Chris Lilly is the reigning Memphis in May World Barbecue Champion. He’s also the coach of my team in the 2012 Memphis in May World Championship Cooking Contest.

That would be the same as having Texas Rangers Josh Hamilton teach your kids a thing or two about baseball. Or having Beyonce and Jay Z swing by for your weekly singing lesson.

In the world of competitive barbecuing, Chris Lilly is gold. And he’s all ours.

Chris is in charge of the Kingsford “On Asswinement” team – a group of five journalists and writers possessing a wide range of culinary skills – brought together to experience the wonderful world of competitive grilling.

My grilling skills – on the experience thermometer – fall somewhere between steak tartare and rare. I’m our team’s grilling newbie. But that doesn’t matter. Because Team Kingsford has Chris Lilly.

We’ve just finished day one of an intensive two day grilling boot camp Chris put together for us to master our category – ribs. We’re being schooled not only in the art and science of competitive grilling, we’re also being given an crash course in competing at a world-class level. And right now, my brain is overcooked. Well done. I’m hanging out in my hotel room at the famed Peabody Hotel – above the sounds from Beale Street below, trying to process what all I learned today. A few random thoughts?

• There’s far more to award-winning barbecued ribs than barbecue sauce. Our entry has has a three-step process – a rub, a wrap and a sauce – a layered strategy that’s going to make our ribs taste like an archeological dig, with a richness of exciting flavors popping up in the unsuspecting mouths of the judges.
• Developing our own secret-blend rub was similar to the process I went through as a little kid when I mixed a variety of soda pop together to discover a perfect taste. I believe we called that a suicide drink. Without divulging more information than I’m allowed, I will say that our rub will likely be the death of the other teams. We have this one nailed.
• If you’re like me, you may have thought that “ribs so tender they fall off the bone” was a good thing. Well, in competitive grilling, don’t EVER do that. “A good judge will destroy you if you turn in a mushy rib,” warns Chris. So much for that culinary myth.
• I love my Weber at home. But grilling on a big boy pit – compliments of my new best pals at Pitmaker – is way more fun. Ours features more compartments, doors, hydraulics, slide out grates and gadgets than I can grasp. I know it cost more than my car. And with a built-in 47″ LCD television (I kid you not), I’m realizing I’ve been missing out on a lot of cool grown-up toys the last few years.
• “You’re gonna blow the judges’ minds,” assures Chris. “And you have two bites to get the job done.” That was the moment of day one that I started to wonder if I had signed up for more than I bargained.
• My back hurts. My feet hurts. I need a rub. Of a different kind.
• Barbecue people are like country music people. The best.
• Memphis knows how to put on a show.

What’s ahead? Friday is our second day of boot camp. We’ll jump on our custom pit and try out our rub, wrap and secret sauce. And we’re not allowed to watch television, I’m told, until we get this thing right.

And Saturday’s the real show. So stay tuned. We’re in it to win it.

The Chicago Tribune TribLocal asked me to put some thoughts together pertaining to teenage drug and alcohol use. It’s a tough subject to write about – I desperately want to get it “right.” But I don’t know all the right answers. So I’m going to go with what’s in my heart…

Teenage drug and alcohol use. Just writing those words brings me a sense of unrest. Maybe it’s because the more I learn, the more I realize how much I don’t know.

I’ve raised one child to legal age. I have one who is within months of being 21. And I still have one in the thick of the pressures of high school. I know all too well – from past experience with others in my family – how real alcohol use and abuse is. I’ve worked with  and interviewed some of our country’s leading authorities on the subject.

And yet I still feel grossly limited in my knowledge. Perhaps that’s because I’ve come to understand there isn’t a silver bullet to all of this. And because this issue is wrapped around the lives of teens and their families, I find it excruciatingly important.

