A little character development

I'm in the process of reading "Bringing Down the House" - which is the true story that was recently adapted to the big screen in "21"...one of the best movies I've seen in quite some time. The book delves straight into a strong form of character development by the author Ben Mezrich, and you can't help but get swept into the story from the get-go.

Character development is something that happens in all our lives, rarely limited to only our story-telling natures. Sure, when you're introducing someone to a group of loved ones or friends, you're going to give a few high points of this new person and the small affect they've had on your life in order to provide your audience with a bit of perspective. Then again, I can find tremendous character development opportunities being provided by every turn I seemingly take the last few days (just see my most recent blog entry for an example).

With this being said, I'd like to offer up a preview of how I'm trying to put some of this into words and paint a picture with my first real attempt at writing a novel. That being said, meet Uncle Bernie...

The khaki hat perched atop his head showed weathered stains and fade that accumulated during most of his adult years as a 43-year-old citizen of Mississippi. Like everything about Bernie (or “Uncle Bernie” to the array of nieces and nephews his brothers and sisters had parented over the last decade), this hat told a story.

But, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. As mentioned before, Bernie is a 43-year-old native of the Magnolia state, residing most of his life in the Naval airbase town of Meridian. Throughout his days, moments with friends and family alike had provided him with some fascinating (and mostly unbelievable to non-witnesses) stories, and those memories are what separates this misplaced tourist from others.

Bernie’s physique features a tall, sleek stature and a chiseled face topped with spots of gray hairs littering the once strawberry blonde locks from his youth. A size 12 foot that is almost always exposed to the elements via flip flops, often leading to some interesting sunburns adjacent to his gangly toes, serves as his roots to the ground below. None of these attributes can hold a candle to the very essence of Uncle Bernie: his heart and his imagination.

One of Bernie’s favorite pastimes is to share those memories to any and all who would listen, and his favorite audience is one comprised of his nieces and nephews. While his brothers and sisters often warned their offspring of his eccentric behavior, it was hard not to appreciate his swagger and deliberate ability to capture their interests. They knew well that, when the hat and Hawaiian shirts found their way out of the closet and became Uncle Bernie’s attire, an intriguing tale (most often involving their parents at some point) was on its way.

An avid sailor during the first couple of years following high school, he now spent his days as a CPA in Laurel, a small town near his stomping grounds of Meridian. His desire to help people, especially during a high-stress time such as tax season, coupled with an innate ability to do complex calculations in his head were two of many traits that could quickly transform a one-on-one meeting into a four-hour medley of experiences and advice derived from one of those famous memories.

Because of all these things, it’s not hard to see how people find themselves drawn to the non-imposing Bernie. While it was never his true intention, his high school and college friends (which comprise most of his “brothers and sisters” in addition to his one true sibling, Michelle) were all “experts” in different fields. This allowed Bernie to experience different environments from one day to the next depending on which friend he was carousing with on a particular afternoon or evening, all helping him to find ways to relate to his future customers.

Most of the stories are of the happy-go-lucky nature; however, there are just as many tales to be shared featuring heartache and sorrow. It is by knowing these simple truths that you can now meet Uncle Bernie as another concert of experiences is about to begin...

This definitely hurts the most...

I'm facing an uphill battle I never thought would be possible a week ago. I know that everything happens for a reason, and I've been pushing through my life with this entire mindset. I can't see that reason right now, and I'm not really sure I want to, not knowing if I can handle what it may or may not lead to in my future.

To help decipher that first paragraph, a little background...The past two summers, I've been a volunteer coach in the Tupelo Youth Baseball Association 11-12-year-old league. Very few things have ever brought me as much joy as watching these guys succeed and finally "get" what you're trying to teach and coach them upon. Last year, I was the head coach of the city all-star team. I readily volunteered for the same duties this summer.

Now, one thing that is different this summer from last year is the emergence of a larger swell of 11-year-olds that would appreciate the opportunities to go out and compete against a higher level of caliber player they don't necessarily see in the park and recreation season. So, the approval for two teams was made - I'd coach the 12s and a guy named Gary would coach the 11s. Seems simple enough, right?

