Life's answers aren't always detailed in the instructions

Noah was sick for much of last week, basically throwing up everything he tried to consume. Some kind of virus going around Austin attacking small children.

Still, by Saturday, Noah was feeling much better and just in time for me to pick him up from his mother. I was just going to have him for a few hours before returning him back to his mom in time for lunch.

Before we took off, here was the conversation I had with Noah's mom:

Noah's mom: "Now don't feed him anything at your apartment because I want to monitor what he eats and dont want him to get sick."

Me: "OK."

Well, a few hours into hanging out, Noah and I are at my apartment and he says, "Daddy, I'm really hungry. Do you have anything for me?"

Well, shit, I'm not gonna starve my kid. So I give him a few crackers and then call his mother and tell her. She's fine with that. But a few minutes later, Noah says, "do you have any turkey for me because these crackers aren't helping my hunger."

Well, of course I had some turkey. Now, I know his mom didnt want me to feed Noah because she worried that the Noah wasnt healthy enough to eat solids. But, hey, when your kid is begging you for food, his stomach must be ok. So I gave him two or three slices of turkey. He devoured the turkey. He didnt get sick.

Great, I thought.

Until I took him to his mother's house. She admonished me for giving him turkey and then speculated that the turkey couldnt have been fresh because itd been in my fridge for about a week (Hey, the expiration date was March 12, and I had tasted the turkey and it seemed fine to me.)

Anyway, like I said, Noah's mom. WAS. NOT. HAPPY. The doctor had told her to start off with clear liquids, then clear foods, then work Noah back up to meats. SLOWLY.

My thought: The right answers aren't always on the back of a medicine box or in a doctors notes.

When your kid is hungry, feed him.

Ok. That is all.

Happy Birthday Noah!

Look who turns 2 today...

An early-morning phone call triggers a flood of memories

My phone rang at 4:48 Monday morning.

I listened to the phone as it rang and rang and rang and wondered who the bad news would be about.

I thought about letting voice mail pick up the call, for I just wasn't in the mood to hear any bad news. I mean, who is, right? Sunday had been a good day. A real good day. I was in Austin for the baptism of my 20-month-old son, Noah, who loved the way the water ran down his face. Noah was talking real good and doing a very good job of being the cutest thing I've ever seen.

Yeah, Sunday was about celebrating new life. But here I was, some 15 hours later, lying in an Austin hotel room, listening to the phone ring and ring and ring, wondering about whose life, presumably, had ended.

"Kevin," my brother said to me as I picked up the phone, his voice more grave and groggy-sounding than mine. "We lost Grand Ma Betty.'

"Damn," I said.

Betty Collins - she went by the lovable name of Grand Ma Betty - had broken her hip in a fall at her home just two weeks earlier. (Isn't that the way it always happens - a broken hip signals the beginning of the end.) She had lots of people coming in and out of her hospital room. I last saw her on Good Friday and she was lamenting the pudding the hospital staff was trying to make her eat.

"They are going to kill me with this stuff," she said.

By the morning of the Boston Marathon - I'm a runner and had to throw that note in - Grand Ma Betty was gone. Some kind of liver infection, the doctors said. She was 78.

I'm not using this space to get sad or weepy about losing a loved one. As I told Cedric later Monday, we were lucky. I have friends who've lost both parents and never knew who their grandparents were. Before Monday, both sets of my grandparents were still alive. So for 40 years, I've had both parents, and all four grandparents.

I'm the only one I know who has had it that good.

We are a sturdy stock of people. Grand Ma Betty was my dad's mom. Worked her whole life before retiring in the early 1990s. She and Ernest Collins - her husband of more than 50 years - went to Vegas more times than a lot of people went to church. (When they courted, "Grand-daddy" was a cab driver and some of his patrons were women who danced in Jack Ruby's cabarets).

Grand Ma Betty lived in pretty much the same house my entire life. Hers was the place where my dad's entire family congregated for pretty much every and anything. Fourth of Julys, Thanksgivings and Christmases, Super Bowl watching parties.

There was always plenty of food (and adult beverages). Lots of domino or card-playing and good music. The times at Grand Ma Betty's were often like a scene right out of Ernie Barnes' "Sugar Shack" painting - black folks just having a good old time.