While I’d never profess to know everything, a few of the things I’ve learned along the journey of parenting include:

1. The conversation must start early. Starting this conversation in middle school is too late. I’d start real conversations in the early years of grade school.
2. Modeling healthy lifestyles starts with mom and dad. Like everything else, kids watch and see all of our actions. If you have a healthy lifestyle – as their parent – it is a step in the right direction. More importantly, if you don’t have a healthy lifestyle, your kids are at a disadvantage.
3. Kids will accept rules. Honestly. You must have house rules that everyone must follow when in your home. Kids want to be kids. Rules help them be kids.
4. “Everyone” isn’t doing it. Granted, you and your kids may be in the minority. As a parent, you have to recognize the pressure your child is under.
5. Drinking in the “safety of your home” is not safe. It sends mixed messages that are very confusing for kids.
6. Weed is not an acceptable alternative to alcohol. There’s a growing belief that weed is an acceptable substitute for alcohol. It isn’t. The acceptable alternative to drinking is living healthy and making healthy choices. That’s what I try to instill in my kids.
7. No tolerance is an acceptable family position. This is hard. Painfully hard. But study after study confirms that – in our country -this is the most effective position.
8. Parents who look the other way are doing their kids a disservice. There’s a trend for parents to start to relax (ignore) their kid’s actions when they become juniors. Parenting isn’t over at that point. Especially with this topic. Stick with it.
9. Kids who enter college with zero (or very limited) alcohol use do better. Some parents believe it’s better to “ease” their kids into drinking so they are better able to handle themselves in college. The truth is (and studies prove) that kids who enter college with no alcohol use (or very, very little) are far more likely to succeed. Those who enter college with moderate to high alcohol use are far more likely to struggle or drop out of college.
10. Did I mention the conversation must start early?

Is this the perfect list? Not a chance. But it’s what’s at the top of my head when the issue knocks on my door.

And what are a few specific things you need to do? Well, according to my friend and one of the country’s leading authorities on teen alcohol and drug use, Jeff Wolfsberg, here are four specific suggestions:

1. Take care of yourself. Really. You need to be healthy – physically and emotionally – to be the parent your child needs you to be.
2. Be physically awake when your kids come home. This is important. If your child knows you will be awake and talk to them, it will have in impact on their choices.
3. Show up and make telephone calls. Don’t be afraid to make an appearance if they are out at a public location. Additionally, call the parents of homes they are going to. Ask questions. Make sure you understand what kind of rules (or lack of) they are exposed to.
4. Be open. To everything. Never, never, never assume your child is not getting into problems. Every teen is vulnerable. Be aware. Be open.

So what things would you add to the list? 

I’ve found myself in a bit of a pickle this week. Make that a jar of barbecue sauce. Or whatever it is a world champion pit master has in his or her pantry.

This is my official shout out (“Help!”) to any and all of my grilling friends for love and support.

I’m heading to Memphis in May this Wednesday to compete in the World Championship Barbecue Contest – thanks to the nice folks at Kingsford Charcoal.

I’m actually on a four-person team with editors from Playboy, Men’s Health and Better Homes and Gardens. Part one of this journey is to put us through a two day BBQ Boot Camp with the current World Champion, Chris Lilly who is charged with the task of not only teaching the four of us how to grill, but also how to wow the judges and represent Kingsford in our debut performance this Saturday.

I have a lot to learn. As my kids will attest. A lot.

(And I’m wondering if I should have told the nice folks at Kingsford that I don’t eat meat!)

Stay tuned.

I consider myself to be a connoisseur of father-son bonding experiences.

Hiking, fishing, road trips, camping? Check those off the list. Reading, swimming, skating, skiing?
There are not many things I’ve missed.

But my most recent father-son bonding memory happened quite by surprise. In fact, when I went to bed last night, I never dreamed of the special experience waiting before I even hit my REM sleep.

It started at 1:43 this morning. Exactly. I know this because I remember glancing at the digital alarm clock as I jumped out of bed, awakened by my teenage son screaming out for me from his room. Having done this parenting job for over 20 years, I know all too well what a middle-of-the night scream from a child usually means. So, I grabbed a towel and a plastic trash can as I ran to his room in my primal auto-mode. Whatever awaited me on the other side, I was prepared. I consider myself a professional when it comes to upchucking kids. And, I’ve gagged my way through things I would have never imagined.

