Bob's Blah Blah Blog

For the most part, it’s easy to say, “no.” The word is short, simple and rolls off the tongue as a pat answer when we don’t want to be bothered, challenged, or for any number of other reasons, contemplate a reason to say, “yes.”

“Yes,” although just as short in stature, is a far more interesting word. It’s the beginning of a friendship, the promise of something completely new, and the genesis of a great adventure.

“Yes,” wasn’t the first word that came to mind when our eldest son approached my wife and me about going to Minneapolis to play in a charity Wiffle ball tournament. I remember the growing look of disbelief on both our faces as he laid out his plan. Then, came the perfectly timed kicker,  the one thing he was sure would get us reconsider the “no” that was certainly perched at the tip of our lips, just waiting to seek and destroy his dream. “It’s for charity!” he proclaimed with a dubious smile.

There was absolutely nothing practical about his request, money and time have both neen in short supply these days. Yet for some reason, restraint seemed in order. Still, I am sure he read a certain inevitable negative outcome into our response, “let us think about it.”

A little back story might be in order.

When Jordan first talked about starting a Wiffle ball league more than four years ago, I imagined a neighborhood pickup game among the local kids like I had growing up. And with his talk of procuring a field, investing in equipment, a Web site and local advertising came a growing skepticism on my part.

When “opening day” finally arrived, we all drove to the parking lot at the grade school. There we were, Jordan, his younger brother, Alex, and me — shaking hands with a complete stranger.

He was older than I expected and was also following a passion of Wiffles — and the promise of Jordan’s new league. He told us stories of other leagues, about players who traveled the country in search of worthy competition, and of Wiffle ball tournaments that attracted the best players in the country.

He even designed his own bat. A bat so superior to the ubiquitous plastic yellow stick associated with the backyard sport, it would eventually be banned from play in the now thriving league that grew from that first meeting. The league that my son dreamt of, built, supported and is now commissioner of. The league that began with a single word, “yes.”

That “yes” happened four years ago. Since then, Jordan has successfully grown Wiffle Atlanta to eight teams and more than 50 men and women of every age. We play during the summer at a ballpark he now leases from the city of Decatur. It’s an amazing thing to see and Sandy and I are so proud of him.

Maybe it’s that we felt he deserved some recognition, or maybe it’s that he is starting college at Georgia State University in a few weeks. Either way, and much to his surprise, we eventually said, “yes” to the tournament in Minneapolis. He couldn’t believe it. We couldn’t either — nor could our friends and family.

You’re going where? To play what?

And so, off we went… half way across the country… back to my home town… for three days… to play four games… of Wiffle ball… all for charity of course!

And when we got there, we found our normally introverted son had somehow become a celebrity of sorts over the last few years. A celebrity, not just born of internet chat rooms and such, but a celebrity of accomplishment. This was the commissioner of Wiffle Atlanta — that new league down in Atlanta. The one with the great Web site. The one run by my son, who I am so proud of today.

Jordan, Alex and I did fairly well for our first outing as a team. Jordan pitched like a champion, Alex wielded the bat like Aaron while Sandy cheered and supported us all the way. We tied for second place in our division, not enough to move on to the semi-finals. But that’s not the point of this story.

I am pretty sure that years from now, nobody in our family will know, or care how we finished in the tournament. We’ll only have memories of white plastic balls being smacked around with yellow plastic bats and the hot summer day we smiled and laughed and didn’t care about anything else in the world, except for each other.

We’ll only remember the time we said, “yes” to Jordan’s crazy, impractical dream. A dream so crazy, it provided the four of us with a lifetime of smiles. Smiles simply not possible by saying the word, “no.”

It happened again. A friend said, “you should blog that,” during a recent conversation.

While the aforementioned conversation is not the purpose of this post, the fact that three people have recently suggested I should contribute to my personal blog more often is. A few weeks ago, I actually received an email from an anonymous reader who wanted to know if everything is alright. The concern from someone I never met touched me.

Everything is alright. I’ve just been busy trying to answer a couple of questions:

The first is, “What do I want to write about?” Most of the bloggers I read love to bitch, I guess we all do. But quite frankly, I’m sick of it — which of course is, in and of itself bitching. See how easy that was? After consulting my old vinyl copy of Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, I have decided I want to concentrate on sharing some of the good stuff in life. Not the obvious kind of good stuff like Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, mind you — but the good stuff that goes on around us all the time we are simply too busy to notice. I hope I can share a smile or ah-ha with you now and again. And if not, at least I want to show things a little differently than we usually see them. Maybe remind us all, including myself, there are perspectives other than the ones we are saddled with most of the time.

The second answer I’ve been seeking is to the question, “Who cares?” For resolution on this I turned Sandy’s encouragement to do it for myself. And for now, I think that’s good enough.

So, since they say three times is a charm, I’m ready to give this another go in the hopes I will learn something, have some fun and share a smile with someone who might need it along the way.

Just a few years ago, my best friend, soul mate, wife and mother of my boys was given life by her mother, Betty (with a little help from her father, Bill). Little did anyone realize how important she would be in the life of another human being so many years later.

Today was her birthday, but I can assure you it was I who celebrated the most.

Happy Birthday Sandy