Dan Goes to Fenway Park in Boston, MA, home of the Red Sox

I used to play it close to the vest.  You might be thinking, Really?  No way, Dan.  You?  
You transferred from the College of Wooster in Ohio to go to Arizona State sight unseen; quit your teaching job in Arizona and moved to Maine with Hannah, Molly, and Robyn without a job because you two wanted your kids to grow up in a small town in New England; drove 4500 miles Into the Wild to Fairbanks, Alaska with your family.  


As a kid, I was pretty cautious.  Let’s just say I still like my routines: morning rituals, working out at the gym, coffee at the Crumb with friends, a glass of wine with Hannah in the evenings.  The unknowns can be unsettling and immobilizing; but from a lifetime of taking such risks, I’ve learned that usually unexpected joys await when I step out of my comfort zone.  Driving into Boston on a rainy afternoon gives me another opportunity to put theory into practice. 

Days before, my childhood friend Tom invites me to a Sox game on an early Monday night in May.  (The Red Sox baseball team is “the Sox” in New England.)  I leap at the chance, but do not jump to any conclusions about what kind of Sox fan I am.  I am the classic fairweather fan.  The Sox are in last place now, and I am jumping ship.  Why, when the Sox won the World Series back in 2004 and 2007, I never stayed up past the first or second inning; and these were games that riveted sports fans in New England.  For me tonight, the Red Sox are a vehicle, a conduit, a perfect excuse to hang with Tom for an evening.  As usual, with me it’s all about the relationships.

When Hannah and I moved to Maine, people knowingly commented, You’re so lucky, you’ll be just an hour from Boston.  There is so much to do there.  We nodded, but basically in 30 years living just north of Boston, we avoided the city.  We pretend it doesn’t exist.  Given the choice, we head north to befriend the Coast of Maine or fly West to the less populated Rocky Mountain states.  We know little of Boston’s city charms.  Tonight is putting a pinkie toe in the Boston pond.   

I-93 south near the Boston Garden

Braving the elements, I drive south on I-95 to I-93 into the city in a rain that goes from intermittent rain to an all-out, wipers at double-speed downpour that slows the flow of cars to 25 mph.  Once in sight of the Boston Garden, traffic slows to a crawl as I enter the jaws of the evening rush hour.  Merging cars make accidents inevitable, though today I dodge such a fate.  Soon it’s two lanes into one on Storrow Drive as we creep and inch through the 17^th century organization of narrow and angled streets unfit for a 21^st century Boston of Audis, Priuses, and junkers.  Passing by Fenway Park itself, I see $35 parking for the game.  We are not in Kansas anymore.  


I repledge my love for my GPS.  There’s no way written directions would have me arrive at Tom’s place in town through this maze.  Once in Boston, I find myself in the classic out-of-towners dilemma – I want to go straight but am in the right turn lane.  Try as I might to get in the other lane, Boston drivers are without pity, despite my obvious Maine license plate, which cuts me no slack.

The T (Boston Subway)

Tom and I take the T (the Boston subway which does go above ground, too) to the game packed with Red Sox fans.  It’s game night and that trumps whatever kind of day the game-goers have had.  There is joy and expectancy in the air.  En masse we exit and walk as one to the baseball shrine, Fenway Park.  The mass of humanity and energy of the city invigorate and bedazzle me.  As a country mouse, I am in a world I do not know but find intriguing.

The iconic Citgo sign

Walking through the stadium gates, we enter the bowels of the massive structure.  We are greeted by a circus-like atmosphere of moving parts.  There are folks in colorful shirts and jackets and numerous booths to buy ballpark fare and Red Sox paraphernalia.  

For Tom dinner is a sausage sandwich with all the fixings while I feast on a filling and tasty chicken burrito with rice and salsa, all for $7 each.  Our front row seats in the second deck along the right field foul line to the left of the Budweiser beer garden give us a panoramic view of all the action. 

We take black plastic bags to cover our wet seats, but the night is 60+ degrees without any rain in sight and life is good.  I feel a serenity, a calmness having emerged from the belly of the beast (Boston traffic).

The Sox have had sellouts for years, but tonight, when rain was forecasted, one-third of the seats are empty.  Tom is a fan and knows his baseball while I have enough sports trivia in my head from wasting time in front of ESPN SportsCenter to hold up my end of the conversation.  With the Sox as a backdrop, we talk of children and futures and, thankfully for us and all around us, avoid the pathetic colonoscopy conversation of men of a certain age.