But last night took the prize. The impressive list of casualties include:

1. One lampshade.
2. The new I-Home next to his bed (grateful for our one-year warranty).
3. The insides of his new slippers.
4. Pages 56-69 of his Spanish book.
5. A bedspread, two blankets, one pillow, and all of his sheets.
6. The entire contents of the drawer in his night stand with all the junk he can’t bring himself to throw away. (Guess what? I threw it all a way).

The list continues. I’m sure. I’m just tired.

I have to admit that I wish he took after his sister just a little bit in situations like this. She’s a very considerate sick child. When the stomach flu visits her, she discreetly retreats to the bathroom to quietly suffer. If I happen to notice what’s happening and knock on the door, she’s likely to reply with a sweet, “I’ll be okay, Dad. Would you mind bringing me a glass of water, please?” What a sweetheart.

My boys, on the other hand, tend to treat these situations like dogs that feel the need to mark their territory. Getting from point “A” to “B” (where “B” would stand for the bathroom) is never an option for them. They prefer to deal with their explosive discomfort from wherever they might be at that moment.

For my younger son, last night at 1:43 in the morning, that place would be his bedroom.

It’s now 4:22 a.m. My son is asleep in my bed wearing one of my t-shirts. I’ve finished three loads of laundry. The last load is humming in the dryer. I’ve disinfected his room. And I’ve been running around the house with that eerie middle-or-the-night feeling where you truly feel as though the entire planet is asleep. Except for you.

I know I should probably be miffed. Upset. Perturbed. I should be frustrated by the world record list of collateral damage caused by that skinny little body. (Oh, and you can add a #7 to the above list. I need to restring his guitar). But I’m really not. Nope, what’s racing through my mind is the irony of the last six hours.

You see, my son went to bed angry with me. And truthfully, the feeling was mutual. It was silly. Senseless. Just some of the typical stinky stuff we let get between us sometimes. Attitude. Lack of attitude. Disrespect. Parental lecturing. Things that then snowball to a point where you forget how it all started.

And then you go to bed.

Angry.

And sometimes, you wake up angry.

But an upchucking child has a funny was of leveling the playing field, doesn’t it? It’s a pretty vivid reminder that, through all the things that get spewed our way as parents, these are still our children.

And sometimes we need to simply disinfect the stuff that’s messing up our relationship and move on. We need to clean up the mess. Stay by their side. And make sure they’re safe.

Thankful that we’re the one they call to in the middle of the night.

That’s my side of the story, at least for now.

I’ll let you know his interpretation of all this when he wakes up.

There’s one reason why the new Huggies Spaghetti Night Challenge commercial works. And that reason – at least for me – can be found in the photo above. More about that later.

The new commercial depicts a group of dads (real ones – not actors) with their kids (also real – not actors!) enjoying a spaghetti meal. And, as one would imagine, the kids make a splendid mess of themselves, their high-chairs, and their dads along the way. But thanks to the commercial’s hero – Huggies Wipes – the kids and their dads are left clean as a whistle, leaving us all with a happy-ever-after ending to this story.

Perhaps you’re asking, “Why even talk about this pint-size version of a cafeteria food fight?”

Ordinarily, you’d be right to wonder. But there’s a backstory here that’s put this commercial in the “dad-ad” spotlight. A month or so ago, Huggies kicked off a slick, new campaign, The Dad Test. The original intent was to be a “celebration” of dads. Unfortunately, the entire campaign backfired on Huggies as a public outcry of unhappy moms and dads called out Huggies for depicting dads as stereotypical doofuses who knew nothing about raising kids. To Huggies credit, they put all hands on deck to tackle this public relations predicament. They flew high-level Huggies personnel and Kimberly-Clark executives (the parent company) around the country to meet face-to-face with groups of fathers, they held mini-focus groups with dads, and they revamped the messaging of the entire campaign at a price tag I’m sure wasn’t cheap.

The irony of all this is that, due to some innocent (and perhaps not well-conceived) creative work, Huggies found themselves in the middle of a heated debate about the role of dads in our country. From their perspective, they were just trying to do something positive. I have to give them a pat on the rear for going above and beyond the call of duty to help smooth out a messy situation. They’re in the business of selling diapers and wipes – not leading the battle for dad-hood everywhere.

