We Went to See Chase Whitley and the Yankees (Derek Jeter was there, too)

Nobody in our house was born a NY Yankees fan, but as of this season, we are following the Yankees like we have never followed a baseball team. We are traditionally a Braves family, so why the Yankees? Why now?
Is it because the great Derek Jeter is retiring? No.
Is it because former Braves Brian McCann, Mark Texeria, and Kelly Johnson make the Yankees familiar? No.

Here is a snapshot of our baseball memorabilia from little league teams on up to our newest and oldest favorite teams.

It is because of rookie pitcher Chase Whitley! Our family is connected to Chase in a way only small town, country people can fully appreciate. Are we related to Chase?  Of course we are! And here is that great southern explanation of how we are kin - Chase's mom, Sue, and Cammie's father Joe, are cousins. So, Cammie and the kids are Chase's second cousins (once removed for the kids).   Franklin and Theodore Roosevelt were only fifth cousins, so second cousins are really closely related, even more so when the second cousin is pitching for the Yankees!
The connection is deeper than a genealogy chart because the place we are all from the smallest county in Alabama, so let me try to explain a few of these connections (as I understand them) for folks who grew up in towns larger than 1,000 people.

• My dad, James, was Chase and his family's pastor for the past year or so. Dad didn't realize that Cammie was related to Sue and I had to one-up him when he told me one of his church members was pitching for Yankees, "Yeah, Dad, your "church member" is Cammie and the kids' COUSIN."   
• Chase helped coach my nephew's little league team and taught him to pitch.  Aaron may end up a football star, but he will owe his fastball to Chase.
• There are only two high schools in our county and both are very small.  Chase's mom, Sue, graduated high school with my brother in law. They went to the same high school Cammie and I (and my mom's side of the family) graduated from, Heflin. Heflin graduates around 100 kids a year.
• Chase graduated from Ranburne, the school all of my dad's side of the family graduated from. Ranburne graduates around 50 kids a year.  All the kids from those schools know each other and are connected somehow. 

If that southern fried explanation was too much for some of you, here is a more modern one - Chase and I have 72 mutual facebook friends. His mom and I have 106 mutual friends. By comparison, my oldest friends from the military and I have about 30 mutual friends.Despite all those connections, none of us had ever met Chase before last night.
Cammie and I left Alabama in 1992 for the Army, and our children have never lived in Alabama. Despite the time and distance that separates us from Cleburne County, when Chase was called up to the Yankees this year, our whole family got caught up in the hometown excitement like everybody else. Moving around every couple of years makes the question of where you are from a multiple choice question for Army brats, so now, they have a little more definitive answer. For our Army brat kids, "Cousin Chase" was the perfect guy to deepen their connection to the place Cammie and I have always called home. 
In addition to connecting them to home, Chase's success really inspired my three young athletes. Those of you who know me know that I have no athletic accomplishments to inspire my kids.  All three kids are already better athletes than I ever was, so Chase's accomplishments as a big league ball player gave them hope that there might be enough athletic ability somewhere in their DNA to let their hard work result in success, too. The competitive spirit Chase exhibits is a great example for them, too, so I welcome Chase as a role model for Team Benefield.
And don't misunderstand, I am a big Chase Whitley fan, too. I am a stat guy and I love to dig into numbers and see where wins come from - when #39 pitches for the Yankees, they win a lot more often than when he doesn't. When Chase appears in a game, the Yankees are 8-3, a winning percentage of 72.7%.  When he does not appear, the Yankees are 38-43, a winning percentage under 47%. By way of comparison, the Yankee winning percentage when Tanaka pitches is 72.2%.  Chase is a winner and has a great future ahead of him. 
We knew the Yankees would make two trips to Baltimore and were hopeful that we would get to not only see Chase pitch, but get a chance to visit with his dad and mom, "Cousin Sue", and wife, Brooklyn if they came to Baltimore. As many of you know, we are eager tour guides when friends come to (or near) DC, and we also gravitate to anybody we see with Alabama (or even Auburn) gear on.  After the standard greeting of, "Roll Tide!" we interrogate them as to what part of Alabama they are from and how we are related or connected (we are all related somehow). It brings us closer to home while living in the DC area. Those of you who have lived in other foreign lands understand this- seeing a Crimson A or hearing a southern accent here for us is like hearing American English in Hungary, we are just drawn to it.
So, based on our collective fanhood and the potential to see some home folk, I promised the kids early on in the baseball season that we would go see Chase pitch if there were any way possible. At first, it didn't look like he was going to pitch in the Baltimore series, but then the Yankees decided they needed him in the bullpen and we had hope. Saturday looked like the best bet, but there were no seats left, so we decided late Thursday to go to Friday's game. Between the time we bought tickets on Thursday and the time we left for the game on Friday, the Yankees announced that Tanaka was going on the DL and Chase was likely to start Sunday. So, there was almost no chance for us to see him pitch Friday, but we were already committed to Friday's game and excited about the chance to to see him.  Chase's family was not in Baltimore for this series, so that visit would have to wait until the Yankees next trip to Baltimore.
Another shortcoming in our last minute plan was that we didn't have any NY Yankee gear on hand. We thought we could just pick some up, but it appears the local stores don't carry the Yankees gear because it consistently outsold the Nationals and Orioles gear, embarrassing the home teams (my theory). A couple of the stores I called were downright rude acting as if it was insulting for to ask if they had Yankee gear. From living here before, I know they used to sell it, so their outrage did not impress me (and neither does their marketing strategy).
Because going anywhere in this area is a race against the next traffic jam, we had to cut the search for Yankee gear short and just go. We got on the road at 3:15 pm from the Pentagon Mall parking lot and spent 90 minutes going the 40 miles to Oriole Park at Camden Yards. On the way, Carlie made a NY Yankee megaphone of duck tape.  Combined with the fact that James was wearing a Ranburne Bulldog colored football jersey, I began to feel like a better fan thanks to my kids.

