FM Radio

Memphis recently launched a new ESPN sports-talk radio station on an FM signal.  Which is kind of like the Sirens on those islands in Greek mythology.  Ships would sail straight into the rocks just to listen to the beautiful sounds.  In Memphis, men (and their cars) just drive toward the signal.  Bridges, medians and trolleys beware.  We just drive.  We take the long way to work.  We sit though green lights.  We sit in our cars for 10 minutes after we get where we're going.  Just so we can hear Mike Golic's opinion of who is winning the battle for starting tight end in the Seattle Seahawks' training camp.  Life is good.

Ginger is set to go into labor within the next two weeks.  She will give birth to my second son.  See, I told you life is good.

If you think these two events have nothing in common, you haven't been listening to ESPN Radio recently.  I don't know if this is just another indicator of my advancing age, or if it happens every year, but it seems like every morning, another of ESPN's radio personalities is telling about his son's training camp and imminent starting role for a college or NFL football team. They wax philosophical, as only self-important, former pro athletes can.  They tell tales of weeping in the press box as their first-born emerge from the tunnel at Notre Dame or some such institution.

Well, I haven't wept, yet, but the opportunities are piling up around here. 

We don't have to tell you about the obvious new beginning.  It's stretching the physical limits of Ginger's stomach as we speak.  But we also began a new chapter in Walt's education just today.  He started two days per week in a Pre-K program at Downtown Elementary School this morning.  This is probably a lot like starting on the offensive line for the Fighting Irish but without the remedial math tutor.

Never mind that he looks like he's 27 in this picture.  He and his giant backpack climbed into the car with me this morning for our first "boys trip" downtown to pre-kindergarten.  My immediate plan for the trip was to introduce him to the aforementioned ESPN Radio station and all of its NFL Preseason glory.  We had made it approximately five houses down Nelson before I switched off the radio and just listened.  And listened.  And contributed when prompted, "Daddy, now you talk about dinosaurs."  We quickly established that I knew precious little about our favorite extinct friends.  And we moved on to the various schools that we passed on the way downtown.  When I pointed out that the people walking on the sidewalks around the University of Tennessee Medical School were also going to school (to be doctors like Deedaddy), Walt responded with exasperation and panic, "But Daddy, I don't even know what I want to be when I grow up, yet."  As if he needed to figure this out before we got to his new school.

I reassured him that we would figure it out later, and we held hands as we crossed the same street as those future doctors and ventured into a "big boy" school buzzing with First and Second and Third and Fourth and Fifth and Sixth Graders!  Scary.  "I wasn't even scared, and I liked it," he would tell me later about his first 2.5 hours of formal education.  Part of me wanted him to cling to me as I left, but he didn't.  He dove in and played and drew and ate gingerbread men and got a blue (the highest) for conduct today. 

I needed that crossing guard more going back to my car than I did going in.  So I didn't get hit by a bus while I fought back the tears of pride and fear and anticipation of starting it all again in a few days.  I can't wait.