All I want from them – and brands across the country – is to portray dads simply as we are. Don’t celebrate us. Don’t canonize us. Don’t put us on a pedestal or portray us as anything other than men who love our children, dig in with the daily stuff, and – at the end of the day – value what we do.

Which brings me back to the photo above. 

This is my oldest son, Kevin. I took it over 20 years ago. Consider this my version of the Spaghetti Night Challenge. Only this, I believe, was plums. But it really doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that this commercial took me to a place that I value deeply. It gave me a “been there, done that” moment. A moment I’ve repeated over-and-over with my children for many years.

I know the creative people behind this ad are proud of the fact that they used “real dads” and not actors.

But honestly, I don’t care about that. Because, you see, I’m the real dad. And that’s what this commercial reminded me of.

It reminded me of something I cherished. Through the stickiness, the smell, and the disgusting crud I found in my ear two hours later – I cherished those moments. I cherished being quick and agile enough to outsmart my kids with pig-tying motions – pinning their two arms with my one free hand – while I swiftly wiped their face. And I could do it all while still wearing a tie.

I cherish those moments. A lot. And I miss them.

For it’s in moments like that, I was – and am – a real dad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13CNGiNQfg8

The new United Nations Foundation shot@life program is calling all Americans to action to save the lives of children in developing countries.

I recently took my teenage son to the pediatrician for an annual check-up.

Driving to the doctor’s office, my son asked, “Do I have to get a shot? I hate shots.”

“Deal with it,” I told him. “You’re lucky.”

He had no idea what was really going through my mind.

A couple of facts I recently learned:

• 1 in 5 children around the world do no have access to the vaccines they need to survive
• A child dies every 20 seconds in developing countries of a disease that could have been prevented by a vaccine
• The number of children dying every year from preventable diseases in developing countries is nearly equivalent to half the children entering kindergarten in the United States. Folks, that’s 1.7 million children. And that’s not acceptable.

How do I know all of this?

Well, I’ve spent just a few minutes of my time learning about the  Shot@Life program – backed by the United Nations Foundation.

What is Shot at Life?

Shot@Life educates, connects and empowers Americans to champion vaccines as one of the most cost-effective ways to save the lives of children in developing countries.  A national call to action for this global cause, the campaign rallies the American public, members of Congress and civil society partners around the fact that together, we can save a child’s life every 20 seconds by expanding access to vaccines. By encouraging Americans to learn about, advocate for and donate vaccines, the United Nations Foundation’s Shot@Life campaign will decrease vaccine-preventable deaths and give children a shot at a healthy life.

Why Vaccines?

Vaccines currently save 2.5 million children every year. Thanks to a coordinated global effort, in the last 20 years new cases of polio have dropped 99 percent and the world is nearly polio-free. The Measles Initiative has vaccinated one billion children in 60 developing countries since 2001, decreasing world measles deaths by 74 percent. Groundbreaking vaccines for pneumococcal disease and rotavirus are being introduced globally now and, if distributed widely, have the potential to save millions more children.

For just a few dollars, vaccines provide a lifetime of protection for children. A study published in the journal Health Affairs in June 2011 estimates that scaling up immunization coverage could translate into $151 billion saved from reduced treatment costs and gains in productivity.

Vaccines save lives. It’s really quite simple.

Which Vaccines?

Shot@Life  supports the work of its partners to expand access to existing vaccines for children in developing countries to protect them against four vaccine-preventable diseases: measles, polio, pneumonia, and diarrhea.

How Can You Help?

Head over to Shot@Life. You’ll find plenty of things you can do there including sending a message to Congress, joining this important cause via various social media channels. And, of course, you can donate funds. For just $20, you can help protect a child from four of the most deadly and disabling vaccine-preventable diseases.

My annual story of thanks. Repeated year after year. I like it. I hope you do too.

My fifth birthday party has long been the gold standard in my life for celebrations. Just ask Kristin, Kirk, Kathy, Debbie or Nancy. They were there. And I know they all relished in – and probably were a little jealous of – my highly original cowboy theme, the amazing assortment of backyard games, and my mom’s decorations, the focal point being a table covered edge-to-edge with M&Ms. I’ve lived most of my life thinking nothing could ever top that celebration.