Carlie's Megaphone - made on the way to the game with Ducktape!We are negotiating with MLB for mass production.

We did not arrive in time to go in as the gates opened, but we did get there while the Yankees were having batting practice and still warming up. As you would expect, there was a huge crowd of fans there to see Jeter and get autographs on his farewell tour. Oriole Park lets you come right down to the dugout before the game starts no matter where you are sitting, so when the Yankees are in town, pre-game warm up is its own big event.  We got right in behind that huge crowd and kept looking for Chase. and finally spotted him in the outfield. We could have gotten close enough for pictures and autographs if we had gone to the outfield bleachers, but decided to wait where we were until he came in to the dugout.
While we waited, we saw some poor kid behind us get raked over the coals by his dad for losing the Rawlings Authentic 2014 Derek Jeter Final Season Commemorative Baseball that his dad had bought for him. We figured out between his dad yelling over and over again, "Where's the ball, YO?" that the kid had thrown the ball into the dugout when Jeter was signing gear for everybody, and didn't get it signed or returned. His dad was very upset. According to the Yankee rep (to Jeter's right in the picture) who was trying to keep order, any ball or jersey thrown into the dugout or in the general direction of Jeter without getting either of their attention prior would stay in the dugout, property of the Yankees. Other folks lost balls and jerseys this way, too. The folks directly beside us also lost a jersey by throwing it in Jeter's general direction.  I felt bad for the autograph seekers and especially the kid whose dad was upset, but I understood where the Yankees were coming from.  Jeter signed a bunch of autographs as quickly as he could and had a baseball game to play - there had to be some order about the signing procedure.

Proper technique is to look the Captain in the eye, throw him your souvenir, he will sign and throw it back.

As the pitchers ran in from the outfield, I yelled Chase's name and he glanced in our direction, but I don't think he saw us. Then I yelled, "Come get a picture with this little Ranburne Bulldog wannabe," and Chase stopped, turned, grinned wide and started toward James in his purple and gold jersey. I know you Ranburne folks will like that - I managed to get a picture of that moment. 

The word Ranburne turns heads everywhere!

We spoke briefly and snapped a couple of pictures with the kids and Chase, but the Yankees were headed in and we didn't want to hold him up too long. Chase retreated up the tunnel and we began to move toward our seats.

Not a photo-bomb! And I know Jame's jersey is right colors, wrong school - a hand me down from Aaron.

It was a great moment. We wished we had more time to visit, but were worried on the way to the stadium that we were going to miss him altogether, so we were very thankful for the photo op we did get. Then, on the way back to our seats, something awesome happened. Chase sent me a message, "Hey I got a couple baseballs for your kids if you wanna meet me by the dugout."
I pulled the family over and asked, "Do you guys want to go to your seat or do you want to go back to the dugout and get some baseballs from Chase?" Three of the biggest smiles you have ever seen broke out and they yelled, "Dugout!"
We hastened back to the dugout with Jay Allen asking the whole way how I got a message from Chase.  Because I have pulled a few pranks on my kids in the past, he was skeptical that there were really baseballs at the dugout for him and even more skeptical that Chase had texted or messaged me. I told Jay Allen that Chase had sent me a Facebook message - and he was still skeptical. He said, "You are Facebook friends with Chase?"  Poor Jay Allen couldn't believe his uncool dad and his biggest sports hero were Facebook friends, no matter what other connections there may be between us. 
I think it was that moment when I figured out what a big deal this was for my kids. I had never known or been connected with a pro athlete when I was a kid and it is easy to forget in what awe kids hold their sports heroes.  Dale Murphy never summoned me to the dugout to get a signed baseball and I can't imagine what it would have been like if he had.
When we got to the dugout, we were the only folks without seats in that section left, which is not an issue with two out of three ushers. I sent Chase a note that we were standing by and within a minute or two, he emerged from the dugout. He asked for a pen, which some other helpful fan provided, and then started signing baseballs for the kids. We spoke briefly again and I told him we would try to get together for dinner with his whole crew when he was back in town in August. Then, the other fans (those fans who aren't Facebook friends or related to any New York Yankees) began to come down for autographs and that third usher began telling us to leave. We complied and started to leave after the  greatest sports moment my kids have enjoyed yet - they got to meet Chase Whitley, and they got a special invitation to meet him for their own personal signing session. Thank you Chase!

One autographed ball coming up!

Two more to go!

