Remember where you're from

 

“Remember where you’re from.” That was the closing line for a play that my wife and I saw recently.

It was from a Barter Theater production called “Go Tell It on The Mountain.” BTW, if you haven’t been to the Barter, you should make the trip. It isn’t really expensive and you can get there in less than two and a half hours. It’s worth the trip.

The play is about life in Appalachia, provided in a series of sketches. The good and the bad.

I’m well acquainted with life in Appalachia.  I’m from a small town in rural east Tennessee. It was a great place to grow up, but there wasn’t a lot of emphasis on higher education.  At times, it seems ambition was discouraged

Yet, summers were idyllic. I lived out “in the country,” about a mile from town and my nearest friends. A bicycle allowed me to join my buddies on a wide variety of ventures.

Pick-up basketball games wherever we could find a court and a ball. Swimming in the creeks or the Tennessee River. Tennis at one of the two privately owned courts (there were no public courts). Summer Rec, run by Coach Ratledge, where we might divide up and play full baseball games.

There was no little league, no swimming pool, no outlets for all that youthful energy. We were mostly on our own. There was youth football but it was mostly just a league for anyone not yet in high school. As a 3^rd grader, I was on a team with 8^th graders. We did play a lot of backyard football games.

I’ll not belabor the point, but I was not encouraged to attend college.

But I did. And I discovered a world out there that I never even knew existed. A world of music and arts and education that I somehow figured out a way to take advantage of.

And here’s the confession—I believe I’ve been running from where I grew up ever since. I’m proud of my little hometown, but I never wanted to go back there. I wanted more for my family. I found that here.

Yet, I can’t deny that the person that I am today is due to those growing up years…due to that hometown.

I wrote recently about leadership learned in Boy Scouts. My faith is based on a foundation earned at that little Baptist church I grew up in.

High school football and Coach Ratledge changed my life forever, giving me the courage to step out of my comfort zone, teaching me the value of hard work. He taught me more about life than about football.

My first best friend Ricky Alexander and I shared many adventures. He’s still the most extraordinary outdoorsman that I’ve even known. My life-long best friend Ronnie McNabb and I were as close as brothers and are still that close.

I loved hanging out with Jimmy Greenway and Daniel Johnson on the Simpson Farm. I hauled hay, hung tobacco, hunted, fished, and did some crazy stuff.

Because of that life, that place, I grew up to be well rounded, accepting of people from all walks of life, appreciative of the outdoors, able to take care of myself. I became resourceful, creative, and curious.

“Remember where you’re from.” I think I sort of forgot that. I forgot about a world where if I did something wrong, somebody was going to call my momma.  I forgot about a world that allowed me to leave the house in the morning and go anywhere I wanted, do anything I wanted to do, as long as I was home for supper.

I forgot that this level of freedom also led to a strong sense of accountability and responsibility. I’ve since realized that the work ethic gained from working on farms, delivering newspapers, playing football, and mowing yards has served me well as an adult.

It was a great way to grow up. It was a great place to grow up.

The Little Things

 

As we get older, our world gets smaller. I stole that basic premise from another columnist but these thoughts are my own.  It’s true. Our priorities change, our aspirations shrink; we just want to live in peace. With a few good friends. And a safe place to live.

Don’t get me wrong—I still want to change the world. But maybe the part of the world that I want to change isn’t as vast as it once was. Addressing a huge audience is somehow less important than addressing the person sitting in front of me now. Maybe it’s the realization that I can impact that one person more effectively than a room full of people.

Since my college days, my personal mantra has been drawn from Robert Browning’s The Grammarian’s Funeral. One line says (sort of) “the low man aims for a hundred, his mark is soon hit. This high man aims for a million, and misses by a unit.”

Aim high and miss by just a bit and you’ve still accomplished a lot. Aim low and hit it and suddenly you’re satisfied. Even when you were capable of so much more. I’ve aimed high and it’s taken me to amazing places. Yet, my world shrinks.

As they say in sports and in love, I’ve “out-punted my coverage” in several arenas. I was never supposed to go to college but here I sit with multiple college degrees. My mother-in-law didn’t think my marriage would last but here we sit, 48+ years later.

No English teacher I ever had (except for Dr. Barrett at UT) thought I had even a hint of talent but this column puts me in the neighborhood of 2 million words published. My artistic side was limited to sketches of classroom monitors done  out of boredom but in recent years, I’ve produced several hundred paintings that some people seem to like (betcha didn’t know about that one!).

I still want to travel more, but my bucket list trip is now down to just Machu Picchu. Maybe Cinque Terre. Now that I’m in my 8^th decade, little things have become more important to me.

Like my routines. Every weekday, my routine is the same. I eat the same things for breakfast. I eat the same things for lunch (Olivia’s Old South from Chicken Salad Chick).  Same workout routine. For 25+ years, Steve Bright and I led an intrepid group of bicycle riders around Blount County every Saturday morning. The roads have gotten too crazy for that now.

Date night is the same. Chesepeake’s or Big Ed’s. Movies are mostly at home now. Even my mowing is the same. Front yard, side yard, big field, upper pasture. In that order. Squares one time, diagonals the next.

A simple ride in my truck with a grandson to play tennis is treasured. Same thing for that time with my 11 year old—he asks the most profound questions when it’s just the two of us.

One-on-one with my college girl is really special. She sat down beside me at her brother’s soccer game recently and we just talked about things. College. Life. What made her happy. It wasn’t much—just a few minutes, really, but it was more precious than gold.

I love the sameness of putting up our Christmas tree by myself, listening to the same Christmas music while doing so (Pentatonix). I love putting the colored lights on the Blue Spruce outside my bedroom door. I’ve been doing that for years.

Embrace the little things. Love the tiny episodes. Sure, we remember the big events—major accomplishments and huge milestones. We can remember when and where on those. But life is made up of precious, often brief bits of time when we can truly live in the moment. It’s taken me a lifetime to figure that one out.