Funny thing, during the last few years, I’ve had a different kind of annual celebration that knocks the socks off that cowboy-M&M-rich day. I’m actually celebrating it today. It was seven years today that my doctor called me at home on an uneventful Sunday afternoon to deliver a cancer diagnosis. Since then, life has never returned to the old normal.

The new normal, after surgery, recovery and subsequent treatment is, as my oncologist says, learning to manage this disease. That includes a combination of thirty-some prescriptions and supplements every day to keep sleeping cancer cells asleep. It also includes living three months at a time before heading back to the clinic for a series of tests with hopes of getting another hall pass of good health for the next three months.

“How long will we be doing this?” I asked my doctor shortly after we started our journey together.

“Until you die,” he replied.

Welcome to the new normal.

But, the new normal is also unleashingly good. The new normal comes with the permission to live richer, to speak freely, to cry openly, to make mistakes, to take chances, to say “yes” to new things, and to tell those “someones” in your life just how deep your love is for them.

My someones are my three children. They were drafted into this story without choice.

As anyone who has dealt with cancer will tell you, from the moment you receive your diagnosis, you become a survivor. I also have come to learn that cancer is a family disease. That makes the entire family survivors.

The truth is – and I say this with nothing but respect for the millions of people living with cancer  – my kids and I like to refer to ourselves as cancer warriors. How, exactly, does one become a warrior? We make a conscience effort to make each day count. We help others. We volunteer. We reach out. And, we appreciate what we have as opposed to dwell on the fear of what we could lose.

I started running in races a few years ago. It was part of my mental health program. Perhaps you’ve seen me? I’m the guy at the back of the pack. Always. But being slow has an advantage. It allows you to observe others. My favorite “other” was a woman in the Lincoln Half Marathon a few years ago. She was older than me. We were both bald so we had a natural connection. She was running with a pack of people who clearly adored her. Her husband, I assumed. Children. Friends. Neighbors.

On the back of her pink t-shirt she had written her words of wisdom with a black marker.

Someday I won’t be able to run. But today I can.

She was a warrior, too.

Every cancer story is different. And, it is with the most humble gratitude that I acknowledge my seven year mark. Far too many are not as fortunate.

If you know anyone who deals with cancer – survivors, warriors, family – I hope you’ll ask them how they are doing. Better yet, give them a hug. Do it today because, well, today you can. They will be warmed by your thoughtfulness.

So how are we going to celebrate our 7th birthday today? Probably no different than we’ve celebrated the last 2,555 days. Maybe I’ll spread M&Ms all over the table.

Dark chocolate this time.

I just returned from the 2012 Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, which celebrated the genius of this one, incredible woman.

My mom was Betty.

But this weekend, at an intimate event at the University of Dayton, I was reminded that I am also Erma’s child. Erma Bombeck.

And I’m quite certain that’s precisely how the other attendees at the 2012 Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop felt.

Erma died 16 years ago today. She left this world with far too many unfinished stories. Stories where she seemed to find the nugget of gold in the nooks and crannies of our days. It might be in the garbage disposal. Or in the burnt dinner. Or in the snippy conversation between parent and child. She always found gold. And she wrapped that gold in the dancing, smiling warmth you felt in her eyes. Her stories were your stories. Her stories made you feel alive. Her stories reminded you that – with Erma – you were never alone.

If you aren’t familiar with Erma’s works, youth is your only excuse. She wrote thousands of columns and countless books in the seventies, eighties and nineties. In sharing stories of her own family, she forever chronicled the stories of a generation.

And she did it with the universal language of humor.

The Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop draws hundreds of writers – from Pulitzer Prize winners and New York Times best sellers – to folks who are simply beginning their journey of sharing stories through a blog. The common bond of everyone, however, is a love of Erma. It is that bond that makes us her children.

Having just returned from this year’s Workshop, I’m still on an Erma High. I was honored to be on the faculty this year. This Workshop is different from the other writing and blogging conferences I participate in throughout the year. “Erma” isn’t packaged with glitzy presentations and it’s not overpowered by snazzy parties sponsored by big-name brands.