When we got back to our seats, I wanted to get a picture of the kids and their baseballs.

New Yankee fans proud of their souvenirs!

I looked at the baseballs after the picture and thought about what great souvenirs they were. Jay Allen's ball had some dirt from batting practice on it. Jame's ball was new out of the bag, or at least hadn't hit the ground, yet. Then, I looked at Carlie's baseball. I looked at it, did a double take, then grabbed the other two for comparison and looked at Carlie with wide eyes and said, "Carlie, where's the ball, YO?" She immediately knew what I meant and realized we had a Rawlings Authentic 2014 Derek Jeter Final Season Commemorative Baseball signed by Chase Whitley. If we had planned it, we couldn't have come up with a better souvenir - perfect - the retiring captain and the hometown rookie represented on the same ball! I know there is a possibility that this was the ball that the dad was upset about losing, but as the Yankee rep explained, that ball became property of the Yankees when it went into the dugout and it became property of Carlie when Chase signed it for her.

I know some of my Yankee fan friends are crying right now. It doesn't get much more awesome than that. Our whole night was awesome, at least through the tenth inning. The Yankees lost (of course I think mainly because Chase didn't pitch) a 3-2 heart breaker.
My kids cheered hard for the Yankees, but didn't let the loss ruin a great night. James razzed the Oriole fans all night, even after the Yankees lost (I don't know where he gets that from). Carlie and Jay Allen enjoyed themselves as well. Carlie took several pictures of the game, some through her megaphone. I was proud of the way they all hung tough into extra innings after rising early for Vacation Bible School.

Oh yeah, there was a baseball game, too!

Carlie's phone didn't have range for great pictures from our seats.

The ducktape megaphone helped a little.

We love going to Orioles Park, too. It is a beautiful park and the staff is great, except maybe for the one usher behind the Yankee dugout who desperately needs a hug. The Oriole fans are a bit more foul-mouthed than Pittsburgh Penguin fans (I know - I was surprised by this too), but the fans around us were self policing and scolded anybody who said words stronger than BS on a bad call (which was any call that went for the Yankees according to the home crowd).
I will advise any going to Baltimore to park close to the stadium because Baltimore is not a nice place. I got a great deal on parking and a half mile sounds very close until you walk through a very bad part of town with your family, then a half mile seems eternal. And that money you save on parking doesn't cover medical expenses for gunshot or stabbing wounds. We looked so out of place that one older man looked at us and pointed a street over and advised us that, "the Subway is over there." In other words, "you silly people better get out of this part of town before something bad happens."  Lesson learned, but James loved it - he saw the biggest rat he has ever seen scurrying across a vacant lot and saw all manner of "night life" on the walk back to our van.

It is always a blessing when your whole family lives to tell about the best sports night of their lives.  We lived and will surely tell about it for years to come!

Best souvenirs ever!

While waiting for your next promotion

23 July, the Army is expected to publish the next Lieutenant Colonel promotion list. It has been delayed for a myriad of reasons and has caused a lot of stress and anxiety for Army majors who are eligible to be promoted. Because of the draw-down, the Army is not expected to promote all the majors who would otherwise deserve to be promoted. Many who have deployed to combat and sacrificed greatly for our country will not be rewarded for their efforts with promotion or even be given the opportunity to retire. Statistically speaking, it is inevitable that many majors I have served with will not be promoted. For those officers and for the other people out there who have gone through something similar, I want to share something fairly personal.
I have seen many deserving NCOs and officers passed over for promotion in my 25 year career. I never thought less of them when that happened and I always thought it was evidence that no system is perfect. The folks passed over for promotion are also the folks who make the Army work. Many of them have been the steady, quiet professionals who have been the work horses of their units who have taken on the hardest and most dangerous missions time after time. More than any one leader who inspired me, these individuals inspired me. They embody the "selfless service" ethic that we all try to live up to.
These people taught me that an individual's value as a person is not based on their job success. It is a very easy principle to accept academically, but it is a little tougher to accept when the lack of job success is your own. Last year, I was passed over for promotion for the first time in my career. Most people did not know this because I did not discuss it. I knew I was not "entitled" to a promotion, but I didn't want to stop trying to earn one either. All the previous success I have had in my career has been due to fortunate circumstances, good mentorship, and outstanding individuals around me who allowed me to share in their successes. I did work hard to be successful, too, but I never believed my efforts were the sole driver of any success I enjoyed. With that background, I had no right to be bitter or disappointed when I was passed over for promotion, but it did give a chance to reflect on who I am and how I want to define my Army career. I am an officer in the Army who has had an amazing career that has provided for my family and allowed me to rub elbows with the amazing men and women who volunteered to serve this country and for the past thirteen years, to serve this country in a time of war. I have buddies who were passed over earlier in their careers who were amazing leaders who spent years away from their families on deployment. I have had officers and Soldiers who served with me who were injured or killed at a young age, changing their lives or the lives of their families forever. I have been truly blessed through out my Army career, but I am not ready to accept being passed over for promotion as the end of the story and just wait for retirement. I wanted to show the Army that no matter what rank I ended up wearing, that I was going to perform at the next level for the balance of my career. There are thousands of bodies at rest in Arlington National Cemetery who voluntarily sacrificed their futures and never got the opportunity to be considered for the next promotion. Their sacrifice definitely puts my journey and your journey into perspective.
When I was in high school, I had a teacher who told me not to waste my parents' money going to college because I would fail. He gave me that speech because I feel asleep in his class after waking up at 2 am to go in to work before school. In large part because I couldn't stand the thought of proving him right, I worked my tail off to get into college on an academic scholarship. In college, I continued to work to prove him wrong by graduating with honors as a distinguished military graduate from ROTC. I would love to tell you I did that for all the right reasons, but mostly my academic success was driven by the desire to prove my least favorite teacher wrong.
I love the Army and definitely don't hold it in the contempt that I held that teacher in for many years, but I found that getting passed over for promotion has given me the same level of motivation, but this time, for all the right reasons.
While he was my commanding general in Alaska, MG Mike Garrett told his commanders and CSMs that they need to retire if they couldn't any longer lead from the front because our Soldiers are the best in the world and they deserve leaders who can lead from the front. I took that to heart and after getting passed over for promotion, I resolved that I will give every ounce of energy I have in all the days I have left in the Army to being the best leader I am capable of being. I am at peace with whatever that means for my career progression and I am determined that the Army will get more than its money's worth from me for the rest of my career. Any Soldiers that I am blessed with the opportunity to lead will get my full effort every day. That is all I can control. I can't control promotions or even the random death that combat and the military life bring.
Many of you who are reading this are going to face some setback or disappointment in your personal or professional life that is much more significant that what I describe above. I want to implore every one of you to find the motivation to do the right thing for the right reasons and work like a man (or woman) possessed to make the most of the opportunity you have without wasting time on lamenting the opportunity you missed. It is a lesson I am thankful to have learned and wish that I had learned sooner. It is my sincere wish that somebody will read this and find their setbacks easier to face because they realize many have been there before them.
And more important than that, I hope you remember that God did not make us all to be four-star generals or sergeants major of the Army, but He still loved each of us enough to send His Son to die for us. If He loved us enough to pay such a high price, the least we can do is to fulfill the roles he put us here for to the best of our ability We know from history that if only eleven of twelve of us will commit to that, we change the world.