My park and rec team this year is the best in the league. We currently sport a 5-0 record, outscoring our opponents 45-14 in those five games (truth be told, if not for conservative base coaching at third, it could be a lot worse). On my team, young Ty Wheeler is the ace pitcher. Heck, it goes without saying that Ty is the best player in this league. A no-doubter when it comes to selecting an all-star team.

The catch? Ty's 11. His parents approached me after the first set of tryouts that both of us missed (due to my being in New Orleans for Jimmy Buffett and his playing the state soccer tournament) and asked if it would be possible for Ty to play up with the 12-year-old team since it'd give him more of a challenge. I would have loved to have Ty on the team, but I had to double-check with our baseball director to make sure it'd be OK.

A total of 12 11-year-olds had tried out for Gary's roster, and Suzanne (baseball director) gave me the options Ty'd have to play on my all-star team. We abode by those rules, and I let the 11-year-old coach know Ty would be playing up with us. Now, I was approached by another 11-year-old player who asked for the same opportunity, citing the desire to be more challenged than playing kids his own age. I granted him the tryout and applied the same rules I had for Ty, which I assumed to be the fair thing in this situation.

When Gary found out about this, he went to Suzanne and complained that I was poaching his best players and hindering his opportunity to have a competitive lineup even though all I was doing was going by the rules she set for me and trying to make my team better in the process. He began telling parents that 11-year-olds were going to take the spots of 12-year-olds, which led to us having to go in front of the TYBA Board of Directors today.

I felt betrayed the moment I stepped foot in the room at the meeting. There Gary was, schmoozing it up with the directors while I arrived after the meeting had started (even though it was 10 minutes prior to when Suzanne had told me to show up). "What's with this kid screwing up this vendor's pitch for snow cones to sell in the new concession stands???" is what all the eyes in the room were screaming at me as I took my seat. It only got worse from there.

To sum things up before posting something I sent later this afternoon after tears of frustration and anger, Ty will not be allowed to move up to play with players more on his ability level. I have to go back and tell his parents all of this information, but we couldn't put the two age groups together to set up the most competitive advantage (which is what an all-star team is supposed to do) because too many 11-year-old parents had already been told their kid was on the team. It was perfectly fine for me to have to backtrack to my parents, but God forbid Gary have to play on the same playing field and admit his own mistakes.

There were a few more things that crushed me today, and I'll outline those out in the following letter I sent to the president of the board just a few moments ago.

" Todd:

I just wanted to thank you and the board for their time today concerning our situation surrounding Ty Wheeler. While the outcome may not have gone in my favor, I understand the ruling and can deal with it. However, there were a few other things that really hurt a lot deeper than I let on in the meeting since I felt a little shell-shocked and betrayed.

First, I tried my very best to give Gary his time to make his case but did not receive the same courtesy from him while presenting mine. While I remained quiet and attentive through his speech, I hadn't spoken two sentences before he interjected his own thoughts. That's all on him, and I understand that, but no one quieted him down to allow me to continue. It was at this point that I could feel everything starting to slip away and said a couple of things I promised myself I wouldn't say concerning my assistant coach and his extremely vocal thoughts. I just ask that someone can do a better job of regulating something like that in the future, not really for my own sake but for someone else who may not necessarily know what they are getting into.

Second, I do not know Julie Smith, and she has no idea about anything concerning my character or personality. The fact that she pretty much called me a liar in front of a room of people who had never met me before...that does not sit well with me. When I brought this up to Suzanne during our call in the afternoon, all she could tell me was to take what Julie says "with a grain of salt" and that she "sometimes speaks before thinking about what she's saying." This does not dismiss her words or actions towards me, not when I'm out there volunteering sometimes four nights of my week to help 11-12-year-old boys be better baseball players. I won't hold my breath on this, but I think she owes me a big apology for that lone outburst. To rub salt in the wound, Gary was right along with her encouraging what she was saying.

