrsqcs_-I-2QSvnDq_A0byltQGE2cN4CK4HOyTHgq14dVvuuCs5pW-8ymAQlw8vIVJM4wcVb2r0Gytozc7yGbpS/s400/untitled-3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406241620171804802" /></a><br />To scratch, or not to scratch.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7Lyvtm-bJv_8kzMuR5APuHLUAFy0EvIFXIe57Kgz3rBXJUVCns99rHqVv0CudXg-WtbNlgR3-DLdUM6paAuRNCV0w2abGTPuYDv8FW_3SzrcKhNpv1Jp0tObFkTw4TKIHEQE6h6wOFQH/s1600/untitled-4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7Lyvtm-bJv_8kzMuR5APuHLUAFy0EvIFXIe57Kgz3rBXJUVCns99rHqVv0CudXg-WtbNlgR3-DLdUM6paAuRNCV0w2abGTPuYDv8FW_3SzrcKhNpv1Jp0tObFkTw4TKIHEQE6h6wOFQH/s400/untitled-4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406241940155337218" /></a><br />Not saying if this reminds me of me.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7gtrX0O-qjNsyvFn5hloaMF-zLqY4MnxyhJUgO1RvuaBPWkeUEo-oGITH2wnY8I6bKn6YoidjHr5AmlvOFblfmkQzi5KN46T6g1HKqV89dOWC48nUIwtj06BV5hlzVqngRlllfWlKw31/s1600/untitled-5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7gtrX0O-qjNsyvFn5hloaMF-zLqY4MnxyhJUgO1RvuaBPWkeUEo-oGITH2wnY8I6bKn6YoidjHr5AmlvOFblfmkQzi5KN46T6g1HKqV89dOWC48nUIwtj06BV5hlzVqngRlllfWlKw31/s400/untitled-5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406242360604924706" /></a><br />Don't do it!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-29661242768792911072009-11-11T13:04:00.001-08:002009-11-11T15:53:10.421-08:00Wordful WednesdayI got home from football practice today and was welcomed into the home by three girls who just got back after two days with their Mom. Looking at them, I couldn't believe how beautiful they have become.<br /><br />After a few minutes of deciding what we are going to do the rest of the day, I walked into my room and took a glance at the mirror on my closet door. I couldn't believe how old I looked with wrinkles every where and grey hair mixed in a beard that needs cutting.<br /><br />Still looking in the mirror, I wondered how I could of possibly played a role in my daughters' beauty.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tCgWtOwh_4Zaf5fg2RVPyTyd3Wskr7wl4tLu7BawMvkXzdXBFK143wL-W-fSoTkT0oblFjLI74YEFERZYvgsajzB0YMmVqyxMvUHpqOe5J1FIAopVyVjJYzlKSlVNsMfX1Ez2HghJi1B/s1600-h/girls+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tCgWtOwh_4Zaf5fg2RVPyTyd3Wskr7wl4tLu7BawMvkXzdXBFK143wL-W-fSoTkT0oblFjLI74YEFERZYvgsajzB0YMmVqyxMvUHpqOe5J1FIAopVyVjJYzlKSlVNsMfX1Ez2HghJi1B/s400/girls+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402953354863896034" /></a><br />How did these beautiful girls come from this????<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKT-Qxu0naYc280H4kFJy1_B6waID5VAR7DbCJfggCl7u2Pfa8-cioDDQ1dW95nx9epb99lPE3_7sYqjmro943iYiVn52YMZJY-ovZLwVwXqZD88OJoih7FLdHDuJhtEJ7lJ53S-eeGyBB/s1600-h/meee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKT-Qxu0naYc280H4kFJy1_B6waID5VAR7DbCJfggCl7u2Pfa8-cioDDQ1dW95nx9epb99lPE3_7sYqjmro943iYiVn52YMZJY-ovZLwVwXqZD88OJoih7FLdHDuJhtEJ7lJ53S-eeGyBB/s400/meee.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402953950657507250" /></a><br /><br />For more Wordful Wednesdays go to <a href="http://angiescircus.blogspot.com/">Seven Clown Circus</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-88257702016034839602009-11-02T22:28:00.000-08:002009-11-02T22:35:43.739-08:00Tough to admitSitting on a cold concrete floor with my arms crossed and my head buried in my chest, a man twice my size and with blood all over his shirt began to walk toward me. <br /><br />He stopped a foot away from me to my right, unzipped his pants, and began to pee in a urinal. I could have reached over and touched the dirtiest toilet I had ever seen from the only available place to sit when I was led into the cell in the Los Angeles-area jail. <br /><br />Never moving my head while he was there, I closed my eyes and began to wonder what brought me to what was no doubt the lowest point in my life. I am lucky enough to be a father of four beautiful girls, have the job that I wanted ever since I was in grade school, and I am generally pretty happy in life.<br /><br />Yet, here I sit with nine other men, at 2 a.m. on Sunday morning, in a 10x10 cell, knowing that five hours later my girls would wake up and ask my roommates why their Dad was not home. That thought made me realize that there was really only one thing that could make me jeopardize everything that I had in my life.<br /><br />It was alcohol. Like my mother had been all my childhood and my older brother who developed into one as a young adult, I knew then that I had become an alcoholic.