The Sox score early and pitcher Jon Lester is setting down the Seattle Mariners with ease.  By the time we are singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame during the seventh inning stretch, I have fallen into the lazy, mesmerizing rhythm of a baseball game.  Going to a baseball game is like having a good friend visiting, who engages you, but also lets you come and go, get a beer from the fridge, and then picks up the conversations right where you left off. 

Then, since our conversation ventures to many areas, I throw out, Do you say 'I love you to your girls enough?'  (He does.)  As with many questions, there are often more about the person asking the question than the actual question.  Lately, be it in emails, texts, or on the phone, I regularly tell our kids I love them.  I make sure I end every call with my 91 year old mother with a ringing I love you.  I wasn’t always that way, but it’s the now that matters.  

And then comes the eighth inning when the fans rise as one and sing along with Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline. (Enjoy this YouTube video of it by clicking on the triangle below.)

Jon Lester pitches a complete game 6-1 victory in less than two and a half hours.  Though the Sox remain in last place, they have won five in a row.  With a few more wins, the Sox may give me reason to jump back on the bandwagon.  The clouds are parting as the perfect backdrop for this fairweather fan.

Exiting down Boylston Street near 10P, Tom suggests frozen yogurt as we walk with hundreds leaving the game and heading for home.  Rolling into Berry Line, we order banana frozen yogurt in waffle cones. 

Strolling to the T with frozen yogurt and a good friend, I know I am the winner for leaving my comfort zone and taking the plunge.   Truly, it always seems to work that way.  So why the hesitation?   Deeply rooted past patterns and ruts that need continual attention and repaving.  


Perhaps, now is the time to seek out Boston’s charms without delay and without regret.  

Dan and Hannah Hike Great Falls Maryland

Dan and Hannah Hike Great Falls, Maryland

Traveling south to Virginia to weekend with our daughter Molly and her hubby Tip, Hannah and I are told of a very popular hike just outside the city limits of Washington, DC.  With low expectations for much of a hike “in the suburbs” but with high expectations of a good time with the Virginians, we drive the Washington Beltway (I-495 West) across the Potomac River and exit immediately onto the Clara Barton Parkway west.  Taking a winding, forested road to the park entrance, we arrive to acres of parking with many free spots this late April morning.  Great Falls attracts 500,000 people each year.  Clearly this is a “hike” for sightseers.

The tow path is alive with people, but not too many people.  Let’s say there is a community buzz to the morning.  Near the visitor center, the towpath is wide and level and follows the canals that allowed paddle boats to circumvent the raging Potomac in years gone by.  


Our travel companions for the day:

Molly and Tip

Amelia and her son Brandon

Given a behind the scenes look at the park’s mules, we learn that a mule is a combination of a male donkey and a female horse.  A henny is what you get in reverse (supposedly very dumb).  Today, these mules will pull the paddle boats along the canal for tourists.   

Taking to the wide dirt and gravel towpath, easily 12 feet wide, we are ready for some light walking in a gorgeous setting along the Potomac River in Maryland.  My initial suspicion that we are in for a walk in the park, not a hike, is confirmed.  The towpath is for those looking for a relaxing stroll, not a challenging Dan and Hannah macho workout.  There’ll be little use for my new Diamond Back adjustable trekking sticks.

As we walk this busy part of the trail, I am struck with diversity of people we see.  This is a smorgasbord of American-Africans, American-Orientals, American-Hispanics, and American-Asians that we do not see in coastal Maine, USA.  Our daughter Molly has added to her upbringing in small town Maine by moving to multi-cultural Virginia and seeing a grander variation of our country.  (And by the way, I am on the Denny McLoughlin bandwagon of describing ethnic groups by what we have in common first, (i.e., being American), and following that which makes us individually special.)  I am an American-European.

Very quickly we come to the Main Event, a side trail off the towpath to the Great Falls of the Potomac.  We take paved paths and boardwalks to a roaring, rushing water scene.

Great Falls on the Potomac River

Duly impressed, we return to the towpath and seek the right turn to the 1.7 mile Billy Goat trail on Bear Island.  The park brochure gets my attention and has this disclaimer about the Billy Goat Trail – Be prepared for the Billy Goat Trail, Section A.  It is a very physically demanding trail.  If you have doubts about your physical ability to climb over angled rocks and boulders, please consider one of the Park’s less strenuous trails.