Look, I know the board did what they thought was best for the league as a whole - which is its purpose by design. All I was doing was going by what Suzanne had told me earlier and laid it out for Ty and his parents the criteria he'd have to meet. Ty met and surpassed that criteria with flying colors. What I don't understand is how it's OK for me to have to go back and tell Ty's parents that what I had previously been told was incorrect but we can't have two teams because it'd be wrong for Gary to have to admit to those parents he got ahead of things. He wins what is best for him and not for Tupelo's all-star chances because he couldn't keep his own mouth shut around those parents. There are no rosters released to the public, and it was not too late to slip back and form one true team. We didn't have to cut the roster size at 12, and I would have gladly coached a team with 14 or 15 kids. Something about that fact just doesn't add up to me.

I'm still young (25, single, no kids and just trying to spend time around the game of baseball when it was the most fun for me) and am still impressionable with all of this, but what I saw in that room today from a group of adults made me weary to ever get involved with this again. Gary got his way through whining to Suzanne and won't learn from his mistakes like I did last year because he felt no recourse for his actions today. He accomplished exactly what he wanted to before he stepped foot inside that room. Besides the age factor, what the questions asked towards us told me was that it's perfectly fine for Gary to want to have a competitive team, to not have to spend $$$ on uniforms and travel costs and keep his team from going out and getting spanked. For me to want the same things and to have picked from the pool of players that tried out for my team, I was told, in so many words, "Let the kids go out and play (but you have to only pick the players we say you can pick)."

I never wanted to rock the boat. In two years, I've put forth my absolute best for both my players and for the city of Tupelo. What I learned today is, next time...I may have to rock the boat. I don't like that feeling, and I don't want to have to do something like this. At the same time, I feel as though I let Ty's parents down by not stooping to Gary's tactics. That's something that none of your board's words or assurances can ever replace in my heart, the feeling that I let this kid down.

Thanks again for your time. I'll do my best to make the city of Tupelo proud when we take the field for the district tournament.

Chris"

"You aren't going anywhere in Louisiana without at least one U-Turn..."

Looking back on the experience that was my first Jimmy Buffett concert, I can't think of a more appropriate quote than the one above, provided by Brittany Taylor through Jennifer Hipp Boully. Truth be told, we never limited ourselves to just one U-Turn during our two-day trip down to the bayou - those things came in pairs and threes.

Yep, folks, it's official: I'm a full-fledged Parrothead. The show was incredible, and the four of us (myself, Jeanie, Jaren and Jennifer - I just noticed that I was the odd-man out on the J-names...we should fix that) enjoyed the tunes Sir James Buffett (gah, another J!) and several laughs at the event known to all as JazzFest on May 3. I am pretty sure everyone else had as good of a time as I did, and I want to thank the three J-birds for going with me.

Now, detailing the excursion...Friday, I left work around noon and headed off to Columbus to get my oil changed and have lunch with my terrific mother. Soon afterwards, I was back on the road to Hattiesburg to meet up with Jeanie and Jaren. On the drive into the Pelican State, I tried to rehearse the two of them in some of the more classic Buffett tunes, but it mostly was swapping stories and backgrounds for Jaren.

(A side note: this was the first time I've really been able to celebrate in the close vicinity of Jeanie's birthday since before moving to Auburn for school. While it wasn't really her birthday and it's much belated now, I want to wish her a fantastic year as a 22-year-old.)

We arrived amidst the nightfall in Houma at the Boully residence to the welcoming snorts of Rascal and an open-armed Jennifer. Quickly, we departed for Outback to get some much-needed food before calling it a night. After all, we had to be cautious of the pending new addition to the Boully household.

Saturday morning, Jennifer and I headed to McDonalds for breakfast. Six hours later (really, it was 45 minutes although I'm not far off on my judgment), we got to place our order amongst the monsoon and waited some more. I talked to her about Robert and some of the stories he hadn't put on his blogging updates (all two of them), and she got caught up on some of the other things going on in the world of Chris "J" Rushing (OK, the "J" doesn't really work, but I wanted to fit in).