Coach/Leader

 

I’ve told you several times that ideas for this space come from a lot of different places.

Matt Storm is an assistant baseball coach at MHS.  Prior to that, he had been at King’s Academy in Seymour as their Head Baseball Coach.  He’s coached at many levels and has sent a lot of baseball players on to bigger and better things.

He’s also spent a lot of time coaching youth league baseball, which led to a recent conversation he and I had.  We were both telling stories of youth coaches gone bad.  He related a couple of really horrific stories.

I’m not going to pick on baseball here. All youth sports have their stories. And I’m not going to pick on parents that coach their kid’s team.  It’s mostly dads, but both parents coach. And without them, very few sports teams could exist.

It takes a special person to coach other people’s kids. Fortunately, we’ve had quite a few of those around here. Don Sentell. Joey Winders. Rick Young. Ricky Maples.

Those were all youth football coaches. It seems like football has a bad reputation in youth sports ranks, but the vast majority of coaches that I know are genuinely interested in their players as individuals. They understand how important the role of Coach can be. They wouldn’t do it if they weren’t.

But this year, I watched a youth football coach (from another city) yell at his players, yell at the opposing players, yell at his assistant coaches, and, most of all, yell at the referees.  His tirade lasted from whistle to whistle.

Sometime in the second half, he incited several parents who then spent the rest of the game standing on the fence screaming and yelling for blood. Literally. It was awful. My son and I, along with a couple of others, escorted the referees to their vehicle, fearing for the safety. It was that bad.

But that wasn’t the worst episode I’ve ever witnessed. The worst youth sports coach I ever saw was a flag football coach.

This dad was a win-at-all-costs kind of coach.  He was all about building 9 and 10 year old “winners.” He sought to accomplish that by winning every game, preferably by a large margin.

When one of his players asked him if he could carry the ball just one time, in this, their final game (something his coach the year before had always done) this coach laughed in his face.

Laughed. Really. That youngster never considered playing football again.  I can only hope that the coach never coached again. Ever.

Sports are important. You’ll never hear me say anything else.  But when we reduce our definition of success in sports to wins and losses, we miss the point altogether.

Sports are intended to prepare young folks for adulthood.  The lessons we learn on the playing field should always lead to healthier, happier, better adjusted adults.

Don’t get me wrong—winning is good, but there is also value in adversity. For every team that wins that championship, there might be 50 that didn’t. If we ignore the true value of sport, then that championship becomes hollow.

The value of sport lies in the lessons learned. Teamwork. Discipline. Perseverance. Mental toughness. Diligence. How to lose and win with grace. The rewards of effort. Self-confidence. How to be coachable.

If your coach is not teaching the fundamentals of the game, whatever the game, you might want to look elsewhere.

Coaches, never forget the profound influence you have on your young charges. They often spend more time with you than they do their parents.  And often they will listen to you better than they will listen to their parents.

Giving Thanks

 

In case you hadn’t noticed, Thanksgiving arrives on Thursday. 2024 has flown by.

When I was growing up, Thanksgiving wasn’t that big a deal. I can remember going to one of my uncle’s houses a couple of times but mostly it was quiet. My dad’s food allergies kept us from having a turkey and I never knew what dressing was.

My wife’s family was quite different. I can remember when I first starting coming around, we would start the day with breakfast at her grandmother’s house, maybe go rabbit hunting, come back to my mother-in-law’s house for lunch, then as soon as we could stuff anything else in, return to her grandmother’s house for a second lunch.

As my mother-in-law’s health began to deteriorate, we moved the Thanksgiving celebration to my house, where it has remained ever since.

Food prep has already begun and gets quite intense over the next couple of days. I’m actually taking off work on Tuesday, mostly to help with that.

For a good part of the past 27 years, I haven’t been much help.  There is this really cool tradition with Maryville High School football--when the team qualifies for the semi-finals of the state championship, they have a special practice on Thanksgiving morning.

It starts that morning with breakfast, prepared by the senior dads. After a time of fellowship and sharing, the team heads to the field for a final practice before the game the next day.

It’s usually crisp and cold—perfect football weather. It was my second favorite football practice of the year. And we were there every year but two between 1997 and 2020.

What was my favorite football practice of the year?  Any practice the following week.  Because that means we won and were headed for the state championship game.

I have to say that my wife did not really welcome my absence. Her house was about to be filled with 20+ people and her main/best helper was not around. But since I gave up MHS football after the 2020 season, she has had her right hand man, her “beck and call” boy, there for the whole process.

All that leads up to why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Everybody is there. It’s the best of times.  My wife prepares everybody’s favorite dishes. We get to simply enjoy each other. And we never forget to be thankful for our bountiful lives.

I’m thankful for a wife that tolerates my absences, my work, my hobbies and my quirks. 48 years is a long time.

I’m thankful for adult kids that still allow us to be a part of their lives. That’s more rare than you might think. And for you parents that are facing an empty nest—don’t fret too much. There is nothing better than adult kids.

Unless it’s grandkids. I have seven of them, and they’re all wonderful in their own way. From the college girl to the least one that screams my name and jumps into my arms every time she sees me. I seem to spend more time with a couple of the boys in the middle, my tennis player and my football player, but that’s ok. I hope they remember this time as fondly as I know I will.

I’m thankful for good health, meaningful work, great friends, good food, and the opportunity to live here.

I hope you have a good day and have plenty to be thankful for.

 

Servant Leader

 

I’ve told bits and pieces of this story before. Let me step back a minute—a couple of weeks ago, I wrote a column about leadership. In it, I talked about different types of leaders. What I failed to state clearly is that all effective leadership is servant leadership.

Let me repeat that:  All effective leadership is servant leadership. There are a ton of cliches about that. Simon Sinek is one of my favorite public figures. I guess you would call him a motivational speaker, but I think he’s more than that.  I think of him as a change leader.