And often, Grand Ma Betty, the matriarch of my dad's family, was right in the middle of everything. She'd Bid Whist you to death. She drank. She cursed. And she loved. Really loved.

And something else. For the longest time, Grand Ma Betty had one of those rooms that she did not allow kids in. Seriously, there was plastic on the couches and the carpet was crystal clean and she didn't want her grandkids tracking dirt in that room.

The funny thing is if you had to go to the bathroom in the worst way, the quickest way was through that room. But damnit, you locked your bowels as tight as you could and took the long way through her kitchen to the bathroom because you'd rather pee on yourself than make her mad at you.

When we lay Grand Ma Betty to rest Friday, those are the kinds of stories that I'll remember.

Happy Easter, from Noah

I didn't get to spend Easter with my son, Noah. Instead, I stayed in Fort Worth and went to church with my family. My brother and mother were in an Easter play. Very well done.

Here is what I missed of Noah over the weekend. The first picture is of Noah. His mother, Nancy, made him wear these Easter Rabbit ears. Cute.

The second picture is of Nancy and Noah.

If Noah can dribble a soccer ball, I can rework my resume

Every time I see Noah in Austin, I pick up one of his little play basketballs and dribble. For Christmas, we bought him a little mini basketball goal and so when I went down this past weekend, he kept saying, "Hoop. Hoop. Hoop."

On Sunday, we took him to this tots soccer camp. Now, its not really about teaching a kid to play soccer. Its just a cool little deal that helps him with his motor skills, using a soccer ball, hula hoop, balloons, and cones.

When it was time for Noah to kick to the soccer ball, he kept picking it up to bounce it. Guess right now, Noah is more Chris Paul than Pele.

************

So, I've spent the last two or three days working on my resume. It's proven to be harder than I thought it would. I mean, I've spend the last 5,200 days working at one place, in one field. And so, converting my resume from a journalism seeking job to a media relations/communications type has been challenging. But, I'll make it work.

*************

I have not been running much since the Feb. 28 Cowtown Marathon. I ran 18 miles the first week after the marathon and 28 miles last week.
My body is ready to up the mileage. Its antsy. So today, I went for an 8-mile run. Warmed up for 2 miles, then did four miles at 6:50 pace, then did a 2-mile cool down.
Did the entire 8 miles in 59 minutes flat. The 6:50 pace was not hard to keep up, and in fact, the only reason I slowed was because I had to go to the port-o-potty.
You sit in the can, in the dark, for three minutes and you come out with leg muscles that are not as loose as they once were. So, I just took it easy the last two miles.
My next race is the Oklahoma City Half Marathon. I'm feeling pretty confident that I can run it in 1:32 or better. Its not until late April. Without a job, I've now got plenty of time to train for it.

Texting on the treadmill: My mom and technology

Ok, time for a little break from dreary, sad news about me leaving the paper.

So, the other day, I get a text message from my mom.

The message was cute: "On treadmill. Should i breathe thru mouth or nnse?"

My mom will be 60 in June. She is exercising, and has figured out how to text message - while walking/running on the treadmill.

How can you not just love that?

I text her back and said, "Both." I started to tell her how dangerous it was that she was texting and treadmilling at the same time. But then I decided not to because I text (on an Iphone) and drive at the same time all the time. How can I judge her?

Sweet.

It's officially official

I have been absolutely overwhelmed with the support each of you in the blogosphere have shown as I went through the decision-making process of leaving my job of 14 years to move to Austin to raise Noah. (I know. I know. Too many prepositional phrases in that first sentence.)

I thought about leaving a personal note on each one of your blogs/Facebook pages, but It would take wayyy too long.

So, I'll say it here: Thank you!

Many of you used words like, "courageous" and "brave" in complimenting me on my decision. I'm flattered. But I'll add that it was really the only decision I could make. Noah deserves to have his daddy around. And if I didn't go, words like, "stupid" and "selfish" would be more appropriate.

It became official late Thursday afternoon, with a simple phone call from one of the editors at the Star-Telegram: "Kevin," the caller said, "your buyout application has been accepted. ... "

And just like that, after 14 years, 3 months, and 8 days, my Star-Telegram career entered into its final days, moments, really.

It's odd to think of myself as a soon to be ex-employer of this newspaper. And it is so exhilarating to know I can watch Noah grow up and help him be a good man.