The terrain is rocky and challenging.

We are always within a stone’s throw of the Potomac as we hike through a forested trail of rocks and boulders where there are always other hikers in view behind or in front of us.  The boulders are tricky enough that I appreciate a helping hand up and over from time to time.  It’s nice to see the young men, Tip and Brandon, looking out for the rest of us in such a supportive, even gallant way.

It does not go unnoticed how lovingly Tip takes care of Molly.  For those who know Molly know that she is a very capable, athletic, and motivated young woman.  Today, within three months of having her first child, Molly has someone dear in her life who takes care of her and their soon-to-be-child so very attentively.  Brandon, too, helps his Mom negotiate each up and down across the stony trail.  Tip waits to see if Hannah and I feel comfortable climbing over the rocks and boulders.  Tip is becoming the new George Washington of our family.  You know the one making sure his troops are comfortable and safe before he moves on.  When once it was I who made sure everyone was okay and getting by, now it’s Tip.   I can feel it - the baton is passing to Tip.  And it’s all right and good in the natural evolution of things.  As Max Ehrmann in the Desiderata writes, gracefully surrender the things of youth and the universe is unfolding as it should.

Rain is in the forecast and these rocks would be nasty if wet, but the rain holds off today.  We rock scramble much of the time and have an hour of rock hiking, not really climbing.  Though I like the rhythm I can have on a level ridgeline hike that we find on the Appalachian Trail in Maryland to the west, today the company makes for a good time at a conversational pace. 

Blue blazes mark the trail very well and the many people, yet not an oppressive number, help us keep on the trail through the angled rocks and boulders of Mather Gorge along the Potomac.  

The trail guide says allow four hours.  With a pregnant Molly, we hiked the Billy Goat Trail in two hours.

We’ve heard of the rock escarpment we still have to climb.  One hundred feet in length, it’s all very doable for us, as long as it’s not raining.

After scaling the rock face, we leisurely hike back to the tow path with our mission accomplished; we have taken the Gruff out of the Billy Goat trail. 

Dan and Hannah Have a Plan to Beat the DC Beltway Traffic

Our goal is a simple one: drive from Maine to Virginia and arrive before the Friday afternoon Washington, DC rush hour traffic.  Off to see our daughter Molly who is six months pregnant, we have 500+ of the nastiest highway miles America has to offer ahead of us.  Plagued with the fourth worst traffic in the country, Washington is eight hours away, or so our GPS claims.  Please!  Our GPS lives in a fantasy world where there is no traffic and every light is green.   Once, on the day after Christmas, this drive took us 11+ hours! 

Perhaps, you’ve heard of us, the Crack-of-Dawn Traveling Rothermels.  When our three kids were young, Hannah and I drove west four times to see the USA in a Chevrolet; our Chevrolet was a GMC Van.  (This is such a dated reference to Dinah Shore that if you don’t get it, ask your elders.  If you do get it, you are an elder.) The last of those times was driving the Alaska Highway to Fairbanks on an 11,000 mile trip.  Our typical daily driving plan was often to pack up the tents (a Mom and Dad tent and a Molly, Robyn, and Will tent – a brilliant strategy for you camping parents of kids of all ages!) at the crack of dawn.  Hannah, Molly, and Will would immediately fall back asleep while Robyn always stayed awake to keep me company.  I would drive 200 miles and then we’d treat ourselves to breakfast at a local diner or cafe. 

If today we are going to make it through the heart of the Northeast megalopolis, we’ll again need an early start this late April morning.  To minimize the need to stop, we pack a cooler with apples, bananas, pears, celery, and carrots.  (We are in the running for the Crunchy Granola Couple-of-the-Month).  The night before we bought Subway subs (Spicy Italian for Hannah, tuna for me) for lunchtime sustenance.   We’ll switch drivers every couple of hours.  Friends, George and Neila, have made us a bag of stovetop popcorn, which it turns out sustains us for days!  

Awake at 430A, we are on the road by 520A.  Heading South on I-95 in Maine and then New Hampshire, we use our Easy Pass to breeze through the Hampton, NH tolls at 65 mph.  I know Easy Passes are a way a possibly nefarious government can track our every movement, but sadly we are a little too trusting and too lazy to worry about that.  (Lazy is such a harsh self-descriptor.)  That privacy ship has long since sailed for us, since we are on the Internet most days. 