My favorite Simon Sinek quote is this: “Leadership is not about being in charge. Leadership is about taking care of those in our charge.”

Enabling others to be their best. Paying the price by putting yourself last.

I love the much-told story about the Army general who made sure that his troops ate first. He was always last in the chow line. He could easily have been at the front of the line.

Servant Leader. Serving others. You don’t have to be an Army general or CEO of a large company. Your leadership may manifest itself as leading your team, your family...really anyone that you’re responsible for.

My own leadership path was probably different from most yet, in many ways, the same as many.

I was 12 years old in Boy Scouts, Troop 215. Up to that point, I had done nothing to distinguish myself. Average student. Average athlete. Average Boy Scout.

But one of those Boy Scout leaders saw something in me, something that I didn’t see in myself. The Troop had grown and they wanted to expand by forming a new Patrol. That was the organizational structure—the Troop was the whole group, broken down into several Patrols.

They asked me to be the Patrol Leader for the new patrol. This new patrol was to be made up of kids new to Scouting. A couple of them were quite the misfits. And I was their new leader.

We quickly organized as the Owl Patrol. I carved an owl head to top of our flagstaff. Our first event as a Patrol was an event called the Jamboree. Several Troops came together for a big camping excursion.

Our Patrol cooked together, ate together, and competed in several events. One of those was building a fire without matches. The first to burn through a piece of cord maybe two feet or so off the ground was the winner.

The Owl Patrol came together, won the fire building contest and then accumulated enough points to win the overall competition, beating much more established Patrols along the way.

How did we do it? I have no idea. I just know that we came together as a team, trusting each other, lifting each other up. But I learned that the strength of the team is in the team.

That was the beginning of my journey. Over the next several years, who I would become as a leader slowly emerged. Since then, I’ve worn a lot of hats but that concept of the Servant Leader has stayed at the forefront in my leadership approach throughout.

When you are a leader, it matters not what you achieve—it matters only what your team achieves. It doesn’t matter what your stats are, what accolades you might receive. The only thing that matters is was your team successful.

Living Life on His Own Terms

 

Most people in the gym didn’t know his full name. We just knew him as Randall. He had been coming to our gym for years. As regular as rain, he might say. He rarely missed.

His wife was alive when he first started coming. She’s gone now. Has been for years. She was from Germany but I have no idea how they met. He had become an amputee at age 4 when he was run over by a car, but he just never let it bother him. 

Later years found him in an electric wheelchair, after his stump really couldn’t hold a prosthesis.  He would wheel that chair around the gym to position himself in front of one piece of exercise equipment or another. Sometimes he would transfer off of it onto a piece of equipment, like a bench for doing a bench press. 

Powerfully built, it hasn’t been that long since he was tossing around 80 pound dumbbells.  He also freely tossed around his ideas about what was right or wrong with the world. Our politics collided and I would tell him so, but he embraced dialogue on issues.

He left the gym early one day, barely a week ago, asking me to tell his buddy Phil that he wasn’t feeling great and that he would see him the next day. He didn’t make it. At age 92, he died of an apparent heart attack.

If I were to sum up what I knew of Randall, I would say simply that he was a man that lived life on his own terms. His only complaint was that it was hard to get old, but then he defied those odds by pushing a lot of weight around the gym. And then he didn’t.

This isn’t supposed to be macabre, just a bookmark in a long life. For me, it is a call to enjoy life and not waste time doing things I don’t want to do. To surround myself with people that enhance my life and none that detract from it.

I’m 71. Thirty years ago, I was 41, with all original parts and a family growing up. I had my health, more than my share of happiness, and was doing work that I felt was important.

In thirty more years, I will be 101.  Statistics tell me that I won’t make that. Maybe. I’m not planning on going anywhere but we are not promised tomorrow.

My mom died at 93 with bad health for a decade before succumbing to an accumulation of things including advanced dementia. My dad died at 84 after having had his first heart attack at 45.  He lived for almost 40 years on the medicine that would ultimately kill him.

I find myself making decisions about what to do today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year based on what would I do if I didn’t make it to tomorrow. Eat that pie? Sure. Skip that workout to ride bikes with a grandson? No brainer.

Some buddies have invited me to go mountain biking in the area around Brevard, North Carolina in December. The trails are open and I really like these guys, but is it really convenient for me to go? I might miss something here! It’s not at all out of my comfort zone but I get so tied up in the same daily routine that any deviation is met with some degree of reluctance.

But I’m going.  And we’re probably going to a friend’s beach house sometime this winter. It’s free and he offered. And I’m going to pick up the phone and call an old friend and catch up and talk about days gone by. And then do it again.

I’m going to tell those that I love that I love them. If somebody has wronged me, I’m going to purposefully forget all about it.  I’m going to eat that Benton’s bacon and take that hike and head to Oak Ridge for Big Ed’s pizza anytime my wife even mentions it.  I’m going to take that little namesake to the Blue House that she loves and play tennis with my tennis player anytime he wants to.

I’m going to drive to Blacksburg and take the oldest grandchild out to dinner. I’m going to watch soccer games and track meets and sunsets. I’m going to sleep late (sometimes) and go about the business of lifting up those around me.

Because I can. RIP Randall.

Who will you be?

 

There are a lot of young folks that are in their first year of college right now. And more that are in the workforce. Maybe in the military. A lot of those were high school athletes that, for whatever reason, are no longer playing their sport.

Maybe it was a choice. Maybe they wanted to focus on their future without the time demands of athletics. High school is all about the experience and developing a foundation upon which to move forward in a career.

A lot about high school is learning how to learn. To this day, I have no idea what the value was for diagramming sentences, and I’m pretty sure the Latin I had to take was of no practical value. But by having to learn something that didn’t interest me (in full disclosure, nothing interested me in high school but girls and football), I learned how to learn.

