15 Years Later

Nearly four years ago, I found myself at Buffalo Wild Wings across from my favorite teacher from high school, Mr. Larsen.  The scents of garlic, buffalo sauce and lime-tinged vodka were briefly punctured by the forceful smell of alcohol wipes.  The constant background noise of a crowd at a game radiated throughout the restaurant.  The Cubs were even playing on a few of what felt like a hundred televisions.  There were plenty of distractions available.

Yet Larsen and I were focused.  We had a story to tell.  The beginning was easy.  It basically wrote itself.  

But we also knew on that first day where we wanted it to end: I would join Larsen at the final stadium on his baseball stadium tour.

Neither of us had any idea how much that day would change our lives.  We were excited about the opportunity to create something unique, to tell a great story.  The end result was something much bigger.

But first, some jackassery!

Larsen still had seven stadiums left on his list when we first discussed this.  Who knew how long it would be before he got to the last one?  

So, for the sake of the story, I joined him in Philadelphia one year later for a Phillies game at Citizens Bank Park.  We figured we’d be done writing this story by then, and at least it would be cool if we went to a game together at a new stadium for both of us.

I got to meet Larsen’s cousin and his friend that he had been going on this baseball journey with.  We sat high in the outfield stands, admiring the ballpark and recounting past championship Phillies teams.  Early in the game, former Cub Kyle Schwarber hit a home run, which Larsen missed.  Too bad for him.  The two of us later purchased Schwarber jerseys, mine white with red pinstripes, his classic powder blue with red trim.  The next day, the four of us went golfing in northern Pennsylvania.  I did not golf well.

That was three years ago.  Admittedly, this took us a lot longer to write than we expected.

A year later, we had made considerable progress on the story, but hadn’t yet landed our plane.  Meanwhile, Larsen had obtained a ticket to his last stadium.  This is what we had talked about, and I wasn’t going to miss it.  I flew into Baltimore from Tucson overnight.  After spending the morning recovering in a bar by the harbor, I got my second wind just in time to meet up with Larsen and the group.

Camden Yards was rocking as the Orioles, competitive for the first time in a while, were on their way to adding another victory to their record.  The roar from the crowd was palpable when the O’s hit a home run.  The entrance of closing pitcher Felix Bautista – an absolute monster – was surreal, with professional wrestling entrance production and the fans going wild.

We had our ending, the way we had originally planned it.  This was going to be so cool when we revealed in our last blog entry (this one) that we had gone to this game together.

But it turns out this isn’t a story about baseball.  This isn’t even a story about telling stories.

Our silly little blog project turned into an avenue for us both to reflect on where we’ve come from.  It allowed us to appreciate the people that have helped us along the way and the experiences that have shaped us.

It also allowed for a lot of personal growth.  For my part, I have a much healthier outlook on how to deal with my emotions.  Much like in high school, my time with Larsen has helped me to gain more confidence in myself and better appreciate who I am.

But it’s actually not like back in high school at all.  Back then, Larsen was just a teacher I looked up to.  We weren’t sharing life stories, both past and present.  We weren’t going to baseball games together or getting the occasional wings and beer.  There were no joint efforts in writing competitions or comedy open mics (my first one in nearly a decade).  He wasn’t listening to me talk about a girl I couldn’t let go of.  Or for that matter, about any girls I’ve been involved with at one level or another since then.

No, this is different, because along with all the silliness, the stories, the sports talk, and the jackassery, we share real life shit with each other.

This project allowed me to tell my dad about how much I admired him while he was still here.  I’m beyond grateful for that.  However, while I’ve always been an open book about most things, I was relatively quiet about my dad’s declining health.  Notably, I didn’t mention it in this blog until just now.   

But I did open up to my co-writer about it.  Discussing my dad’s situation wasn’t sharing for the sake of the project.  It was personal.

And my co-writer did something he does quite well, believe it or not.  He listened.  And kept listening.  He was one of the first people I told after The Legend passed.  That empathetic listening ear was always there when I needed to process, project or not.

So what’s the real story here?

It was a simple idea.  We were both excited to team up on a unique creative endeavor.  We thought we’d be done a lot sooner.  We thought the story would end at a baseball game.  Neither of us realized throughout all of the blog entries, recorded podcasts, and unhealthy amounts of wings, we weren’t just telling a story.

Four years ago, I sat in a Buffalo Wild Wings across from my favorite teacher from high school.  Four years, a couple of baseball games, and a completed project later, I’m sitting at that same table of that same Buffalo Wild Wings across from my friend, Tim Larsen.