With a full day in the car ahead of us, today I bring up my reading of the Four Agreements by don Miguel Ruiz.   Try as I might, I struggle living up to Agreement #2 - Don’t take anything personally.  don Miguel calls judgments and negative assessments by others  poison.  I love the power and image of that word as I can see the negativity cursing through one’s body.  If you let the poison in by taking things personally, it is you who will pay.  When someone talks or spews or even compliments, they are talking about themselves, not you.  don Miguel’s wisdom is starting to take root in me.

We get gas on the Mass Pike for S3.93, which is still far too low for this country to address their energy dependency on oil and the damaging foreign wars it causes to protect our access to foreign oil.  Getting off my soapbox, yet still in our car, as the male, I play against character and love to have Hannah drive half the time.  I get to write, read, and talk with her without her falling asleep.  I text Molly and our friend Amelia, whose house we’ll stay in once we are in Virginia.    

Sailing along I-84 south by Hartford, CT at 745A, some 150 miles into our trip, we are looking good for arriving before the DC afternoon rush hour.  Next it’s the Wilbur Cross and Merritt Parkways, as the GPS then directs us to I-95 on the Long Island Sound in CT as a way through New York City.  We bite, figuring who’d be on the road this midmorning Friday.   And then for no apparent reason – there’re neither accidents nor construction - we are crawling through Bridgeport, CT.  This could be lose/lose.  Stuck in traffic here and stuck in DC this afternoon.  Using the low tech Rand McNally atlas, we see that the Merritt Parkway, which parallels I-95 four miles to the north, is worth a shot.   Off we go, hoping to do the Columbus thing by going north to get south. 

Bingo!  The Merritt is rolling along and singing a song and soon we are taking the Hutchinson Parkway south towards New York City.  Our GPS now says we’ll arrive closer to 2P, still in time to beat the DC traffic.  I figure if we get there by 3P, we are golden.  We head to the Bronx (one of the five New York City boroughs) along the Major Deegan Parkway towards the George Washington Bridge (GWB) with its $12 toll.  Gas has been climbing from under $4 in MA to the $4.20s in CT and is now $4.65 per gallon in NYC.  Driving in NYC is just way too stimulating for me: cars and trucks coming at various angles and roads going down to one lane due to ever-present construction.  We are strangers in a strange land.  Yet, at 10A we cruise over the GWB.  Virginia here we come!

On to the 12 (count ‘em 12!) lanes of the New Jersey Turnpike, with three express lanes on each side, we dodge major congestion and drive south through the Garden State, passing oil refineries of Elizabeth and rural farms in Swedesboro and Glassboro in southern Jersey.  Having just a quarter of a tank, we pull into the area gas station off the NJ Turnpike.  Big mistake.  Long lines and grumpy attendants have us weave around the waiting cars and continue south on I-95 to Delaware.  Gas is $3.78 in NJ and $3.79 in Delaware.  Delaware is worth the wait.

Crossing the Delaware Memorial Bridge we are just under seven hours into our trip, still on schedule to beat the DC rush hour.  In the blink of an eye, we are through Delaware and into Maryland on I-95.  The tolls in Delaware are stunning.  $9 for that little state.  Overall tolls on I-95 from Maine to Virginia are $47.  Of course, with an Easy Pass we haven’t a clue how much we are paying.  Ignorance is not exactly bliss.

The Four Agreements returns as companion for our conversation.  I have a major epiphany.  When people compliment you, they are really telling you how they are doing; it’s not about you!   When they criticize you, they are reflecting how they are feeling.  When they compliment you, they are demonstrating that they are feeling good.  When people communicate, it’s about them, not you!   It becomes easier to understand the second agreement, Don’t take anything personally, in that light.  don Miguel’s rationale renews my strength to make this agreement. 

Four lanes of traffic in Maryland slow to a crawl.  DC traffic looms.  A wrecker passes us in the breakdown lane and soon we see the officers attending to the accident at the side of the road.  Picking up speed, we take one final rest stop just north of the DC Beltway.  The GPS is saying we’ll arrive at 245P, a mere 9 and half hours of driving.   Despite the many hours in the car, it feels like a victory.