Then when I get to English Literature class in college, I could still manage an A, even though I didn’t think it was worth anything to me. I had learned how to learn from having to learn something that held no interest for me. That lesson has followed me to this day.

Jump ahead a bunch of decades and here I am writing a weekly newspaper column for the 40^th year and quoting Browning’s “Grammarian’s Funeral” in front of college students. I’ve come a long way.

I had hoped to continue playing football in college but lack of talent and opportunity made that difficult. Oh, I had a brief stint with Mars Hill in North Carolina but that didn’t work out.

For me, and for so many others, giving up a sport that I loved was hard. Being a football player was a whole lot of who I was. The first year of college didn’t really change that. Intramural sports were OK but it wasn’t the same.

I had ended up at UT-Knoxville, majoring in wildlife biology. Then I injured my knee, had surgery, met my first physical therapist, and…well…that’s a story for another day. I ended up switching majors to prepare for physical therapy school.

And here’s where the story really starts. I finally had a real purpose in life, a career to pursue. My academic performance soared. The friends from my hometown fell away and I made new friends, different friends, many of which I am still friends with.

Being finally and fully immersed in the college experience, I discovered that there was a wide world out there. And I discovered a lot about who I really was. 

I discovered art and literature and music. I met people very different from me. I discovered cultures very different from my own and realized that they had value too. I learned that a lot of what we thought we knew was just our opinion, and that others might have a different opinion. And that was OK. I figured out that I did have a brain and how to use it.

I asked a college freshman just last weekend what she found so great about college. She has really enjoyed her first few months. Her answer? “Anonymity.” I like that.

Some have said that college can be an opportunity to re-invent yourself.  I don’t think it’s so much that as it is that you can become the person that you were intended to be.

No longer bound by expectations, no longer living the life presumed for you by others, no longer limited by the perceptions of others, you are free to be you. It definitely happened to me.

And as you enter this incredibly important transition from teenager to adult, whether it is going to college or entering the workforce, you control your destiny.

So, what do you want to do with your life? Or, more importantly, WHO do you want to be?

Mouth Breathing

 

If you know Dr. Tommy Spears, you probably know him as a prominent local dentist. If you have been around here a long time, you might remember him as a standout athlete at Maryville High School.

I first got to know Dr. Spears because of a mutual love of basketball. Well into what most people consider old age, we were both playing pickup basketball games on a regular basis. He and I played in a game at MHS on Sunday evening for years.

Being quite a bit older than him and not growing up here, I didn’t know what an athlete he had been growing up. I just knew that he could hoop in his 30’s and 40’s. Our friendship grew over the years and I now consider him a close friend.

One thing that not enough people know about Dr. Spears is that he has become a noted expert on the impact of mouth breathing on childhood development.

Through the years, he and I have had numerous conversations about this, particularly as it relates to TMJ problems. He led an interprofessional group studying oral health and mouth breathing that I was part of.

Along the way, Dr. Spears became passionate about the possibilities of helping people from birth through old age, not just with their dental care, but with the complete spectrum of oral health.

Let’s go back to that part about mouth breathing for a bit. Oral habits start at birth. Most new mothers understand that suckling is important for infant development. Breast feeding is best but not everyone can do that and not everyone chooses that and that’s OK.

Bottles from way back had nipples that were not anatomically correct in any way. More modern nipples are better. Those oral behaviors are important for the development of the nasal passages and palate.

We also know that allergies are a lot bigger problem than they were not that many years ago.  That means that young children develop chronic rhinitis, stopping up the nasal passages and promoting breathing through the mouth instead of the nose.

There are some structural parts of the mouth, chiefly under the tongue and the upper lip, that inhibit proper development of the mouth. All that leads to mouth breathing, which leads to a whole host of physical and developmental problems.

This is where Dr. Spears comes in. As an extension of his dental practice, he established Tennessee Orofacial Myology, whose purpose is to address those issues. Tennessee Orofacial Myology provides a wide range of services, including education, exercise, appliances, and, when needed, minor surgical interventions.

The program is designed to reduce the incidence, severity, and consequences of mouth breathing.  The ultimate goal is to produce healthier adults. And the results with early intervention are amazing.

Not just oral health is impacted. Proper growth and development of the palate, nasal passages, and face are promoted. Posture, neck, and TMJ problems are hugely impacted. The incidence and severity of sleep apnea are reduced.

Think about this—a child that is a nasal breather makes better grades and is overall healthier. An adult that has remained a nasal breather will be healthier, happier, and more successful.  I know, it sounds like a stretch, but it’s true. And medical evidence backs it up.

And it all starts at birth. Questions? Talk to your pediatrician or dentist.  There is too much that can be done for this to be ignored.

Leadership

We talk a lot about leadership in sports.  We don’t talk enough about it in the corporate world, but that’s another topic for another day.

“Be a leader” is an admonition heard almost daily in team sports.  But what does it mean, really? To me, leadership is helping others in performing at their best. All leadership implies enabling others. To do less is management, not leadership.

Some people talk about leadership “style.” I don’t. Style implies you can copy it and thus become it. Leadership is more who you are. Leadership is more of a mindset. Leadership is something you have to work at.

I like to categorize leadership into four groups: Performance Leader, Encourager, Builder, Role Model.

The Performance Leader is often the star of the team. They are the one that you notice, the one that carries the load. Maybe it comes naturally to them but a lot of times, they have put in an immense amount of work to get that good—work that most people don’t see.

Performance Leaders are accountable and coachable. Most, but not all, are confident yet not arrogant. Arrogance diminishes their leadership impact. They’re good but they want you to be good too.

The Encourager is the one that lifts you up. The one that tells you that you CAN do this. The Encourager is often not the Performance Leader, but when they are, they are doubly effective.

Encouragers see the potential in everyone and do what they can to bring it out. They make great teammates (and great coaches). Aim high. Achieve your dreams.