Again, thanks for all of the support, and I'm working on a blog post about my time at the Star-Telegram that should be ready in a few days.

Big decision I'm making

Usually when I visit Noah, I stay at the Austin townhouse of his mother, who lives with her mother. I sleep in my own room and I get up when Noah awakes and I get to see him before he goes to sleep. I get there on Saturdays after my long run (Yeah, you try driving 3 hours after running 20 miles and tell me how much your knees like it) and leave Monday mornings.

But I don't get along with Noah's mother. And it makes the weekend stressful. And things are getting worse.

So, I think I'm going to have to make a change. I think I'm going to get a hotel when I go see Noah. It'll mean I have to find an extra $75 to $100 every two weeks in my budget, and it also means I get there Saturday and leave Sunday, but I just don't think I can take the stress anymore. I wont get into why Nancy and I don't get along. We can't stand each other. She thinks she is right and I think I am right, but whats important is that she is a very good mother and I'm lucky and Noah is lucky that she is mom. But staying there is too stressful. Even if its only 48 hours.

I shouldn't have to go through what I have to go through to see my son. There is no law that says so. I give her 20 percent of my paycheck every two weeks, and sometimes I give her extra when Noah needs it. But now, now, if I keep staying there, I'm going to lose my mind. I just am.

And now, I've decided I won't. Nancy and I haven't been in a relationship since she left _ that's right _ she left in Oct. 2007. So, its not like we got something special going. I cant afford two nights of hotel costs every two weeks, but maybe I go to Austin every three weeks. Get there Saturday and maybe leave sometime Monday.

I think its what I have to do to keep my sanity.

A life ending, beginning

I lost an uncle Monday. My brother called me around 2:30 p.m. and said, "Lee died."
Just like that. A 49-year-old man. Gone. His girlfriend, Karen, later told us that at about 1:30, Lee went outside to smoke a cigarette, came back in, laid on the bed and said, "I feel dizzy, whew." And that was it. He was dead before the paramedics could get him to the hospital.
Lee, who was not overweight, had been having high blood pressure issues, had recently complained of chest pains, and had been downing a lot of Maalox for what he thought was severe heart burn. Early indications are that a heart attack killed him.
And so my mom loses her brother, my grandmother loses her son, and the rest of us lose a crazy, cool uncle.
When I was much younger, Lee told me about girls. Lee let me drive his car when I was a senior in high school and didn't kill me when I wrecked it and the mechanics told him it was totaled because I'd broken the A-frame.
Lee and I grew apart as I got older, but he always called me from time to time to check on how I was doing. The last time I saw him was in August, when our family got together to celebrate the 60th wedding anniversary of my maternal grandparents. The rest of my family last saw Lee on Christmas. (I was in Austin seeing my 17-month-old son, Noah)
"When you gone call your uncle," Lee used to always ask me.
Well, Lord knows I didn't call enough.
Thirty minutes after getting the call from my brother, Nancy calls me. Before I tell her the news about Lee, she tells me what Noah has been doing.
"I just thought you'd wanna know that Noah has been walking around with your picture in his hand saying, 'Daddy, Daddy"
A life ending and a life beginning. Damn, what do you do with that.

Getting back into it

(Before I begin this post, let me say that there has been a delay in the marathon video, but I should have it up sometime Wednesday.)

So, its been 8 days since the marathon and I'm already thinking about when I'm going to do the next one.

But my body still needs to heal up. I'm probably at 90 percent now. I ran 3 miles last Thursday and 9 miles last Saturday. Felt real crappy at the beginning of the 9-miler _ could feel my hamstrings burning in the same place they were burning in the marathon, but by the end of the run, I felt great, was able to do each of the last four miles in sub 8s.

I was in Austin over the weekend hanging out with my kiddo, Noah. (That's him just before getting his first haircut). He knows how to say "No," really well, now. He shakes his head and leans back. "No," to vegetables; "No," to taking a nap; "No," to being picked up. But something else he said "No," to: Me and Nancy were taking him Christmas shopping and one of the cds Nancy has for him was playing in the car. At the beginning of one song, Noah starts shaking his head. (The CD was from the Baby Einstein Classical Music Collection.)

"What's wrong with him," I ask Nancy.

"He doesn't like that song," she said.