<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Seven hours earlier, I fought through Los Angeles traffic en route to my 20th high school reunion. Truthfully, I didn't want to go and see my former teammates on what was one of the best football teams our school ever had.<br /><br />However, I was repeatedly told that I had no choice.<br /><br />"Brett, you have to go," Jenny said, who I had known since junior high and was the reunion organizer. "You are the football coach of the school we graduated from. How can you not go? Everyone will want to see you!"<br /><br />That was exactly the reason why I didn't want go. While seeing old friends and sharing stories from the past was intriguing, having to answer questions on why our football team is now struggling was worth avoiding.<br /><br />"Don't worry about all that..." Jenny continued. "You will have a blast and everyone won't care about what the team is doing now."<br /><br />She was right. I did have a blast and everyone was more interested in seeing pictures of my girls than how the team was doing.<br /><br />For five hours, I laughed, shared parenting stories, and reconnected with people I had grown up with and hadn't seen since graduation. And, I drank.<br /><br />Every time another former teammate or friend walked up to me to talk, they brought with them a drink for me. I didn't buy a drink during the night. But, that didn't stop me from not knowing how many I drank.<br /><br />Despite going with the intention of not drinking, I never turned down a drink and was enjoying downing beers with my former drinking buddies.<br /><br />I was funny, loud, and felt pretty damn good about myself. The shy, insecure kid from high school was now the head football coach at the school we all went to and was also the fun guy to be around.<br /><br />Shortly after 11 p.m., I began to say goodbyes and started to head to my car when I was stopped by one of my oldest friends.<br /><br />"Hey, are you OK to drive?" he asked while puffing on a cigarette.<br /><br />"Yea, I am good. But, let me bum a few cigarettes for the drive home. It will keep me busy and awake."<br /><br />He handed me three cigarettes and I got in my car and jumped on the freeway. I drove for 30 minutes and thought I was driving just as I would if I was sober.<br /><br />Driving in the fast lane, I finished the first cigarette and flicked it out the window to avoid the smell lingering in my car. Rolling my window back up, I checked the rear view mirror. My heart began to race as I saw the flashing lights of a California Highway Patrol car behind me.<br /><br />I couldn't believe it. I had no idea how drunk I was, but was pretty sure I was over the legal limit of .08. Moving my car off the freeway and onto an off ramp, I told myself to calm down and act relaxed when the CHP approached my car.<br /><br />Stopped on the side of the road, I waited as two officers approached both sides of my car.<br /><br />"License and registration please," said the younger of the two CHPs.<br /><br />"Here you go, Sir. Everything alright?"<br /><br />"Well, everything was alright until you threw a cigarette out your window. Have you been drinking?"<br /><br />I was speechless and didn't know what to say. Stupidly, I lied. <br /><br />"No, Sir."<br /><br />"Well, you were driving fine and we pulled you over because of the cigarette. But, I can smell alcohol on you. If you would have told me you had two beers, we would probably have let you go. You need to get out of your car for a sobriety test. Are you willing do that?"<br /><br />"Yes, Sir. Whatever you want."<br /><br />I got out and went through test after test. I touched my nose with my eyes closed, counted backwards, and walked foot over foot down an imaginary line. After I was done, the CHPs talked to one another quietly for a moment before asking me to blow into a breathalyzer.<br /><br />I agreed and waited patiently after blowing the first time. The younger CHP then asked me to blow again. It was after the second time that I began to understand the situation I was in.<br /><br />"How fucked am I?" I asked as he waited for the results. "Am I fucked? I am so fucked. Damn... I can't believe this. I am so fucked."<br /><br />He then looked up from the breathalyzer and told me what I didn't want to hear.<br /><br />"Sir, you blew .0823. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />After two slip-ups on consecutive weekends after my arrest, I am proud to say that I have not had a drink in 115 days. It hasn't always been easy, but it also hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be either.