June 22nd

 Today is Kris’ birthday.  He would have been 31.  On the morning he was born, I was staying with my grandparents.  My grandma had to wake Jake and me up to tell us we had a phone call.  I held the phone up to my ear as the sun shined through the kitchen window.  It was good news.  I remember the moment as if it had happened this morning. 

We get together every year on his birthday for dinner.  When we were all kids, pizza was how we celebrated every birthday.  For several years after Kris died, we kept this pizza tradition going.  This year we are changing things some and going to a centrally located park for a picnic and games for the kids.  The weather should be perfect with partially cloudy skies and temperatures in the 70’s.  Everyone is planning on being there. 

This year we almost had a major scheduling conflict with Nancy’s family.  Fortunately everything worked out when the other event was moved.  Actually, I didn’t even know about the conflict until it had already been resolved.  Even so, I was pretty frustrated about it and glad I wasn’t forced to make a choice.  This was a bit of a jolt that gave me some time to think about this yearly tradition with my family and what it means to me. 

Over the years, and for several reasons, the gathering has evolved to represent more than just Kris’ birthday.  The biggest reason is that most of the people coming tonight never met Kris.  When he died, almost 10 years ago, our family consisted of 10 people, including six adults, one teenager and three grandchildren under the age of three.  Now there are 11 grandchildren, none of whom have memories of their uncle Kris.  Additionally, the teenager, now 25, will bring along his girlfriend and her young daughter, bringing this year’s total up to 20 people. 

Since most of the people attending know or remember Kris only from stories and photos, change is inevitable.  Additionally, this is often the only family event everyone makes an effort to attend, and because most of my mom’s sons have birthdays in the summer, this celebration is almost as much for all of us who are there, as it is for the one who is not. 

That is not to say that Kris’ birthday will be pushed aside or forgotten in any way.  Oh no, my mother will never allow that.  She will have a big sheet cake with candles for the grandchildren to blow out.  She will have balloons for each child to release into the heavens at the end of the day.  She may even make everyone sing the happy birthday song, though this is less likely as the years roll on. 

In reality there was no scheduling conflict at all.  Tonight, like last year, and the years before, like next year and every year following, I’ve already chosen what I’m doing on the evening of the 22nd of June.  Regardless of what the weather is like, or what else is going on, or who else is there, I will be at dinner with my mother and brothers, celebrating the birth and life of my brother Kris. 

This isn’t an obligation for me, nor will it ever be an event I will just make an appearance at before quickly heading off to something else.  I go because I want to go and because it is important to me.  I go because I want to remember my brother’s birthday and because my other brothers will be there too.  I go because, well, even if there is no pizza, I like birthday parties.

Time for a Jog

"ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?!"

Today my oldest daughter and I were out for a walk when an older man slowly jogged passed us from behind. Actually, slowly doesn’t even begin to describe his rate of speed; he passed us at an unbelievably, excruciatingly, incredibly slow snail’s pace. And yet, he was indeed jogging.

As we walked casually along, he passed us about two blocks from our home. After another block he turned right at the corner only about ten steps before we turned toward our house in the opposite direction. In the time we were together I watched him shuffle-jog along, tired, breathing heavily, and moving barely faster than we were.

I’m not saying I’m all that great as a jogger, in fact, it’s a rare and special occasion that gets me moving faster than a normal walking pace. Nor am I saying that he was such a bad jogger. Actually I was quite impressed that he just kept on going, heavily trudging step after difficult step along, when obviously it was a tiring and, I assume, a frustrating experience for him every step of the way.

I know how hard it is to get out there and jog down the road and I admire anyone who has what it takes to get out there and do it. When I was young, through my middle school and Jr. High years, I did a lot of jogging. But I never loved it.

In Jr. High my best friend and jogging partner started to develop knee problems. His doctor told him that riding bikes would be a better option for him. From that moment on, jogging was history. Together Shane and I fell in love with cycling and put thousands of miles on our bikes together.

I did actually run a marathon after that, but only because I got talked into it by an extremely persuasive Aunt. And even then, I trained on my bike as much as possible. Those 26.2 miles were the last for me. Something about several hours of torture under the hot July sun helped me finally decide my jogging years were over.

Enter stage right, my wonderful wife, Nancy, who has recently decided she wants to run a 5k. Once she gets it in her mind to do something, it generally happens. This is a good thing. The other part is that she’s asked me to run it with her. She’s working along steadily toward her goal and regularly improving her personal speed and distance records. I, on the other hand, have been out on the road one time this year.

So, today, I watched this guy, easily 20 to 25 years older than me, slowly, slowly jogging along at about the same speed I walk when I’m headed somewhere by myself. But he was most definitely jogging. He was doing it, one step after another, after another, after another.

I’m not going to say, if he can do it, I can do it. Of course I can do it. It’s not about doing it. It’s more about getting it done. But, for sure a guy like this, with so much determination, so much will power, and so much discipline to keep his legs going, even when he isn’t really going anywhere, is clearly an inspiration to anyone with something difficult to do looming down the road.

How about you? What inspires you to give your best?

Clark