Alabama Hockey Dad, Chapter 1 and 2

Chapter 1, Alaska

In the fall of 2010, the Benefield family moved to Alaska and it changed our lives forever. We all fell in love with Alaska and decided that it was a home that could satisfy our sense of an adventure that is native to any military family.  As a family, we embraced the Alaska lifestyle and started participating in things that heretofore were foreign to us. It is an undeniable truth that our kids adjusted to the Alaska activities much faster and much better than their parents, but what we lacked in ability, Cammie and I made up for with enthusiasm.

Learning to ice skate

At the top of the list of Alaska things to do was ice skating. Cammie signed the kids up for lessons and all three became very competent skaters. Cammie became a nervous skater and I once walked around in ice skates (without falling).
Our three kids are all pretty athletic, but Jay Allen is our natural agility athlete and he took to skating as quickly as he took to Taekwondo as a four year old.  He did a fair amount of skating in our first few months in Alaska, but he never aspired to be a speed skater or the next Scott Hamilton. Something else was brewing.

 

First Hockey Picture

Learning about hockey

Jay Allen's best buddy in Alaska (pictured below with the blonde hair) was a huge hockey fan and a little hockey player. It was all they talked about and knee hockey and street hockey consumed most of their play time.

Alaska Aces Game with Aiden and some team mates.

I could see that we were about to board the hockey express and I had no idea where to buy the ticket. But alas, there was more than one ticket to buy. The first step was to sign my boy up for hockey. Luckily, finding the sign-up for Chugiak Hockey was easy and for a car payment, Jay Allen was all signed up on the Squirt team.  They normally practiced only a mile from our house, so even in the most Alaska of conditions, getting to practice was not that hard.
Now that he was signed up, we just had to buy his equipment. I can't describe the comedy show that unfolded as I, a certified hockey idiot, tried to help my son find all the required gear.  Many thanks to the staff at the Anchorage Play it Again Sports for getting us squared away - at least as much as I (Hockey Idiot) could facilitate. After a car payment to sign up, we got Jay Allen into all the right gear for just a house payment. A house payment should have gotten us the right color equipment, but because I was a big HI (Hockey Idiot), I did not get him all the right colors. This turned into confirmation that God looks out for those of us who are not that bright, because those bright red hockey pants that I bought Jay Allen turned out to be key for me to find him on the ice among all the other black hockey pants. 