<br /><br />Instead of drinking after football games with other coaches, I drink iced tea or have a non-alcoholic drink. No one harasses me about not drinking, and I can't believe how much easier it is on Saturdays or Sundays at football meetings or practices without suffering from a hangover.<br /><br />The definition of an alcoholic is different for every alcoholic. I believe I am an alcoholic because I couldn't stop once I got started. Enough said.<br /><br />I am thankful that my night in jail didn't involve me hurting anyone with my car, didn't cause me to lose my family, my job, or end the relatively new relationship I am in with a wonderful woman. It could have been a lot worse for me and my family.<br /><br />But, that still doesn't change that fact I am... "Brett, and I am an alcoholic."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-87645056447737031052009-10-31T09:45:00.001-07:002009-10-31T21:56:01.033-07:00What do you want to know?<em>Dear Coach,<br /><br />Just wondering, where have you been? Everything alright? Been too long since we have heard from you on your blog. Hope all is well. Can we get anything from you soon?<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Your Bro</em><br /><br />That's right. I got an email from one of my best friends from high school asking me where I have been. I have a question for him now... Why not call me and ask? My blog is the only place where we can connect?<br /><br />Where I have been? How about trying to endure a football season where we have lost eight straight games to start the season? <br /><br />Or, how about going to a doctor appointment in October for a rash and being told a I need a number of biopsies done on different spots on my face? Doesn't matter what kind of cancer it is, being told that you have cancer can scare you a little.<br /><br />Or, how about trying to move from one side of the town to the other with little help from guys like you? There is only so much four little girls under 11 can carry from the house to the moving van.<br /><br />Or, how about having to hire a lawyer for the first time in my life for something other than a divorce? After having never been in any sort of trouble with the law in 38 years, I spent the night in a jail cell with nine other guys who actually looked like they belonged there. Good times.<br /><br />Or, how about rushing out after my last class to get my girls from their school, bringing them back with me to football practice for three hours, heading home to make dinner, help them with homework, and then finally putting them to bed on a daily basis?<br /><br />Is that enough? Or, should I go on? Even if I did write a <em>real</em> post, I wouldn't know where to start. <br /><br />With two weeks left in the football season, I hope to get back to writing on regular basis. But again, where do I start when I start?<br /><br />How about this... you tell me what you want to know more about from what I told you. Do you want to know more about my football season, my battle with skin cancer that currently has me with 32 stitches in my head, my time as a jailbird, the move that never seemed to end, or the comings and goings with my girls?<br /><br />You decide.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-8503830989587605622009-08-29T15:00:00.000-07:002009-08-29T15:01:12.506-07:00Thoughts with my GrandmaI woke up this morning with a message on my phone from my Dad. After telling me about all the fun he had on his fishing trip to Alaska, he got down to the real reason why he called.<br /><br />"Brett, Grandma is in the hospital," he said of his 92-year-old mother. "It doesn't appear to be life-threatening, but you might want to call her. I know she would like that."<br /><br />My Grandma has always been very special to me and I to her. I can't imagine not having her in my life even though she lives 1,200 miles away.<br /><br />After getting the phone number of the hospital from my step-mother, I called my Grandma and we talked for several minutes. Not surprisingly, the call centered around me and my girls. She had no interest talking about her health.<br /><br />"How are the girls, Bretty?" she said. Grandma is the only person that I would allow to call me "Bretty".<br /><br />"They probably don't remember me. I loved when you guys would come over and have lunch with me. Be sure you tell them about me and that I love them."<br /><br />"I do, Grandma. All the time."