Each morning, about 40 young physical therapists from around the country get a text message from me. Every day. 365. Some for years. Always something positive, something encouraging. One of the recent ones was a quote from that grand philosopher Steve Harvey that said “If you see it in your mind, you can hold it in your hand.”

We need more Encouragers in this world.

Builders do the work. Offensive linemen on a football team are Builders. Their work is unsung and largely unrecognized. Only when one of them jumps offside do we know their number. Back row on a volleyball team, defenders on a soccer pitch, right fielders, first leg on a relay team. Those are Builders.

We don’t really notice them but without them, the team will fail.

Role Models are most often the quiet ones. They let their work speak for itself. Here’s the thing though—they hold themselves to a higher standard than they do anyone else.

Role Models work harder. They pay more attention to the little things, like always being on time, eating right, never taking shortcuts, listening and learning constantly.

Role Models aren’t noticed until they are. We don’t think about them but then we figure it out and realize that we want to be like them. How they carry themselves, How they behave.

And most of all, how they treat others.

You might notice the absence of the Motivators from this list. I’ve never cared much for the rah-rah people. I would have run through a brick wall for my high school football coach but he was quiet and rarely yelled. I would have busted bricks to please him, because he had convinced me that I could do it.

So, what are you?

Being Healthy

 

If you read this space regularly, this is gonna be one of those “I’ve heard it all before” columns.  I’m recycling an old sermon. Not literally, but the same ideas and advice.

It’s all about being healthy. A little background—I was riding bikes recently when someone I just met tried to guess my age. Let’s just say she missed it badly. I think it was more her eyesight than anything else. I guess, from a distance, you can’t see the wrinkles and all that.

Anyway, I do put a lot of effort into staying healthy—not necessarily younger, just active at my age, any age.

I believe you should exercise daily. That doesn’t mean a 50 mile bike ride or hours in the gym. It doesn’t mean hiking the Appalachian Trail or swimming the English Channel. Although those are worthy endeavors, they’re not necessary. And definitely not for everyone.

You just need to MOVE! I really don’t care what you do (I really don’t) as long as you just do something to move your body. I do think it helps if you get your heart rate up a bit and a little sweat along the way never hurt anybody.

I’ve talked about the resources we have around here. Take advantage of those! If you just go for a walk, that’s great. All you need is a good pair of shoes. No fancy equipment. No personal trainer.

We don’t really do that enough. I’ve talked about green space here before. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind (and it’s backed up by tons of research) that our emotional health is improved by a walk in the woods.

You don’t have to go far to find that. I’ve told you about Jarvis Park. Minutes from downtown Maryville. Twenty-six miles of Greenbelt lacing through our cities. And if you can find a more serene stretch of downtown walking trail than the segment of the Greenbelt that runs from the tennis courts at Sandy Springs Park to Montvale Road, I want to see it.

Sure, at some point, you may want to take it up a notch or two. I’ve preached about strength training as you get older—particularly important for women in the fight against osteoporosis. And things like Yoga and Tai Chi help keep us moving.

I talk often about what you should and shouldn’t eat. The best and easiest advice to follow is avoid white sugar and white flour. And High Fructose Corn Syrup.  Those things will kill you. They are at the very top of what is called the “Glycemic Index,” which means avoid them at all costs.

Yeah, most of us eat more carbs than we should, but after a lifetime of a high carb/low fat diet, I can blame my high blood pressure and atherosclerosis on all those carbs. I just hope that a drastic switch in my diet over the past ten years makes a difference.

Sunscreen. You’ve gotta use it. A lot of cancers start with skin cancer, which then migrates to body parts that we can’t live without. Sunscreen even in winter, when the sun’s rays are still dangerous. 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (and again, and again), have a primary care physician that knows you by name. That knows your medical history. Have honest conversations with that doctor. They’re trained to

And if you smoke, well, dadgummit, you’ve got to find a way to stop. There’s just no fudge room there. It. Will. Kill. You. Sooner or later but probably sooner.

Helene

 

Sometimes an event happens that is so catastrophic, so tragic, that normal activities seem even abnormal.

I’m talking about the flooding and devastation last week in upper East Tennessee and western North Carolina. By now, you’ve probably seen all the media reports on how horrible it is.

Last week, we got about 8 inches of rain at my house, which is an extraordinary amount for such a short period of time. Yet, in Asheville, they got over two feet! All the rain that hit the mountains quickly traveled down into the valleys below, creating floods at never-heard-of levels.

I knew that Erwin and Newport were hit hard but it really hit home when I saw a video of helicopters evacuating patients from the rooftop of the Unicoi County Hospital. I had heard about it and sort of assumed it was an orderly removal of patients from a helicopter pad.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t an orderly evacuation. It was a rescue.

It hit home about how important our hospitals are, even small, community hospitals in maybe remote regions.  Those hospitals serve an important purpose and are an essential asset to their communities.

It also hits home that not everyone has access to quality health care. That there are doctors and nurses and physical therapists working in places that don’t have the amenities found in bigger cities. Health care professionals that choose to live in underserved and rural communities.

I saw videos of entire homes being swept away by raging floodwaters. Nasty, churning, brown water that is powerful beyond our imagination. Trailers are particularly susceptible but I saw entire homes swept off their foundations and quickly broken apart.

Homes where the contents will be so scattered that the families that lived in them will never find any evidence of what they left behind in. In one particularly macabre scene, I saw a video of a casket floating down the river.

I saw bridges that you might think could hold up to most anything crumble as though they were made of Tinker Toys. Can you imagine how long it will take Interstate 40 through the Smokies to be fully restored?

I saw a map of access to Asheville. All roads in and out were closed. No power. No cell service.  I read one story of a fellow who hiked 11 miles to check on his parents, finding stranded folks all along the way as roads were either destroyed or impassible.

I heard about the Tennessee National Guard rescuing people and dropping massive loads of supplies off in places where only helicopters could reach. It’s often been said that in the event of a crisis, look for the people running toward the problem.  There seems to have been plenty of those.