The Red Rocket

 Dressing Room Shocks

When I carried Jay Allen to the first practice, we both stopped cold at the entrance of the locker room. First, based on the smells coming from that room, I just wanted to visually confirm that all the Arctic Lynx and other wild animals that had obviously been living in that room were all gone. They were indeed gone, but their scent lingered.
The second thing that stopped us both was that there were boys and girls in the same locker room and none of them seemed to be bothered by stripping down to their Batman drawers and Dora the Explorer panties to get their hockey gear on. Jay Allen didn't like it. I didn't like it. The coach saw the looks on our faces and correctly assumed that we were uncomfortable with the co-ed locker room and assured us that "we are all just family in here." Two things popped to my mind - first, this is day one and I don't even know your names, and second, my family doesn't strip down to their drawers and panties when we get together, even when we were little.
But, by the time the season got going, we had worked through this and were indeed all family. But still, Jay Allen showed up for the games in uniform and only had to put on his skates. And for the smell, we just carried that around with us in his bag so we could get used to it. At least the males in our family got used to it.
It jumped out to me that mainly the dads came into the locker room, probably because of the smell. If you want to know the difference in a hockey mom and a mom whose kids play hockey, ask her if she goes into the locker room - that is for hockey moms only.

Learning the Schedule

The hockey league in Alaska Jay Allen played in was small and fairly spread out. And, the demand for ice time created some strange practice times, and by strange I mean 5:00 am.  So, in order to get the kids plenty of game opportunities, we could be practicing or playing anywhere in the Anchorage or Mat-Su Borough at any time from 5:00 am to 10:00 pm.  That is 1,961.1 square miles in Anchorage and 24,682 square miles in Mat-Su Borough that was open for business. Our team managed to dodge the tournaments in Soldotna and Fairbanks, but we still covered a lot of (frozen) ground to play hockey that first year.
Unfortunately, our schedule was not set in stone or frozen in ice. It was amazingly fluid due to all the factors I tried to explain above. That kept parents on our toes and I am happy to report that I only once carried Jay Allen to the wrong venue for a game. We did arrive early enough to recover from our mistake and get him to the right place before the game started (or at least before the first shift change). 

Learning the Game

In order to be the over-enthusiastic parent, it is helpful to understand the game your child is playing. I did not know anything about hockey when Jay Allen started. Right out of the gate, he knew more than I did and I was not too proud to ask him questions, but when he was on the ice, I was sort winging it. I started out by sitting close to parents of other kids on the team and cheering when they cheered. This lasted a few weeks and then the game began to reveal itself to me. The first revelation was that ice hockey looked a lot like the college football option being played on a frozen basketball court. The pace of basketball and the collisions of football while the kids carried football bats (hockey sticks) to hit the puck (the game is played with a puck instead of a ball).  Hockey also doesn't require the teams to have the same number of players. If you get a penalty, you have to leave the ice while the rest of your team plays. I love that. Can you imagine if basketball or football let one team have a manpower advantage! It would be awesome.

As you can probably tell, I became a huge hockey fan watching my son play. It is an awesome game and I am still learning it, but I am a full fledged fan, especially when I get to see the game live. So, my transition from Hockey Idiot  to Hockey Dad was complete.

Getting behind the Mustangs

Tournament time

Jay Allen's first team was a great bunch of kids. They played some great defense and rolled into the state tournament winning games 1-0 and 2-1. They went on a pretty good run in the tournament, coming up just a little short. It was the most exciting kid sporting event I had ever seen or been a part of.

Playoff Hockey!

It was also during the tournament though when I discovered the obnoxious parent-fans. I cheer like crazy for my kid and I expect other parents to do the same, but as I was watching one of Jay Allen's tournament games, some parents crossed a line with me. Jay Allen and some other kids were in a huge collision (nobody's fault) and Jay Allen got thrown up in the air and landed on right on the top of his head. It looked like pictures you see of people being ejected from a car that is rolling over. I stood to my feet to see if Jay Allen would get up and while I was waiting, the idiot parents behind me were laughing like they were at the comedy club because of the collision that just happened. There were kids laying on the ice and these adults were laughing.  Thankfully, none of the kids were hurt and they all got up in a couple of seconds, but I could not believe parents who laugh at such a thing.  As soon as Jay Allen popped up, I turned and said something to to the parents that I can't fully recall, but two of the words were "shut up" and they did when they realized my kid was the one landed on his head.
That one event was a huge outlier and most of the parents on our team and other teams were really great in Alaska. Because the teams were from areas so far apart, most parents and kids didn't know each other, so the sportsmanship was authentic and not shaped by the fact that your kid might play against the boss's kid. I took that to heart and have tried to be an enthusiastic parent without losing the sense of what our kids are learning from playing sports and from watching how we act when they play sports. The nature of hockey makes that challenging.

Jay Allen warming up with the Mustangs

End of Chapter 1

When the Benefields arrived in Alaska, we considered ourselves Alabamians even though our children have never lived there. As we were riding to a hockey game in our Subaru with our Alaska Husky puppy, we realized that we had gone native - we were an Alaskan family in spirit.  We were very at home and happy in Alaska, so of course, the Army told us to move. We were ordered back to the Washington DC area, but this time, we had to be sure we lived close to a hockey league for Jay Allen.

Chapter 2, Virginia Season One

Back to the Capital 

Ironically, we moved across the street from where we lived the first time I was assigned to the National Capital Region. We did not know the first time we lived here that there was hockey nearby, but thankfully that was the case.
Hockey is huge in Alaska, but what is sometimes lost on people is that the entire population of Alaska is less than 732, 000 people. It is even less in the winter. The population of Fairfax County, VA is documented at 1.119 million, but may be closer to twice that. So, the hockey league here has a population base that is probably double of the entire population of Alaska.  The good news is that all of the games are at the same Ice Rink nearby, making our round trip to hockey always less than ten miles.