It took a few more U-Turns, but we got back to a hungry J duo at the apartment. Around 11:30 a.m., we braved the rain and wind and began our trek for New Orleans and Margaritaville. Jeanie was the pseudo-navigator in the Crescent City and did a fantastic job (despite Jaren's and my own doubts) of getting us to said restaurant. After lunch (which was amazing, by the way), we headed to the gift shop and made a few purchases before starting the trek back to the car.

Since Margaritaville is in the French Quarter, following the turn-by-turn directions proved to be more difficult since we thought we had parked somewhere along the way to the Fair Grounds. A few U-Turns and a good 30-minute back-tracking journey later, we found a church off Blue Bayou Rd and parked the 4-Runner. It wasn't a bad hike to the race track, and I was gearing up with anticipation for my first Buffett concert experience.

One of the first things we saw (albeit at the wrong stage) was an Auburn flag planted in the ground surrounded by a couple of umbrellas. "If Jimmy Buffett is on this stage," I said to myself, "I know exactly where we'll sit." About 30 minutes later, we were in front of the correct stage and found a nice dry(er) spot out of the mud to put Jeanie and Jennifer. Jaren and I went to get some water to "cure the thirst" (saw it on a t-shirt and vowed I'd put it in the blog recap somewhere). Luckily for us, we were asked to move from our location in the dry(er) concrete and were forced to tread through the mud to a new prime seating spot.

It was here we'd stay thanks to the hospitality of the Artist Formerly Known as Bernie. Bernie is quite possibly the friendliest person I've ever met at a concert, and he did not take long to get to know everyone in our group (sans the wandering Jaren). Now, it must be said that I was informed following the show that Jeanie and Jennifer (or the J-Twins as they will now be referred to for the remainder of this entry) decided that I'd be the spitting image of Bernie when I'm 40 years old. Now, if that is what God has in store for my life, I think I'd be doing pretty darn good.

I'd talk about the couple standing in front of the J-Twins, but I could not do justice compared to their stories and "color commentary"...The phrase, "She just bit him" was quickly followed by "He just spanked her!" - leading to a roaring applause of laughter and clapping from those who were within earshot of the J-Twins. I wasn't focused on those two, though, because...Jimmy Buffett had made his way onto the stage.

A 24-song set was bellowed out from Buffett and the Coral Reefer Band, and one item on my Bucket List had been crossed off. Honestly, there aren't enough words in the dictionary to describe the show. There were a ton of highlights (the fact that he swapped his flip flops for a t-shirt with a guy in the front row; he came out onto the stage in drag for "Why Don't We Get Drunk"; and of course, watching the J-Twins hold their arms high for "Fins"), but I'm all typed out as-is. Don't worry, I'm more than willing to share any and all stories to curious bystanders.

We left the concert and headed back to Houma. Now, we had acquired a large amount of mud on all our shoes thanks to the rains that soaked the New Orleans area on Friday and throughout Saturday morning, and the hunger was starting to strike. We found a nice little pizza place after stopping into a shopping mall to wash hands and relieve ourselves, and the food was incredible (not to mention the jukebox featuring hits from high school and junior high days).

Sunday morning, we hung around for a little bit before packing up the 4-Runner and returning to the road. On the way back, we stopped on the Quarter again for beignets at Cafe Dumonde and a po-boy from Johnny Po-Boys. I really didn't think I could eat again for a week afterwards. Jeanie fell asleep shortly after leaving the NOLA city limits, and Jaren remained quiet in the backseat for the most part. Much like the rest of the drive in my own truck that afternoon, it was just me and some tunes from Buffett.

A full set list from that night can be found at the following web address: http://www.buffettworld.com/set-lists/sl-2008/#9

I know that this is a bit delayed, but I've been busy coaching a potential league champion little league team and writing a book of short stories from the perspective of Uncle Bernie (kinda catchy, huh?). A longer update on things going on in my life will be coming in the next few days. Right now, I have a lot of praying to do that I can keep my tongue in a particular situation.

As always, thanks for reading and War Eagle (and War Jimmy Buffett!).

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