I’ve seen a bunch of local folks and businesses gathering supplies and arranging for transportation to areas without water, power, food, or shelter. This won’t be a one-time, short-term thing. These folks are going to need a lot of help for a long time.

I would ask that you open your hearts, your wallets, and maybe even your homes to those that so desperately need help right now. 

Throws like a girl?

 

I remember where I was the first time I heard the phrase.  “She doesn’t throw like a girl.”

It was at the baseball field in downtown Loudon and the person they were referring to you was a middle-aged woman that could throw like a rocket. She was actually playing on a men’s softball team (back then, they didn’t have softball teams for women where I grew up).

Throws like a girl. Runs like a girl. Not exactly compliments. Well, not compliments at all. Used derisively. 

And what I heard back in the day (she doesn’t throw like a girl) is really a slap in the face too. The person may have meant it as a complement but it really wasn’t. It implies that girls aren’t supposed to throw well.

So, what does it mean to “throw like a girl?”

Let me tell you about a couple of softball players I know. I remember one of them who played softball at Maryville Little League. Twelve years old, playing center field, and she retrieves a ball that made it all the way to the fence and in one move, she picks up the ball and throws a line drive that was about a foot off the ground, and just to the catcher’s left, picking off the runner who thought they had an easy score.

Did she throw like a girl?

Maybe you watched with me the Olympic sprinters this year. Did you see Sha’Carri Richardson?  Did you see Tara Davis-Woodhall in the long jump?

Did they run like a girl?

So, what do these people mean by that? I suppose it is a phrase that is meant to describe a weak throw with bad mechanics. Or a running gait that is equally inefficient and ineffective.

I’ve seen people of either gender throw ineffectively. With bad mechanics. And then couldn’t hit the broad side of a bar door.   I’ve seen others that look like they’ve never tried to run fast in their life.

But maybe there’s a thread of truth in what they say.  Can more boys than girls throw a ball effectively? Efficiently? With great body mechanics?

Yeah, probably so. But why? Once, long ago, I talked about the fact that when I was at Maryville Little League, we struggled to fill four girls’ softball teams while having full squads for twelve little boys’ baseball teams.

It just seems like folks believe it is more important for their little boys to play sports than it is their little girls. That means that fewer girls get to work on developing good throwing mechanics. Or develop the muscles that it takes to throw effectively. And run fast.

Remember the girl that pitched in the little league baseball world series? Girl could pitch! I don’t think anybody told her that she pitched like a girl. She might hit them with a nasty curve if they had.

When I was growing up, we threw something all the time. Footballs, baseballs. We would have contests to see who could chuck a rock at a sign and hit it the most. Walnut season meant a whole new arsenal of projectiles. And yes, my buddies were all male back then.

We need to provide our young girls with opportunities to lead active lives.

You want healthy female adults that cannot be pigeonholed as “only girls” when they grow up? Let them run and jump and throw. Let them swim and bike and play anything that they want to.  Climb rocks.  Chuck walnuts at signs. Provide your little boys with the same opportunities.

Then maybe one day we won’t need to categorize anyone as throwing “like a girl.”

Bentonville

 

I just got back from a trip to Bentonville, Arkansas. I was there to ride bikes with a buddy of mine and his son. There was a big bike race/ride called the Hincappie Grand Fondo but we went early to take advantage of trails surrounding town.  And, oh my goodness, do they have trails.

If you don’t know much about Bentonville, just know that it is the headquarters for Walmart.  The Walton family has been responsible for much of the growth of this town, which used to be a sleepy little place in the northwest corner of Arkansas.

The Walton family has been responsible for turning this town into a mecca for outdoor activities and a healthy lifestyle.  Bentonville has embraced a culture that promotes getting outdoors and all the good that goes along with that.

They have 129 miles of mountain bike trails, 137 miles of hiking trails, and the Razorback Greenway that can take you all around the city or to nearby Fayetteville. Coffee shops and cool restaurants all around town. A truly world-class art museum in the Crystal Bridges Art Museum.

In town, I often saw more bicycles than cars. They don’t just have bike lanes—they have bicycle highways.  Two lanes with a shoulder! And in areas where the bike lanes parallel busy streets, these gigantic bolsters that would block most vehicles from drifting into the bike lanes.

But I’m not here to make the all-star list for the Bentonville Chamber of Commerce. I’m here to talk about how we can take advantage of what we have here.

Now, don’t get me wrong—we aren’t going to become another Bentonville. We don’t have Walmart money backing everything that we do. What we can do is to grow and foster what we already have. 

For one thing, we can change our mindset about transportation. I hear complaints about the road infrastructure but if we didn’t hop in the car and skip around town for every little whim, traffic might be better. The Greenbelt is wonderful but if there were more access points, into neighborhoods all around town, maybe more people would be inclined to travel around by bicycle.

At times, we love our Smoky Mountains to death. Cades Cove is one of the most beautiful places in the world, yet bumper-to-bumper vehicles creeping around those 11 miles is the last place I want to be.

There are many places in the Smokies that you can go and avoid the crowds. And for goodness sake, get out of your vehicle. You’ll see more, feel more, smell more. There are 900 miles of trails in our national park.

Get out on the water. We’re surrounded by it. Ever paddle down the Little River?  It’s a magical experience. Or go up to the boat ramp just below Chilhowee dam and paddle over to the mouth of Citico Creek. You might even see Bald Eagles along the way.

You don’t have to have a big boat with a bigger motor to enjoy our waterways. A paddleboard, kayak, or canoe are far better.

Slow down and sit at a downtown café or coffee shop. We’ve got ‘em and they’re really cool places. And if one of those places has a musical performance, try that too. You might be amazed at the local talent.

Our country roads can be great places to bike but, dadgumit, bikers—respect the rules of the road. Stay to the right. Observe all traffic laws. If there is a group ride, stay in single file or, if there are a bunch of you, stay in a double line.