The Next Level

The net effect of all those facts is that the level of competition in Jay Allen's hockey league this year was more than a couple of notches higher than the league he played in last year.  He was on another team with a great bunch of kids and coaches, The Green Machine. The coaches did an outstanding job of helping each kid develop and the team became the strongest team in the league.  Jay Allen rose to the challenge and improved greatly over the course of the year, only his third year on skates.

Present for Duty

The down side of all this for the new hockey dad (HD) is that I am not able to help Jay Allen improve one bit. At one point, I could not even reliably make it to his practices on time, even though they were at the same exact time every week. So, when I did have time to help with the games, I tried to find ways that I could help out and pull my weight as an HD without crossing over into the meddling parent territory.

Alabama HD in the Penalty Box

I started out by volunteering for the penalty box. This was great duty because I had center ice seats near the team's bench - a great view of all the action. I could give Jay Allen a little fist pump encouragement as he was on the bench or going on the ice and I could cheer like crazy for his team. The other duties that parents could sign up for were clock operator and score keeper. I did each of these duties twice and it was a small disaster each time. I never meant to sign up for score keeper, but on one of those early Saturday mornings when there were no other parents able to do it, I did my best - which was horrible. Not to worry, though, the parent from the other team who was keeping the clock knew every rule better than the coaches and officials and made sure to point that out.  Based on the hour I spent in close proximity, I have a feeling that the reason that parent knows the rule book so well is that he was reading it during the time most parents were taking a shower.  This was one of the few times I remember thinking, "this must be what Jabba the Hutt smells like." {I want everybody to know this experience was another outlier and all our team parents practiced good personal hygiene no matter what time the game was. The only area where we took liberties with our appearance was the early morning hairstyle that cried out for hats and an abundance of the color green come playoff time}.

How I felt in the scorekeeper box

So based on my lack of qualifications for keeping score or running the clock and my olfactory sensitivity, I put myself back in the penalty box. Then, the league put me in the figurative penalty box by reminding everybody that penalty box parents are "game officials" and can't cheer for their kids during the game. I wasn't sure I could pull that off.

Gatekeeper

Since I could not be trusted to be quiet and impartial, I volunteered to help shuffle kids on and off the ice for the coaches.  The first game was a moderate success, but I let the kids talk their way on and off the ice a couple times that the coach wasn't involved in. The second game, I came up with a kid-hockey friendly way to say "AT EASE" when the kids were trying to talk me into an authorized shift change. By game three, I had this gate keeping duty down cold and things were going well (as far as I knew). I thought I was just on the bench opening and closing the gate and giving a little encouragement here and there, but Cammie let me know that I was the loudest, most vocal adult anywhere in the building. I did encourage the kids constantly by repeating what I heard the coach saying. Maybe I repeated it  to each kid with my brow furled and with a little more intensity than needed, but I really thought I was being laid back on the bench.  What I was feeling on the inside was not what the wife is seeing.

Playoffs

Just as I thought I had found a way to help out and maintain my enthusiasm, the hockey league put me back in the penalty box, literally. "NO PARENTS ON THE BENCH WHO ARE NOT LEAGUE CERTIFIED." People who know the Benefields are wondering if Cammie ratted me out, but she had nothing to do with it. In the Mite division (5-6 year olds), a parent who was volunteering on the bench got into a huge shouting match with the referees over a disputed call. Who knows when a referee's bad call might derail the career of a five or six year old future superstar, so that parents behavior is completely understandable (if you are a raving lunatic).  I understood the league position on this and complied.
Back to the penalty box for the Alabama HD. In the semi-final game, I had to rotate out with another dad so I could get some cheering in without drawing any attention. The Green Machine won that game and went to the Championship Game to play against the team they had beaten the night before in the round robin portion of the tournament.

James showing his support for his brother.

For the Championship Game, I felt obliged to resume my place in the penalty box, though I knew I would violate that no cheering rule. It just wasn't fair to stick anybody else over there for the championship game, so my strategy was to not over cheer. This involved watching the dad from our team keeping score and in the spirit of, "you don't have to be faster than the bear to survive," I thought that as long as I did not cheer louder than him, that we would both be alright. It was the last game, so I wasn't too worried about blow back for the team at this point. 
My strategy served me well because the dad keeping score made no attempt to restrain his enthusiasm. I won't name the dad because I know that his kids are already signed up for other seasons in this same hockey league, but I will say the fact that he speaks Russian as well as English gives him a decided advantage.  Nobody is sure exactly how loudly those words are supposed to be spoken in Russian so nobody challenges him. Again, I don't want to identify him, but it also helped me out that he had two sons to cheer for and I only had one.   The two of us did a lot of cheering and still managed to do our duties with integrity if not complete impartiality.

Not to be

The Green Machine had an incredible year and was a great bunch of kids. I still believe they were the best overall team in the league, but they came up short against another very good team (Bama fans, we know that happens, don't we). They lost 2-1 and played the last minute in a power play with their goalie pulled (6 on 4 in the other team's zone).  They played hard and I thought until the last tic of the clock that they would pull it out. It was a great year and Jay Allen improved tremendously.