"How do you know," I said.

"Because I know what songs he likes and what songs he doesn't like," she said.

I was totally amazed. But sure enough, when I changed the song to "Noah-approved lyrics," he'd smile and clap his hands. I'd change the CD to another song, and he'd frown and and shake his head until I put the right song on.

Every time I leave Austin, I think Noah is the most amazing kid and then when I come back to Austin, he does something else even more amazing. I'm a lucky dad.

Holiday pictures

Here are a few leftover photos from Thanksgiving.....

1) Noah on Thanksgiving morning. Has fork and plate in hand. "Hey dad, where is my turkey?"

These are my parents with their grandkids.....From left to right: Mom, Alexandria, Noah, Dad, Keith (in Tony Romo jersey), Cedric, Daniel.

Cedric, Alexandria, and Daniel are my brother's kids. Keith is my sister's kid. And you know who Noah belongs to.

This is Noah (r) and my sister's son, Keith (l) learning to play together. Notice all the dangerous wires from my entertainment system.

14 months going on....

This is my 200th post and why not "celebrate" this momentous occasion with a picture of my 14-month old son, Noah.

Wonder what he is thinking?

"Dad, where is my bib (number)?"

"My hair is really growing funny."

"My hair is different from yours."

"When will you let me have a sip of that red stuff in your funny shaped glass?"

"I think I've got your nose."

This is why I drive to Austin

This is what Noah has been doing:

*Point to what he wants while grunting.

*Say mama. Squeal.

*Walking since early August. (I'd say he is up to a 25-minute mile.)

*Grab a book he wants you to read, turn the pages, then communicate that he wants you to read it again.

*Put his hands together to pray before he eats.

*Play rough with me.

*Grab a broom and push it back and forth like its a vacuum cleaner.

*Make car noises when he pushes his little cars along the floor.

*Drink water from a cup (while an adult holds it).

*Grab the remote control, aim it at the TV and shake it, as though the TV will magically switch channels.

*Turn his head away from food he doesn't want.

60 years of beans and cornbread

Sorry I've been away for soooo long. Nancy and Noah came to Fort Worth and so its pretty hard to blog when there is a toddler trying his best to rip the keys off your keyboard.

Saturday night, Nancy, Noah, and myself went to my grandparents 60th wedding anniversary. It was a surprise party for them. We rented a room at the DeSoto Civic Center. My parents picked them up and when they came in the room, my grandmother nearly fainted as we shouted "Surprise." Later, she would say, "I was totally flabbergasted."

But for a while, I was pulling my phone out about to call 9-1-1. I thought she was having a heart attack. My grandfather was just beaming as he wore his tennis shoes and a Nike running suit. Everybody else had on slacks and shirts or dresses.

"We're you surprised," I asked my grandfather.

"Well, yeah," he said, "that's why I'm wearing what I'm wearing. I thought we were just gonna go to Luby's or something."

60 years: They have lived in the same house since I've been alive. Had the same phone number. The same pictures on the wall. The same Curtis Mathes TV set. The same rug in the bathroom.

When my parents would break up for a year or two, we'd always move in with my grandparents. (These are my mothers folks. My fathers folks are still alive as well!) We teased my grandmother a little bit Saturday about what she cooked for dinner. Roast Sunday. Leftovers Monday. Beans and hot-water cornbread Tuesday. Like clockwork. Every Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. (Sorry, "Big Momma" mixed things up the rest of the week so I can't remember what the meals were after Tuesday.)

60 years: I have not had one relationship in my life that lasted much more than 60 months. I'm sure they got on each others nerves but I never heard them argue.

60 years: It makes me tired just thinking about how long that is.

RUNNING UPDATE: I ran 15.5 miles Saturday morning in about a 9-minute mile. The total time included the times I stopped for water or to stretch, and it also included 6 1-minute hill repeats at about mile 10. Still, I had enough left in me to do the last two miles in about 8:00 mile pace, so I'm getting used to this long-run thing.

Before the run, I did the P.O.M. prayer of atonement before the run, knowing that just because I had a good run one week didn't guarantee a good run the next week. I got through the run and wanted to lay down for about an hour, but when there is a 1-year-old who wants you to play, it doesn't matter how far you ran. So Noah and I got all sweaty on the floor (as his mother grimaced and wondered aloud how dirty I was making our child) and then when he took a nap, I took one.