Cars, trucks, and motorcycles—please respect the right of the bicycle rider to be on those roads too. They’re not out there to slow you down or get in your way.

Hopefully you get my point. We have a wonderful place to work, live, and play. Take advantage of what is at your doorstep. Love your neighbor. Embrace our differences, what makes us unique.

We can’t be Bentonville. We can be better.

One. More. Conversation.

 

At one point in time, we all want it. Maybe when we get kids of our own. Maybe as we get older. I know I have. We wish for something. Just One. More. Conversation. With somebody no longer around.

For me, it’s my Dad. He died in 1997 a week after he turned 84. I can tell you that he lived a lot longer than he should have.

At 45, he had his first heart attack. Back then, cardiac science consisted of blood thinners. Period. That’s it. I can remember going with him to UT Hospital on a regular basis to get his blood checked.  I don’t recall how often he went, but that visit determined the level of Coumadin that he took.

He returned to work in the factory where he had been, but then, at 55, he had another heart attack. This time, he was forced into retirement. That was when he learned of the other part of cardiac care—a sedentary lifestyle.

And when I say “sedentary lifestyle,” I mean he was not allowed to do anything. No exercise. No lifting. No hunting or fishing. Nothing.

His garden—I took care of that.  His bees—I did all the work, he just supervised. We didn’t have a clothes dryer back then and he was forbidden from even hanging clothes on the clothesline that we used to dry our clothes. I did that while my Mom worked.  Such was cardiac science back then.

My Dad was an uneducated man. He dropped out of school in the 6^th grade after his own father died, and went to work in a factory in his small hometown. During the Depression, the factory closed so he moved to Knoxville and lived in one room in the basement of an old building and worked wherever he could find work, sending money back home to his mom and sisters.

I realized in more recent years that my Dad was likely illiterate.  I don’t recall ever seeing him read and his signature was crude and simple. Yet, he was a really smart man. He could fix anything. He built a motorized ice cream freezer, when hand cranked was how everyone else did it back then.

When I was 10 and dying for a go-cart, he built me one out of parts and wood that he had around his garage. It was crude but I remember proudly driving it in the 4^th of July parade.

When I was in high school and playing football, he could never attend. His cardiologist forbade it. Too much excitement. He would sit at home, listening to my games on the radio.

As a college senior, I received an award that I was ready to blow off. I just wanted to graduate and get on to physical therapy school in Memphis. A wise professor told me that not only would I be there, but my parents were to be there as well.

At the awards ceremony, I nonchalantly went to the stage to receive this award, thinking at the time that it was no big deal. But when I turned to return to my seat, I saw my Dad. This little, simple man, who had known nothing but hard labor and hardship his whole life, sobbing where he sat.

I realized what that award and that college degree meant to my Dad.  All his dreams wrapped up in me. All that he could not accomplish, I could accomplish. All that he might have hoped to become, I became.

He lived long enough for my own kids to know their “Pops,” but he didn’t get to see them become a doctor and a lawyer and parents. He wasn’t around to meet my own grandkids. I wish he had. He didn’t live to see me become Dr. Black. He would have been so proud.

I do wish I had one more conversation with him. I know exactly what I would ask him. Dad, how did I do?

The Way It Should Be

 

I’m going to leave the names out of this, just because I hope it applies to teams everywhere.

I was on the sidelines of a middle school football game recently. The game was out of hand, with the home team way ahead. About that time, a rather diminutive safety made an interception.

Now, keep in mind that the game was, for all practical purposes over.  The starters had long since been relegated to the bench.  For most teams, that means that those that had played most of the game would be found on the bench, getting some well-deserved rest. Maybe chatting among themselves.

Not so for this team. Everybody on the team was up, fully engaged in the game. And when this youngster made that interception, those on the sidelines erupted in joyous celebration.

Raucous, jumping-up-and-down celebration. Like they had just scored to win the game. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they had carried this young man off the field.

And then, a few minutes later, another player on this team broke for a long run and a touchdown. Another kid that maybe didn’t play a lot. Same thing. Back-slapping, high-fiving joy. Nobody was sitting down. Everybody was still in the game, despite the lopsided score in their favor.

THIS is what I want out of team sports Unabashed support for teammates. It is one of the glories of sports.  In a day when it seems like college and professional athletes are in it only for themselves.  Or the money. Or both.

My friends in college football are simply shaking their heads and wringing their hands over what their game has become. NIL money. The portal.

Those things can be good. I can remember kids on my son’s college team that didn’t have enough money to go get a burger down the street. That when we showed up with pizza, we knew to have several. A little spending money would have been a good thing but that was something they simply didn’t have.

Now you’ve got a quarterback driving a Rolls-Royce and living in a multi-bedroom condo. If you’re a star of the team (meaning not a lineman), you can make millions.

There was a story (verified) last year of a college basketball player that couldn’t decide whether to enter the WNBA draft or stay in college. Apparently she wasn’t ready for the pay cut.

And the portal. Oh my goodness. The portal. Get mad at a coach—enter the portal. Not playing enough—enter the portal.  Having to wait until you’re an upperclassman to start—enter the portal.

Forget the fact that the college has already paid for a whole lot of your education. That’s not why you’re there. And to be fair, a lot of colleges treat you that way—that you’re there to play a sport and your education is incidental to that.

I get it when the coach that recruited you and promised you they would be there for your college career bolts for another school for more money.  Under the old rules, you were stuck with whatever coach your school decided to hire. Or transfer and sit out a year.

But entering the portal because the coach at your old school yelled at you too much, or who you felt was just too hard on you—not good.  If you’re always looking for greener pastures, you might just find that they are all the same.

Folks, it’s just a game. And quite frankly, I want that team support, that camaraderie, that enthusiasm for the least of these and the game itself that I found on that middle school football field.