Nope. “Erma” is more like traveling home to a family reunion. The one without the nutty relatives.

The family atmosphere is reinforced by the regular attendance of members of Erma’s family. This year we were fortunate to have her husband, Bill, join us – along with two-thirds of her children.

Yep. “Erma” is the family gathering you love to attend.

A sampling?

• A walk with Craig Wilson – famed columnist at USA Today – back to the hotel. Just us. And we simply talked about my son, Kevin.
• In the first class I taught on Integrating Video into Your Craft - I looked up only to see the A-List writer, Ilene Beckerman (who wrote the award-winning Love, Loss and What I Wore) sitting in the front row. Have you ever had someone of that stature take notes about something you were saying?
• Sitting at a book signing one night – at the table next to Bruce Cameron – author of the NY Times Best Seller, A Dogs Purpose. My table mate, Dave Fox, and I wondered why they put the two bald guys next to the Hollywood-Good-Looks Cameron.
• Having a chance to speak to one of my new heroes in life – Pulitzer Prize winner Connie Schultz. My admiration for her extends far beyond her writing. At the Workshop, it had everything to do with how she touched every, single person she met. Being with Connie for thirty minutes is a life lesson in the power of treating others kindly, encouragingly, and with respect.
• Sitting at dinner listening to geniuses including folks like Alan Zweibel who was one of the first writers for Saturday Night Live or  best-selling author Adriana Trigiani who wrote for countless television hits including The Cosby Show and A Different World.

You know that wonderful feeling you have when you’ve travelled to someone else’s home and walk down to their kitchen the first morning? You smell coffee. Perhaps cinnamon rolls. And you see the faces of people you forgot you missed? That’s how this Workshop is for me. Those “faces” are my true-blue writing pals. Suzette. Tracy. Michael. Karen. Michele. And they are the faces of some amazing new family. Anna. Nancy. Debba. And many more.

I’m enjoying my Erma High. I’ve been reminded of the goodness in the world. I’m reminded of the value in helping others. I’m reminded of the importance of opening doors for others. I’m reminded of the value of sharing your story and making others smile. Cry. Or laugh. But more than anything, I’m reminded of how fortunate I am to be a child of Erma.

I had the honor the other day of being part of a group of folks who chose the winning essays from this year’s IFI /Chicago White Sox Illinois Fatherhood Essay Contest. Over 18,000 kids from the state of Illinois submitted essays this year – honoring their dads, step-dads, grandfathers, or father figures. The Illinois Fatherhood Initiative is the sponsor of this annual event. As I read the piles and piles of essays I was given, I was not only moved, but I was reminded of a story I wrote a year ago – celebrating one of the things I love about fatherhood. I hope you enjoy. 

There’s one thing I have to tell you about myself before you read any further. I’m not a runner. And while I’ve found myself participating in a number of races over the past few years, please don’t ever, ever think of me as a runner. I’m slow. I wasn’t blessed with a beautiful gait. I walk often. And I rarely check my time. Maybe you’re a runner. But I’m not. Honest.

Now that we have that covered, I have a story to share with you about an “aha” moment I had after recently participating in the 20^th Annual Livestrong Austin Marathon and Half Marathon.

The story has nothing to do with the race itself (thank you for not inquiring about my time), the course (any illusion of Texas being flat can now be dispelled), or the reason I continue to sign up for race after race (another story for another time).

The story has to do with something I learned about fatherhood an hour or so after I finished the race.

I Miss My Kids. I Admit It.

I was walking back to my hotel, a few blocks away from the finish line, and I had one thing on my mind. No, it wasn’t the sensation of nothingness left in my legs or the taste of dried salt on my lips. All I was thinking about was getting to a phone so I could call my kids. I have three of them. And I missed them. It’s as simple as that. I’m a single dad raising them alone so my world pretty much revolves around theirs. I needed to find out what they were doing in the 15-plus hours since I flew down to Austin. I wanted to find out about school. I wanted to hear about the details of their day, what they ate and what they were doing.

Nothing mattered to me as much as hearing their voices.

