I Won When I Lost

Diane and I were visiting son Ryan, his wife Margaret, and their 4 and one-half (I’m told the one-half is important when you’re four) son Dan. They do lots of game playing and pretty much the same games we played as kids—Old Maid, UNO, Go Fish, Chutes and Ladders. As I watched these games being played, I decided that Dan should be in Las Vegas playing Blackjack or whatever they play out there, as he wins a stunning 99 to 99.5% of the time. It’s incredible. All of a sudden he goes from certain defeat to a stunning and even more sudden victory. The kid’s parents just can’t seem to win.  It made me think of Diane and me and our kids and we experienced the same scenario 40-50 years ago with them. Amazing. 

A little research was in order and it took some time to find, but there in the Taylor family archives was a story from the Summer 1992 Western News that made me smile as it poignantly tells my story about “letting” our kids always win and at what point in our lives do we let maturity and Father/Mother Time make us able to be mutually competitive with our children. What follows is my story and every time I read it, it makes me smile. Hope you will too.

Change is Inevitable, So Enjoy It

Western News, Summer of 1992

I must be getting old.  Recently I spotted a young man at Macomb High School wearing a letter jacket with the number ’94 displayed on one sleeve.  My mind raced (sort of).  “Ninety-four,” I thought.  “What happened to the mighty Hinsdale Red Devils of the Class of ’64?  Are we really 30 years older than today’s high schoolers?”

A look in the mirror confirmed my fears.  Where did those deep creases across my face come from, and how did I get so many chins, and what happened to those once clear blue eyes that used to twinkle with mischief and anticipation?  Who put those bags under my eyes, and why am I 5-foot-11 when I used to be 6 feet tall?  And, for heaven’s sake, what is this gray hair doing on my temples?  It occurred to me that, just maybe, I had arrived at, dare I say it, MIDDLE AGE. 

I guess I should have recognized the signs.  Things like being the parent of children 21, 18, and 12.  Or upcoming college tuition for a daughter and a son in the same year.  Or making a less than celebrated move from leftfield to rightfield at the request of my softball coach.  Or my net game in tennis disappearing—not diminishing—but disappearing.

But the most obvious clue that middle age had arrived was when I lost in “driveway” basketball.  You know.  You defeat your children year after year playing one-on-one at the hoop you put up in the driveway to prove to yourself that you still have it.  I never lost to Gordon Taylor III.  I was bigger and stronger.  I was a man; he was a boy.  Even if he was the ace three-point shooter on the Macomb High School boys’ varsity basketball team, I could still psyche him out when the game was on the line.

Then it happened.  I stood in the driveway prepared for our usual mortal combat and something changed.  I was the same, 46 years of sinewy muscle and raw talent ready for my annual triumph.  What was different was Gordon Taylor III.  I looked toward the front door and out he loped—all 6’3” 160 pounds of him.  He looked different.  He was different.  He was relaxed, confident, poised, self-assured.

What had I created?  What happened to the cannon fodder of past years?

The rest is history.  It was UGLY, painful, degrading, and sad.  Even Gordon felt bad as he patted me on the head, led me to the front step, sat me down, brought me a coke and oxygen, and said, “The King is dead, long live the King!”

I knew then that the torch had been stolen, er, passed. 

There are other signs that my life is changing.  Staying up for the evening news is a challenge, contemporary music makes me ill, my mind says yes but my stomach no, and quiet nights at home are times to be savored and enjoyed, not dreaded. 

Where is all this going?  The answer is simple.  Change is inevitable.  When he was on campus last year, Bill Hewitt, the former CEO of John Deere said, “The only constant in the world today is change.”

Think about that for a moment, and it should help you rejoice in the past, enjoy the present, and look forward to the future.  I realize I will never be younger than I am today.  That can be a threatening thought or the impetus to motivate me to enjoy every minute that life has to offer.  I choose the latter course.  I hope you do too.   

Today, all three kids have departed Macomb creating families of their own. The basketball pole, rim, and net remain and for whatever reason, every five years or so I faithfully cut down and replace the old net to be replaced by a fresh new one. Occasionally I will find an old basketball, pump it up, put on a pair of shorts, and shoot for a while. For me, it brings back pleasant memories of days gone by and certainly some of the most precious ones. I regret none of it, not even when the boys both went from the vanquished to the victors. Hmm, let’s see. Dan is four (and a half) and Gordy Taylor is 77. We could lower the basket to five feet or so and maybe I could entice him to engage me in a game or two. I’m smiling and I like my plan.

The Fourth Quarter moves on.