Balance for Life

 

I get stopped often. Complete strangers will come up to me and tell me “I read your column in the newspaper.” It really does happen a lot and I’m grateful that people find something of value in my words in this space.

I guess if there is a target audience for what I’m trying to say here, it would be active individuals. Or parents of athletes. Hopefully those that are trying to get healthier.  But I do tend to cover a lot of topics.  In 40 years (it’s official now), I’ve covered everything imaginable.

If you’re paying attention, you will notice that I stay away from politics and religion. This is not the place for that. My choice. 

I just let people decide for themselves where I stand. I am spiritual and I am, I guess, political. Political in that I believe we should all vote and participate in the practice of democracy.

I am an active participant in the legislative process, visiting Nashville and Washington DC often. It’s pretty much always about physical therapy and health care issues, advocating for our patients. There’s a saying in the legislature that “you’re either at the table or somebody is eating your lunch.” I choose to be at the table. Have been for a long time. 

I find myself advocating for the needs of senior citizens more and more. Maybe it’s because I’m now in that demographic, but it really might be more because I see shortages and inequities in the health care we provide our elder citizens.

And what made me think about those seniors today is that it seems like that is more and more the population that reads my column. At least those are the folks that mention it. So this one’s for you.

It doesn’t seem like younger folks read newspapers much. My kids haven’t reached for the printed version in years and I now find myself reading the online version pretty much every day. Welcome to today’s world, I guess.

I really do miss the actual newspaper, printed on paper. Sunday morning with a cup of coffee and my Sunday paper was divine. But us senior citizens have to adapt. So, I read my online edition.

And since it seems like the geriatric set is a large part of my readership, today’s message is all about you.

More specifically, about falling. Everyone fears falling, with good reason. Of those that fall and break their hip, about a fourth die within the year.  So, you don’t want to fall.  But there’s hope--balance can be trained up. Many falls can be prevented.

There are lots of things you can do.  Staying active helps. Going for a walk every day is important. Moving your body is crucial.

There are some specific exercises you can do.  First, find a flat surface, clear of obstacles, and within arm’s reach of something you can grab to stabilize yourself. If you feel insecure, have someone stand nearby. Stand on one leg. Stand on the other leg. Stand on one leg with your eyes closed. Stand on one leg and swing your arms around.

Stand on one leg and reach out and step on spots around the floor with the other foot.  Try standing on a pillow. The variations are endless. Now here’s the thing—you’ve got to do it every day.  Maybe even a couple of times per day.

And strength training. You simply must do it. Without it, you just get progressively weaker. I don’t care how active you are or how much you hate it—you’ve got to do it.

It just makes sense that if you are stronger, you are going to be more stable, more able prevent falls. Strength training not only stabilizes the core, but it strengthens the bones.  And if you do fall, maybe you’re less likely to break a bone.  ‘

It’s just common sense if you think about it. Those systems that can keep you from falling (balance, strength, focusing on your surroundings) can be learned.  At any age.  And if these strategies can keep you from falling, you’ve won.

Doing what you love

 

I am not retired. There. I’ve said it. Again. For about the millionth time.

Sure, I’m old enough and yes, it does seem like I’ve been around here forever. I guess since I’m no longer on the MHS football sidelines on Friday night, folks have assumed I retired.

I didn’t. You can still find me at the clinic at Cherokee. Five days a week. And although you probably won’t see me on a sidelines on a Friday night, I’m actually still out there in that arena too.

Back up a bit. To 2020 to be exact. I had announced that would be my last season at Maryville High. Even though I had tried to keep it a secret, Coach Nick White announced it after a football game that “this was Joe Black’s last time on the sidelines for a Maryville-Alcoa game.”

Uh, thanks Nick. I had hoped to just finish the season and move on. Didn’t happen.

So then this newspaper picks up on the story and runs an article about it and, well, the assumption for most of Blount County was that I was retiring. I wasn’t.

I had always said that I would quit my day job before I would give up my work on the sidelines and courtside at games but it didn’t work out that way.  I quit most of the sidelines stuff but stayed in the clinic.

There were several factors. August and September had gotten physically demanding for me. I’m pretty fit but there are a lot of candles on that birthday cake. I would get home from football practice, eat dinner, and head to bed. Too many nights.

And then there was the family piece. My lovely and tolerant wife had put up with this lifestyle for almost 40 years. She deserved more of me. And we’ve made the best of it.

I also have seven grandkids and some of them deserved more of my time. My tennis player. My football player. The artist/runner that left for college this week. The little surprise and namesake. All of them.

But you’re still going to see me show up on the sidelines from time to time. We’ve got a great staff (it’s come a long way since it was only me and Sharon Wood) but they can’t always be everywhere for everything.

That’s what happened this week. Our folks needed help covering a middle school football game this week and I jumped at the chance. I even got to take the 14 year old soccer player with me. He got to see some of what I do.

It was a gorgeous night, with just a hint of fall showing its face with cooler temperatures. And then at the end of the second play of the game, a player from the visiting team stayed down. Face down and not moving.

I’m immediately in full on emergency mode. As I reach this kid, his coach said “he’s out.” Sure enough, this young athlete was unconscious.  I checked his breathing and pulse (fine) and then, as he slowly regained consciousness, I pinned him to the ground, keeping him immobilized. That’s the protocol, which is for his protection.

It also means a spine board and ambulance ride. This is the thing parents dread.  It’s a scary moment. This 14 year old kid was frightened but calm. I felt good that he was going to be OK—he could move everything and felt OK.

As the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance, players from both teams swarmed the field and surrounded the ambulance. As they waited for the ambulance to leave, both teams took a knee for a prayer, led by the home team’s coach.

I later learned that he was doing well and was going to be discharged from hospital later that night. I’m really glad he’s going to be OK.  I’m glad I was there with the skillset to take care of him

But it also means I’m not going to retire any time soon. I still have something to offer.