Arriving at the Beltway heading west to Virginia going 65 mph, we are smoking.  Vienna, VA is in our cross hairs and after a couple of miles of city traffic we arrive at Amelia’s place. 

Hannah and Amelia

Flushed with success, we walk a section of the 45 mile Washington and Old Dominion Bike Trail through suburban Virginia neighborhoods.  

Dinner at Amelia’s with Molly and Tip and our grandchild-to-be lies ahead.  The memories of nine and a half hours of driving fade in the sweet company of family and friends.

Dan Learns about Building Men for Others

Dan Learns about Building Men for Others

A few men feel that one of the most pressing concerns for our country is to address How do we help boys grow into men when society promotes a false masculinity?  That false masculinity focuses on:

1.    Athletic ability (from an early age)

2.    Sexual conquest (from teenage years on)

3.    Economic success (once an adult)

4.    (from a friend) Being a BS-er and basing your actions on being charming

If you don’t have a code of masculinity for yourself as a male or as a parent for your son, you are left to the mercy of pop culture.  That’s not a good thing.  Without a clear code to live by, boys are set up for failure.  False masculinity is based on comparisons.  As Max Ehrmann wrote in the Desiderata (1927) If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Joe Ehrmann (as far as I know, no relation to Max) has an alternative to the misguided notion that we males only have value in comparison to others (and besting them at that).  He says, First and foremost is the ability for young men (and all men) to enter and maintain relationships.  It’s about the capacity for men to love and be loved.  For males, in the end it’s only going to matter what kind of father you were?  What kind of son you were?  What kind of brother you were?  What kind of friend you were?  For me, what kind of impact did I have on my preservice teachers students having them learn that teaching is about building relationships with students?  Success is determined by the quality of relationships one has. [Much of this likely applies to females, but Joe’s thesis refers to males.]

Second, Joe feels people need a cause, some kind of purpose bigger than themselves.  Something bigger than our own hopes, dreams, wants, and desires. 

Joe doesn’t just identify problems; he offers solutions to foster those two principles in young men.  We have to have them learn to:

1.    Accept responsibility

2.    Lead courageously

3.    Enact justice on the behalf of others.

4.    Be empathetic

Finally, he suggests you base your thoughts and actions on one simple question: How can I help you today?

Relationships work best with affirmation and empathy.  As a writing teacher, I thought my students of any age needed encouragement and feedback when I responded to their writing.  How do you teach empathy?  One way is to constantly ask questions.  Somebody called so and so fat.  How do you think that made that person feel? How’s it feel when somebody calls you something you don’t like?  How’s it feel when people aren’t nice to you?  Without empathy we are like animals dealing merely with self-preservation and power.

To begin building those relationships, Joe references Questions for My Father: Finding the Man Behind Your Dad by Vincent Staniforth.  For example for conversations between son and father, one might ask:

          What did you always want to do but never had the chance?

          What do you believe happens when you die?

          What was your first job?

          If you could change one thing about me, what would it be?           

Speaking of fathers, I believe that best thing a father can do to raise healthy, well-adjusted sons and daughters is treat their mother well.  Treat her with love, respect, and gratitude.

If you know a new father in your life, this would be a good starting point for him.

Joe’s wisdom came from my reading of Season of Life by Jeffrey Marx which focuses on his philosophy of building men for others.  The book takes the reader through one football season with Reverend Joe Ehrmann at Gilman School (Maryland) and football coach Biff Poggi.  It’s my book of the year.  It blew me away. 

Before I even finished the book, I ordered two copies on half.ebay.com.   One for Hannah and me and one for our son Will.  He and I will meet soon over dinner to talk about what each of us highlighted in Season of Life.

If you have a son, know parents with sons, or have a coach in your child’s life, this book may be just what you are looking for.

Addendum

Joe Ehrmann’s codes of conduct for parents, coaches, and players.   I have included a few samples.  Click on the links below to see them in their entirety.

Parents Code of Conduct contract

I encourage my child and teammates with positive statements, even when they make mistakes. At every practice they are growing physically and emotionally. At every practice they are learning moral and ethical lessons. At every practice they are developing character. 

Coach’s Code of Conduct Contract

Each player is part of our family, deserves every chance to succeed and deserves the utmost respect.

Player’s Code of Conduct contract

I act with empathy. I try to understand what is going on in the hearts and minds of others and what is causing those feelings so that I can be supportive and encouraging. I ask, “How can I help you?”