<br /><br />She moved out of the Los Angeles area a few years ago and I have only seen her once since at her 90th birthday party. I don't call or write her as much as I should, but she is always not far from my thoughts.<br /><br />I wrote her a letter on my blog in January and I am posting it again for her. She deserves to hear how much she means to me as much as possible. <br /><br /><em>Dear Grandma,</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>It has been almost two years since I saw you and I can't tell you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">how</span> much I miss you and our visits. I know I should call more often. I can tell you how busy I am teaching and coaching, or I can tell you how much time it takes to try and to do my best raising my little girls...but there really is no excuse. After all, a phone call takes just a few minutes to make.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I guess what I want you to know is how much you mean to me and how much I loved spending time with you and Grandpa. Over the years I have periodically been asked who my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">heroes</span> are... with no reservation I have answered it has been and always will be you two. I can't imagine a greater pair of role models. You are everything I want to be in life, and everything I want to have in life.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Having been married and divorced twice, I can't tell you how much I envy you two and the relationship you had. I can't imagine being married for 60-plus years like you two were. I am not naive to think it was always easy, which only makes me respect this great accomplishment even more. </em><br /><br /><em>But more than just being able to make a marriage work for so long, your greatest accomplishment is in the kids you raised. A registered nurse, an aeronautical engineer, and a President of a bank. All have been incredibly successful in their careers, no doubt because of the pride in their work and desire to do everything to the best of their ability that you and Grandpa instilled in them.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Aside from what they have accomplished professionally, they have all remained close with each other and would do anything for you. What more can a parent ask for than that? You have truly been rewarded for your great work as a parent.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I often look back at the times we spent together. Spending the summer in Chicago and the summers you flew out here to Southern California were truly some of the greatest times of my life. Watching you walk off the plane every time you flew out here was a moment that I looked so forward to and one that I still relive today.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>There are times when one of my daughters wants to climb into my lap when I am having a long day or just want a moment to myself. As soon as I start to push her away, I think of you and how you were always there for me to climb into your arms or rest my head in your lap as you ran your fingers through my hair. How can I turn down my daughters after remembering how you never turned me away?</em><br /><br /><em>I can't imagine how lonely you have been since Grandpa has passed. Please know that you have a grandson who thinks of you often and tells his children what a wonderful Grandma I have in you. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I promise you this year that I will do a better job of calling you on a regular basis. But even if I don't, I wrote this today because I wanted you to have this with you whenever you may be thinking, "How come my Brett hasn't called me in awhile?" I want you to read it so you can know that there is no one who can admire you more, respect you more, and simply love you more than I do. I also want you to know that I will always be YOUR Brett.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Your loving Grandson,</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Brett</em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGS2iLCBPzEIbxl4xyLZ4WqngEVbSlDMKu91I1kLJ4SnEeTK9yR_SfWmYs2eY8t3UfudiH3tmW_5pNSVa4iXBdun7aJLQxWKm_svdAATc_eXUOqwpjB_2bknm4Ufhe4YELLIQopCxqW5iQ/s1600-h/Grandma.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289560937207185314" style="WIDTH: 221px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 166px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGS2iLCBPzEIbxl4xyLZ4WqngEVbSlDMKu91I1kLJ4SnEeTK9yR_SfWmYs2eY8t3UfudiH3tmW_5pNSVa4iXBdun7aJLQxWKm_svdAATc_eXUOqwpjB_2bknm4Ufhe4YELLIQopCxqW5iQ/s320/Grandma.