It’s a feeling I’ve grown used to in the many years I’ve been a dad.  It began the instant I held my oldest child in my arms within seconds of him being born. I remember looking in his eyes in the delivery room, with the flurry of nurses still running around, and thinking to myself that my life would never be the same.

I had no idea how right I was.

And that’s why a phone call was all I had on my mind as I hurried back to the hotel that sunny, Austin, Sunday morning.

You Never Know Who You’ll Meet on the Corner

A block or two from the hotel, I stopped at an intersection to wait for a break in the traffic. As I stood there another finisher—a young guy—stepped up and stood next to me so I glanced over to him and smiled. He smiled back.

And we continued to wait with the post-race traffic circling around us.

As I looked at my watch, I noticed he was holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. Actually, it was a ginormous bouquet of flowers. Upside down. Resting against his legs. At first I thought it to be just a little unusual.

Flowers?

Then it registered. So I peered back over at him again, without moving my head as I snuck another look. Yep, a big bouquet of flowers tied with long flowing ribbons. And, a shiny, gold trophy was gripped in his other hand!

Somehow amid the bustling streets of Austin, I managed to find myself alone on a street corner with someone who was obviously a very serious runner.

It’s Not About Medals

“Did you just win this whole thing?” I blurted out without giving a thought to the words I was using, the appropriateness of my question or any other running etiquette guidelines I might be violating.

The young guy just smiled a big smile and replied, “I did. Not my best race. But I did.”

I later learned that “not his best” was a marathon time that was a couple minutes faster than my half marathon time! I was hanging on the street corner with running royalty.

But that’s not what made the lasting impression on me. It was what he said next.

“I’m sneaking out of here,” he said with an ear-to-ear smile. “My wife and I just had triplets and I’m dying to get to the hospital to see my kids.” He then held up his wrist to show me the three hospital bracelets he was still wearing to celebrate his new trio.

“Awesome!” I replied. “I’ve got three, myself so I understand.  Congratulations, my friend. You are a lucky man.”

“We’re both lucky,” he said as he extended his hand to me. “We’re both very lucky.”

Join the Club

Then, with a tiny break in the traffic, he bolted and—like a gazelle—threaded his way through the street and disappeared.

And all I could do was stand there for a brief moment and let the irony of the situation sink in.

For all our obvious differences, I realized that our similarities were far greater. And certainly more meaningful.

If you are unsure as to whether or not you should see the new documentary, “Bully”, I hope you will read this. 

“I don’t believe in luck. But I believe in hope.”

If you were to read those words on the back of a t-shirt, or on a bumper sticker, you might not think twice.

Read them again. And imagine them being spoken by  young 12-year-old from Sioux City, Iowa. His name is Alex Libby. And he’s a kid – like hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of kids in our country who live in a world where others treat them like animals. Alex is one of the sweet kids featured in the new documentary, Bully. Unfortunately, his story is all too familiar.

Kids call Alex “Fish Face” in reference to the physical appearance of his face. That’s the tame part. On the school bus, his seat mate tells him, “I will f-ing end you, and stuff a broomstick up your a%^.”  And when Alex’s parents confront school administrators about what’s going on within the confines of the bus, they are told that the children onboard are all angels.

“I don’t believe in luck. But I believe in hope.”

I had to hold back a gush of tears when Alex said those words. He was sharing his outlook on life. Is this an acceptable world where kids have to hold on to hope in order to get through their days? I’ve heard many say that bullies have been around forever and we’re overreacting to it.

I disagree.

And truthfully, I don’t care if bullies have been around forever. It’s not acceptable. It’s not acceptable to put our kids in an environment that is unsafe. It’s not acceptable to not hold other kids accountable for harming others – physically or mentally. It’s not acceptable for school administrators or teachers to look the other way. And it’s not acceptable for parents to feel a lack of support in protecting their own children.

It’s too big of an issue.

And I certainly don’t have the answers.

But I do think a healthy place for all of us to start is to go see this movie. Parents, teachers, children, everyone. We need to start somewhere to discuss what is going on.

And I hope you’ll find a couple hours in the coming weeks to do so.

Prove Alex right. The kid believes in hope. And you are part of that hope.