Memorial Day pictures: A week late

Nancy brought Noah to Fort Worth last weekend.

Here is Noah at the Fort Worth Zoo. See the penguins in the background.
Noah and Nancy.

Me and Noah at the pool.

Noah wiped out after the zoo.

I need a certain kind of barber for my nappy hair

I miss my college barber. You took a two minute stroll to his dorm room. You sat in the chair. You told him in one or two sentences what you wanted. He gave you a perfect hair cut. Everytime.
Let me rephrase that. I miss my (black) barber.
At Prairie View A&M University, a historically black college just north of Houston, TX, everybody that cut hair could cut hair. And when I say cut hair, I mean a black man's hair. Cutting a black man's hair is like an art form.
In the 17 plus years that I have been out of college, I've had trouble finding a black barber.
Oh, they are out there. But mostly, in the black neighborhoods. Not in the neighborhoods I've lived in where the options are mostly SuperCuts or ProCuts. Its hit or (mostly) miss at these places. If you are a black guy and want someone to shave all your hair off, they can do that. But anything else? A taper-fade? A tight edge up? You leavin' your hair to chance.
But I like the availability of these establishments. You're in. You're out. And you get on with the rest of your day. If I need to, I can handle clippers well enough to "patch up" at home any mistakes one of the Procuts people might make. (I guess I shouldn't complain too much. I could have had my hair cut at one of these places illustrated in WallStreetFighter.com a few months back.)
Still, the last ProCuts person that cut my hair really did some damage, so I haven't had a hair cut in about a month.
And it's not like I want some crazy haircut with all kinds of parts and arrows. I just want a regular hair cut. Clean. Respectable. Every 10 days or so. And I could get one. But driving to the black neighborhood is so far out of the way. And when you get there, it's always a long line, an hour-long wait sometimes. You gotta make an appointment or be the first guy at the door in the mornings. Standing in line for NBA playoff tickets isn't that much harder.
At ProCuts or TGF Haircutters, they ask you what kind of guard to use ("A 2 or a 2 1/2 for the top?"). Look. Don't ask me how to cut my hair. That's why I'm paying you $13.95.
And the guards they use are almost always plastic. They press down real hard on your head for what they hope is an even cut. I always leave with a headache. At a black barbershop, they have these cool metal guards which cut your hair very fine. They don't press down on your head. They go freehand. You can sometimes close your eyes and JUST KNOW that you are getting a good haircut by how the barber holds the clippers and the sound the clippers make.
(I'm not saying that these other places can't cut hair. What I am saying: For a barber, it is probably easiest to cut hair like your own. I'd imagine the degree of difficulty for a black guy to cut a white or hispanic guy's hair is also pretty high.)
My mixed-race 8-month old son, whose mother is hispanic, has, "good hair." He won't have these kind of barber problems when he gets older.
I wish the black barbershops were were on as many street corners as Starbucks.
I wish the ProCuts people employed more black barbers.
I wish I could cut my own hair.
I'm driving to the black neighborhood Saturday.

A lot can happen in 10 days

I have just swallowed the last dose of methlyprednisolone, the anti-inflammatory medicine that the doctor prescribed for me last week. When I got this stuff, the pharmacist said, “Don't drink alcohol with this.” So, the night before, I drank nearly a whole bottle of Guenoc Petite Syrah.
And then went cold turkey.
Last night, though, I read the fine print on the drug. It said limit alcohol use with this medicine. Then, I read this story that says red wine is an anti-inflammatory agent. Shoot, I could have drank and got twice the treatment for my leg.
Anyway, my leg feels much better. And even though the doctor _ remember, it was a fill-in _ told me not to run for another two weeks, I'm going to call my regular guy today and see if its okay that I start putting in a few miles. I last ran 10 days ago. And what has happened in the world since: the fortunes of Eliot Spitzer and Bear Stearns have plummeted and the Houston Rockets have gone on an absurd winning streak.
On the family front: My son, Noah, and his mother, Nancy, visited me for a week. I am more in love with him everyday. He is still crawling backwards. When he gets excited he kinda squeals and babbles. He loved the zoo. He is eating rice, sweet potatoes, applesauce, and formula. He is growing up before my eyes. He is only 7 ½ months, but is as heavy as my 2-year-old nephew, Keith. Here are some pictures from his visit.