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Grandma and her grandchildren<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-29709412933179046022009-08-25T22:08:00.000-07:002009-08-25T23:01:09.338-07:00Pics from last summer trip<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzw5YoUdT-YZIz1r_EddT3SHa54K4IL9vTP5z9nyzl86kFsyKzp9BirFLXYh3B4Z_dECgLs1Jwh6F87pPKnY8tGVdyrbEwLCvQq6IePd8eL-Ty2-jIGW5P1PXZUISPhVCisS9YQ4GK_nu/s1600-h/kernville+girl+pics.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzw5YoUdT-YZIz1r_EddT3SHa54K4IL9vTP5z9nyzl86kFsyKzp9BirFLXYh3B4Z_dECgLs1Jwh6F87pPKnY8tGVdyrbEwLCvQq6IePd8eL-Ty2-jIGW5P1PXZUISPhVCisS9YQ4GK_nu/s400/kernville+girl+pics.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374135279420566882" /></a><br />I am dead tired from another day of teaching, football practice and normal Dad duties at the house. However, Savannah said she wouldn't talk to me again until I posted some pics of our last trip to our little getaway place on Lake Isabella.<br /><br />While the thought of no mindless chatter from my biggest talker was tempting, I promised her she would see some pictures on my blog when she wakes up in the morning. So, here are some taken by a lifelong friend who brought his family up for the day.<br /><br />That's all I got, though. I never promised to write anything about the trip and I need some sleep. Fast.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjiFBPW_CTFs6Mv81UnvJwUXC7TZRIcDwOMMvG11orUsIakpxaLt9FQ3LqQxdMwv2rrEKzRdO5HNBZGiRqOdEbxhf15zy-tkxcEbU7ZgxC_28fD3KmWtTzDSicg-sL9kIQVHs0tKNnzmT/s1600-h/me+and+oscar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjiFBPW_CTFs6Mv81UnvJwUXC7TZRIcDwOMMvG11orUsIakpxaLt9FQ3LqQxdMwv2rrEKzRdO5HNBZGiRqOdEbxhf15zy-tkxcEbU7ZgxC_28fD3KmWtTzDSicg-sL9kIQVHs0tKNnzmT/s400/me+and+oscar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374141304161232946" /></a><br />Two old friends enjoying a day at the lake with the kids.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2o498lZWXHVuIvTRH2QAJAdKOuUMxKw3W1cE2U2O5NlvMykNhPZzLXkOAhEFDPbmYt3fwOBd6iy8DfKnD9tNhTKIy8yZUoXvjGp399fxjuVcegqQHKofJotCupf3cLZ1JdX_oVN7nmOd/s1600-h/pathetic+fish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2o498lZWXHVuIvTRH2QAJAdKOuUMxKw3W1cE2U2O5NlvMykNhPZzLXkOAhEFDPbmYt3fwOBd6iy8DfKnD9tNhTKIy8yZUoXvjGp399fxjuVcegqQHKofJotCupf3cLZ1JdX_oVN7nmOd/s400/pathetic+fish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374141812267619778" /></a><br />Only catch of the day... rather pathetic!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsHcV5kLb73oUzaKki-Af2eC65rWcLchDL-WTgVT-DqEIFHgB45EM2vTr7s_efi-i6Eko_KHea_0m4e_m2BDkCSXuJJ43lj2Jo-0k0SVJ6X3lJ45UaMRu4kqeZZrzKJ3rr-Haij-ydPwC/s1600-h/two+of+our+girls+enjoying+the+water.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsHcV5kLb73oUzaKki-Af2eC65rWcLchDL-WTgVT-DqEIFHgB45EM2vTr7s_efi-i6Eko_KHea_0m4e_m2BDkCSXuJJ43lj2Jo-0k0SVJ6X3lJ45UaMRu4kqeZZrzKJ3rr-Haij-ydPwC/s400/two+of+our+girls+enjoying+the+water.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374142544460566018" /></a><br />Two of our girls having fun in the water together.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3x44oWK35qs4wI9Achbp5QMmGS3qQTo6wn2zXVYtLbVucD2SM089VBj33GluapljLNMa-Q7ITts9IF3-erG2FoV3JWbzX-h78E2A4NEoo8IKUwMpNkGvSlMzBtWAe0sdc6BVfFjkgweBm/s1600-h/shelby+is+cool.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3x44oWK35qs4wI9Achbp5QMmGS3qQTo6wn2zXVYtLbVucD2SM089VBj33GluapljLNMa-Q7ITts9IF3-erG2FoV3JWbzX-h78E2A4NEoo8IKUwMpNkGvSlMzBtWAe0sdc6BVfFjkgweBm/s400/shelby+is+cool.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374143211895715826" /></a><br />Shelby eying the camera!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhskc5L6mCiUshHZP66dGUDf4948gj530kEqgrl8c560JnJkske-v-KvSfB8HNB75t-x6Wy2CvonJ6FvNQNVFaoqK3nG7FP2SLyC4hty291P95P3qH4yNfV7zXl7x3UWwt-IkEysBP1njlO/s1600-h/Savannah+geting+ready+to+jump.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhskc5L6mCiUshHZP66dGUDf4948gj530kEqgrl8c560JnJkske-v-KvSfB8HNB75t-x6Wy2CvonJ6FvNQNVFaoqK3nG7FP2SLyC4hty291P95P3qH4yNfV7zXl7x3UWwt-IkEysBP1njlO/s400/Savannah+geting+ready+to+jump.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374144362947559746" /></a><br />Savannah making her move to jump in the lake. <br /><br />So, there you go Savannah. The pics are up and I am ready to hear your same stories from school over and over again!