Parting Times

It can be very hard to let go of an old friend, even one you've never actually met, but who has moved into your life far more vividly than some of the people you do know in conventional ways.



You pretty much can find images of our biggest sports hero in every room of our house. My kids have grown up on images of Barry Bonds slugging baseballs hither and yon.



As frequent visitors know, until recently I stuck with Bonds through every controversy, not unlike that most sacred of vows -- "'til death do we part." But then I heard what it is like to tolerate the man's behavior inside the dugout from the perspective of a true team player and competitor, Benjie Molina, and my commitment snapped.




Not just mine. The Giants' management, which has long tolerated Bonds like the selfish, overly-indulged brat he is, finally saw more logic in life without Barry than life with.



It happens, thus kind of parting, in professional and personal terms. Hell it happens to me every year! If I don't lose a job, I lose a special girlfriend, if my marriage doesn't falter my company goes bankrupt.



These are turbulent times, as Alan Greenspan might say. (I've added his book to my Amazon "wish list," or at least I tried to. There seems to have been a tech-ni-cal glitch, as in, I goofed up again.

I never said I was perfect. In this world, there aren't many people who are. But some come closer to perfection than others. They are the old souls among us, even when they still are of a tender age.

One such friend looked in on me this morning. This person would never even consider the notion of perfection when looking in the mirror, but I know a huge heart when I see it, and I can feel its beating.

This truly has been a challenging period for me. My rakishly beautiful 13-year-old red-haired athlete had to have a swollen salivary gland surgically removed on Friday. Before the operation, he had to be given general anesthetics intraveneously. I sat by his side and held his hand as he went under.

Then, an hour+ later, I went back in and held his hand as he started stirring, his swollen lower lip stitched, and the growth shipped off to a lab for analysis. There may not be more trying experiences than sitting with your child when he is ill. I've never had a job that was important enough to miss being with my child at such moments.

I know this was a routine operation, one that should not be a cause for alarm. But it made me once again aware of the terrible helplessness parents feel. Our love can be great, but our power over the real things that matter is so modest as to render us bystanders witnessing whatever fate our offspring will meet.

For a former control freak, a would-be superman, still struggling to understand the difference between what I can control and what I cannot, these are preciously scary, tender, and unforgettable moments.

Forget your stupid jobs. I wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world on Friday but at my son's side. You can't pay me enough, there is no "indecent proposal" that obviates this kind of love.

I understand my limits. I cannot protect my beautiful son from all kinds of threats and dangers. But I can sit next to him in a scary moment and hold his hand.



My dear friend Mark threw a party for me last night, cooking all the food himself, and I got to reconnect and say a better goodbye to some of my colleagues from the office where, until two weeks ago tomorrow, I worked these past two years. We had it at my house & I cleaned the place up specially for the occasion.

Whaddya think? Spiffy?

***

Our Mud Lake Mafia are in a battle for 9th place as the fantasy baseball season ends. Just a week left.

-30-