The Mighty Green Machine

 End of Chapter 2

I have fully embraced my role as a hockey dad and I am proud of the way Jay Allen plays the game. He has had the chance to play with some great kids and coaches and he is still improving rapidly. I also love the fact that he has gotten to play with kids from different parts of the world and has been in locker rooms where French and Russian are spoken frequently. There are many different languages, dialects, and accents in hockey, but so far, only one dad with a hillbilly accent, but he may be the biggest hockey fan of them all.

 

Hockey Night in Pittsburgh!

Game jersey and game face on!

I promised Jay Allen when we left Alaska that we would go see an NHL game while in the lower 48, so we ended up going to Pittsburgh to see the Penguins and Islanders play. Jay Allen's favorite player (Crosby) won the game with a goal right before overtime, making it Jay Allen's perfect game and I enjoyed it as much as Jay Allen did. You can tell from the picture, I was still struggling with my identity as a hockey fan at that point, but  I am 100% hockey fan now and am convinced that will be what all American football fans watch when they manage to outlaw football in our country.

I thought it was time I captured some of these experiences for other hockey dads and future hockey dads out there. I have learned a lot about the game and how to help out without being a hockey expert.  I also have learned some random things - like not to play music from Pandora for the kids before the game because you never know what ads might play if you abruptly change your Pandora channel from Country to Hip Hop.  Better to play from your own collection that isn't very cool than to introduce ten year olds to products and stores that cater exclusively to adults.  I dodged that bullet before the kids could understand the commercial that was playing, but even this is making me smarter on every aspect of youth hockey. 

Chapter 3, Virginia Season Two, Spring Hockey

 Chapter 3 of the Alabama Hockey Dad adventures starts tonight with select team tryouts and continues on with the spring league.   I will try to keep you all posted - I plan on signing up to be team manager! 

Small Miracles and Giant Blessings, The Benefield in 2013

2013 was a big year for the Benefield family. We secured the eternity of the entire clan, answered Jay Allen’s question, “where are we from?” and undertook the biggest road trip in our family history.  We never expected to love Alaska when we first moved there, but we all did. When we got orders to leave, we held a family vote on whether to leave Alaska or leave the Army. It was a 3-2 decision that would probably go the other way if we voted today, but unlike the Army, we knew we could return to Alaska.

To make leaving Alaska less painful, we are looking at our PCS to the lower 48 as a “deployment” and have made a list of several things we want to do while in the lower 48 that we don’t have the chance to do in Alaska. College football, NHL Hockey, going to the beach, and eating at Sonic and Cracker Barrel are all on the list. 

But good news, we moved back into the same neighborhood we left in 2010 in Virginia. It was comforting to have familiar surroundings at the conclusion of our longest move (miles and weeks). Virginia is great and we try to remember that, but Alaska is beyond compare. As we share some of our 2013 with you, maybe you will see some of the ways Alaska impacted us.

I linked many of our Facebook Photos to this page so you can stop to look at what you like or keep on going. Once you click on the photos, you can browse around in there until you are ready to return to our letter.

Carlie

Some of you may not realize this, but my children are 1/16^th Native American. In that spirit, Carlie participated in the Alaska Native Youth Olympics and made a great showing. Though it was not an official category, I am pretty sure she won the Red-haired Native American Category. She competed in the Alaska high kick and kicked very close to her height. I did that once in Fairbanks, but I was assisted by some very slick ice and landed on my neck. Carlie’s kick was much more athletic and there is no doubt she is an Alaska girl.

Carlie also had a grand Piano Recital in Anchorage, culminating her three years of lessons in Alaska. She and the other musicians did a fine job and this year, somebody secured the refreshments so no hobo ate them while the recital was ongoing (that happened last year and the boys can’t quit talking about it).

Carlie had the widely acclaimed greatest 6^th grade teacher ever, Mr. Ric Smith, and enjoyed every day of class. Sheparticularly enjoyed the day they all dressed up as hippies and protested me when I showed up in uniform. I am not sure the new principal enjoyed the demonstration as much as I did (they protested him too), but it reminded me of being at Fort Benning when the School of Americas protestors showed up.  Good times!

 Carlie won the famousBirchwood 6th grade bridge construction competition – the bridge did go to nowhere, but it cost next to nothing. Her bridge held more weight than all the others, which ended up being just over fifty pounds. It is obvious to me that Carlie built this bridge as a trap for her brothers. It was strong enough to hold up one and collapse when the second one got on it.  Brilliant.

Class trip to Seward. Though Carlie’s class took a big trip to Washington DC (separate from ours), the class also took a train ride to Seward. Cammie and I volunteered to chaperone this outing and had a great time visiting Seward one last time before we moved.  The kid who went on crutches had a bit of a rough time crutching all over town, but he ended up hitchhiking on the redneck leather express – which all my kids used to ride when they were little.  Seward was one of our first family trips in Alaska, and where we saw much of the Alaska sea life for the first time. This was a great last trip.