<br /><br />For more Wordful Wednesdays go to <a href="http://angiescircus.blogspot.com/">Seven Clown Circus</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-69168675331509067902009-08-23T20:13:00.000-07:002009-08-24T11:57:32.116-07:00A trip much deserved for DadRight now, my Dad is sitting in a lodge overlooking a lake after spending the day fishing in Alaska. For the first time that I can remember, my Dad is doing something for him and only him.<br /><br />I couldn't be happier than thinking about my Dad finally doing something he always talked about doing.<br /><br />As fathers go, I couldn't ask for a better one. He has been there for me in every capacity that anyone can hope for in a father. It has only been the last 10 years that I have realized that.<br /><br />I always looked at my father as a provider and someone that I could depend on for shelter, food, and security. He was an aeronautical engineer and was one of the most respected men in his field. <br /><br />It was his work ethic and desire for perfection in his own work that led me to believe that he was unapproachable for fear of disappointing him. Little did I know that was as far from the truth as could possibly be.<br /><br />It took me a couple of divorces, a few dumb decisions on my part, and a custody battle over my oldest daughter for me to finally reach out to him for what I have always wanted from him: emotional support. Needless to say, he didn't disappoint when I succumbed and turned to him.<br /><br />"Brett, your my son, and I will always love you no matter what you do. So, you made a mistake or a bad decision. You might not believe this, but I made a few in my time, too. And, I will probably make some more and so will you. You'll get through this."<br /><br />From that moment on, I have never been intimidated by him or fearful of what he thought of me. A few more mistakes by me over the last year has only reinforced my trust in him as a father who will give me his ear no matter what time I call.<br /><br />I called my step-mom tonight in hopes of getting a report of how his dream trip was going. She didn't disappoint with news that he caught his limit of salmon by 9:30 a.m. and was going to spend the rest of the day fishing for trout.<br /><br />He used to always take my brothers and I trout fishing when were kids. The only selfish act my Dad did during those trips was force us to listen to Neil Diamond during the four-hour drive to the High Sierras.<br /><br />He was so patient with us all. We had to drive him nuts with all the tangles we created with the fishing line, all the trees behind us we would hook into, and all the fighting between us boys over who was the better fishermen.<br /><br />Looking back now, my brothers and I were wrong over who was the best fisherman. It was, and always will be my Dad. <br /><br />Finally, he gets to enjoy it without worrying about what his boys are doing. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WzsUOmqpaeg&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WzsUOmqpaeg&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-67634350551880148602009-08-16T13:52:00.000-07:002009-08-16T13:55:46.006-07:00Back to school<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkas30V_YO-VQLLGI4G5WHUxlylQhSFjjCO82nhLj6FgNsydl36UPSLENQ3G7IyFr6-RwniAdVzo6Xk2bDPosByH_46If9cmff7-9PdC76fT82SJo03nT-UyLiDvICeUplHdSTcyO1TTW/s1600-h/pic+first+day.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkas30V_YO-VQLLGI4G5WHUxlylQhSFjjCO82nhLj6FgNsydl36UPSLENQ3G7IyFr6-RwniAdVzo6Xk2bDPosByH_46If9cmff7-9PdC76fT82SJo03nT-UyLiDvICeUplHdSTcyO1TTW/s400/pic+first+day.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370660193599693506" /></a><br />My girls and I started school this week. I started my fifteenth year as a high school teacher, Kern started sixth grade, Savannah is now in third, Shelby moved into first, and Alani is officially in school with Kindergarten.<br /><br />We are now represented in the high school, middle school, and elementary schools in our town. All of us were both excited about the start of school and sad to see our summer of lounging around the pool come to an end. <br /><br />On Tuesday, I skipped my first period of class to take the three youngest to their first day of the new year. With four daughters, I am often baffled by the differences in personalities that they all posses. One might assume that growing up with the same parents and same environment, there would be more similarities in my children.<br /><br />Savannah was a veteran of the whole process, Shelby was terrified and crying the whole time, and Alani was... Alani.