The phone call you never want to get

A little after 1 a.m. Saturday morning, my cell phone rings. It's my brother, Cedric. I don't answer it because my brother has called me before after midnight and usually he is returning my phone call or just wanting to talk about sports. Though, I remember thinking he'd never called this late. But he didn't leave a message, so I figured it could not be too bad.
About 10 a.m. Saturday, I went out for a 10-mile run (more on that later). When I got back, I had a voice mail from my sister, Casey. “Kevin,” she said, “your little brother was admitted to the hospital last night. He was complaining of chest pains. It's something with his heart.”
Casey was actually in the hospital room with Cedric. So she passed the phone to him.
“Hey, dude, what happened?” I asked him.
“Man,” he said, sounding groggy from just waking up. “My chest just started hurting and my arm felt weird, so Robert (his best friend) took me in to get it looked at. I'm okay.”
Well, of course, I had to see for myself. So I made the 40-minute drive to the hospital and you know all kinds of things raced through my mind. My family doesn't have a history of heart problems. There have been some strokes, to be sure. An aneurysm. But no heart stoppages.
Cedric was sitting up laughing when I got to his hospital room. A medic told him he the lining around his heart might be inflamed, though they'd need to do a chest echo a week later to be sure. Thought it might be stress-related. Cedric is going through a divorce, and working two jobs _ one of which includes trying to run his own newspaper. The nurse also told him it could be heart burn. All of his tests came back fine, his blood work was fine. They released him a few hours later, told him to get some rest, get rid of the stress, and take aspirin.
Hopefully, this doesn't turn out to be anything serious.
Running update: I ran 10 miles Saturday in just a little more than 1:30. It was my longest run since I did 12 miles on Feb. 9. It started off as my worst run ever. My right leg was killing me. And before the run, I had a Cliff Bar that didn't agree with my stomach. But I gutted it out, started feeling better at mile 4 and finished ok. My right leg is still giving me all kinds of problems. It might be shin splints, though it seems to be weird that it is just on one leg. I didn't run Sunday or Monday morning. This is turning out to be my worst injury ever. A call to my physician is on the horizon.
A special visitor: My 7-month old son, Noah, and his mother, Nancy, came to visit me Saturday night. They'll be here for a week. They look great. Noah definitely has Nancy's eyes, but he has my nose and cheeks. He eats a lot.

Are bed bugs this crazy?

Well, I am officially going crazy. I have not run since Friday. That’s 3 days and counting. But this was a calculated respite from pounding my knees and ankles on the trails at Trinity Park. For one, I was in Austin for the weekend visiting my 7-month old son. We took him to see a kite festival at Zilcher Park. He laughs more and more now. He smiles a lot. And I’m glad and relieved that he responds so well to me. I only get to see him twice a month but it seems he remembers me, or likes being around me. He is crawling, now, sort of. We put him on the ground and he starts doing this swimming motion. He can move his arms better than his legs so he always ends up going backwards. It’s so cute.
He and his mother are coming to visit me for an entire week next weekend, so that should be a lot of fun.
I also took off from running because I’ve got a slight injury to my lower right leg, around my ankle and shin. And I wish I could report that I’m totally healed. But I’m not and now I’m nervous. It hurts a little when I walk up hills or down stairs. Or when I take that first step out of the car or out of bed. I hope it’s not a stress fracture. But, I plan on continuing my running tomorrow. I know, call me stupid. But I feel crazier than a bed bug when I don’t run. Hopefully I don’t do further damage to my leg. I don’t think I will. I think it’s just soreness, from overuse. I hope that’s all it is.
I’ll try to post photos from the kite festival later today.

It's fun being daddy

As I've written in other posts, my son and his mother live away from me, in Austin. Nancy and I hope to reconciliate, but in the meantime, I make twice monthly trips to see him and I had such a good time this weekend with Noah. He is growing fast. I mean fast. He sits up on his own. He can use his hands to grab things. He sleeps through the night without needing to eat. He remains as handsome as hell. Maybe his mother and I will get our acts together because Noah deserves both of us. Here are a few pictures from the weekend:

The middle picture is of Noah and his mother, Nancy. I have to say, she has been a great mother.