<br /><br />She could not be more different than the other three. She is fearless, independent, incredibly intelligent, possesses a sense of humor way beyond her years, and has battled and overcome an addiction of using a <a href="http://coachblogger25.blogspot.com/2009/01/whats-next.html">foul tongue </a>she inherited from her father. Basically, Alani has no idea she is 5-years-old.<br /><br />When her mother and I walked her into the Kindergarten class on Tuesday, we were surrounded by other munchkins clinging to their father or mother's leg. Alani simply looked around the room, took a few steps away from me, and quickly turned back and looked up.<br /><br />"You OK, baby?" I said.<br /><br /><em>"Yep. You guys can go now. I'll see you after school. OK, Dad?"</em><br /><br />What? She didn't want us to stick around until class actually started like all the parents? She might have been ready for us to leave, but I wasn't ready to go.<br /><br />"Well babe, I think your Mom wants to wait here with you for awhile. It is your first day of real school and all."<br /><br /><em>"OK Dad, but I am going to walk around and check it out."</em><br /><br />After 20 minutes of waiting to meet her teacher, I left Alani and she didn't seem all that concerned with my exit. She sat down at her desk, opened a book, and started to thumb through the pages.<br /><br />With that, my youngest and last daughter to enter school was ready to get started. It didn't seem to matter to her that I wasn't all that ready for her to move on to the next stage in her life.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJr4t30DnSnSeJTQeX-93kDevaLDhCum6YW3B2KXMb6KVbKOJKzXuc5k9_fxXYmWPwfUO78RxuoVbOOiI5_K3IzOJqbBwITHYRsk5_GOfz6gZITLZRbcAoxaKEdu8Xu9aqgVVVz71Jfag_/s1600-h/pics+school.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJr4t30DnSnSeJTQeX-93kDevaLDhCum6YW3B2KXMb6KVbKOJKzXuc5k9_fxXYmWPwfUO78RxuoVbOOiI5_K3IzOJqbBwITHYRsk5_GOfz6gZITLZRbcAoxaKEdu8Xu9aqgVVVz71Jfag_/s400/pics+school.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370653675746460082" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187434695681390979.post-84508473125279316582009-08-01T22:59:00.001-07:002009-08-01T23:08:50.397-07:00"Dad, I got a bra!"The day I have been dreading for 11 years arrived yesterday. I knew it was going to happen, but just not this soon. <br /><br />I had hoped it would never happen. But, at 7 p.m., my oldest daughter's mother called me and broke the news.<br /><br /><em>"Brett, I took Kern out and we spent all the money you gave her on school clothes. . . $250 on school uniforms, socks, underwear, and a couple bras."</em><br /><br />I often have to ask Kern's mother "What?". I was never very good at listening when words came out of her mouth. That's probably one of the reasons why we didn't work out.<br /><br />But, this time, I heard exactly what she said. It didn't stop me from asking her my favorite question.<br /><br />"What was that last thing you said?", hoping I heard her wrong.<br /><br /><em>"Yea, we got her a few bras. We have looked at them before because she liked the patterns on some of them. Now, she actually needs them."</em><br /><br />I was speechless. I couldn't believe what she was saying to me.<br /><br />My little girl needing a bra. The same girl I spent three years staying at home with when she was a toddler watching Blues Clues, Sesame Street, and Little Bear. From a bottle-carrying blue-eyed girl whose life revolved around when she would get to go in our pool in the front yard, to a young lady who now sends me text messages and needs a bra. <br /><br />How did this happen? I know days, months, and years going by is how. But, how did it happen so fast?<br /><br />You are not supposed to have a favorite child. You are supposed to love them all the same and do your best to treat them equally.<br /><br />But, Kern will always be special and different to me. She was the first one. The one that taught me how to be a father, how to truly love, and how to put someones' needs, wants and desires in front of my own.<br /><br />Seems she isn't done teaching me things. Now, I get to learn about buying and washing bras. Took me three years when I was in high school to learn how to take a bra off my girlfriend. <br /><br />I don't think I will get that same amount time to learn how to be OK with my daughter growing up.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.blogtopsites.com/localdir/personal/"><img style="border:none" src="http://www.blogtopsites.com/v_7792.gif" alt="Personal Business Directory - BTS Local" /></a></div>Coachdadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18439827912381254789noreply@blogger.com12