Shortly after the class trip, Carlie’s class celebrated their gradumony (they weren’t allowed to call it 6^th grade graduation). All those crazy people started tearing up at this thing, but I do have to admit that it was a great group of kids and a great teacher.  If all classes had that kind of teacher and that kind of parent involvement, we could easily abolish the department of education.  Birchwood ABC School was really good to our family, and the gradumony marked the end of our kids’ attendance there (at least for now).

Shortly after school ended for the year, Carlie  ran the Anchorage Mayor’s youth cup while several friends and I ran the Half Marathon. Carlie came within ten seconds of finishing first and I was really proud of her second place finish. I had no idea that would be her last second place finish in a race this year – because she won all the other races she entered. It appears my little red haired Native American Olympian is a running phenom the likes of which we haven’t seen since the days of Jim Thorpe.  At the Chik Fil A Hoofin it 5k, Carlie was the youngest female under 20 and beat the girls her age by over five minutes. I just showed up and ran with her that day, but she beat me in two subsequent races and put me on notice that I am going to have to train to run with her.  No complaints here, though because a frozen turkey was the prize when she won the Herndon Turkey Trot.

Carlie continued her awesomeness in all areas as soon as we arrived in Virginia. She won two blue ribbons in the state fair of Virginia for her photography. One was a great picture of a tree you have to see to appreciate and the other was a picture of a horse with a mustache.  Carlie does so much it is hard to document it all - so next year, we will probably put her in charge of this letter, too.

Jay Allen

Jay Allen arrived in Alaska as a Martial Artist, but he left a hockey player. He played for the Chugiak Mustangs Squirt team and improved tremendously over the course of his first year. The team made a great run at the end of the year, qualifying for the playoffs. They won playoff games and advanced with some lights out defense, but alas, they didn’t have enough offense to win the championship in their division.  It was fun getting to know the kids and parents from Alaska on his team, too. Two of the kids were Canadian military brats and one family spoke French. So, picture me as a hockey dad trying to figure out this game I have never followed, cheer on my son, and converse with the parents speaking French. It was quite an experience.

Jay Allen loves the game, both playing it and watching it. We agreed that we would go to an NHL game when we moved to the lower 48, but we took in many Alaska Aces during our years there. Those games were great hockey and the crowd was always lively, even on the dry side.  We were right against the glass during one game that seemed to be a continuous fight. With all that is going on in football, I realized that hockey was the last full contact sport and became an authentic hockey fan right there.

In addition to his athletic endeavors, Jay Allen also penned his first book this year. Jay Allen and his classmates from Ms. Tyson’s 3^rd grade class had an “Author’s Tea” where they all unveiled their first books.  Jay Allen’s book, Alien Outbreak, was my favorite of all the books presented – very X-files like. The amount of detail that he used to describe those aliens was very impressive and made me feel better about all the “Finding Bigfoot” episodes I let him watch. Equally impressive to his writing was the fact that Jay Allen wore a shirt and tie andlooked very professional. It did take a monetary bribe and me putting on my Army Service Uniform in support, but incentives notwithstanding, he dressed up really nice.

Visiting the beach, attending an Alabama football game, and attending an NHL game were big lower 48 list items but the biggest item on the list was checked off in August. Jay Allen’s grandfather, James baptizedhim.  My father was still pastoring Chulafinee Baptist Church when we got home to Alabama on leave. That is the church where Carlie was baptized in 2009 and as it turns out, is where all three of my children were baptized.  Jay Allen’s little brother, James, had also accepted Christ and wanted to be baptized at the same time as big brother. So, now, we are all going to Heaven, and will be stopping in Alaska on the way there.

When we moved to Northern Virginia the first time, we did not have to live close to a hockey league, but it turns out that we did in spite of ourselves. On this tour to NOVA, we moved across the street from our old house and just five miles from the Reston Hockey league that Jay Allen is a proud member of. He continues to improve rapidly as a hockey player and is on a great team that calls themselves the Green Machine. They are capable of winning their games 5-0 every time out because they play great defense and offense. Jay Allen is a defensive standout, but he has already doubled his goals from last season. They have a great season in front of them.

I had planned to take Jay Allen to see the Washington Capitals play his favorite team, the Pittsburgh Penguins in DC. When I priced tickets, I learned that it was cheaper to drive to Pittsburgh, go to the game, and stay overnight than to see the Pens play at the Capitals arena. So, we did go to Pittsburgh. We saw the Penguins play the Islanders and it was a great environment – the Pens have sold out their home games 300 something games in a row.   On this particular night, the game was tied with time running out when Jay Allen’s favorite player, Sydney Crosby, scored the game winning goal. That affirmed my decision to go to Pittsburgh. I am sure that even if the game had ended the same way in Washington, the celebration would not have been nearly the same.  I enjoyed the trip as much as Jay Allen did.It is amazing how peaceful and well behaved my children are when they don’t have a brother or sister to fuss with.

James

Before we left Alaska, James wanted one more birthday at Chuck E. Cheese. It was a glorious part fitting for a 6’ tall rat and for James, too. I know all parents look forward to the day their kids outgrow Chuck E. Cheese and we sure hope that day has come.

In addition to the birthday party, James completed the 1stGrade in Alaska. As our kids have gone back and forth between the Virginia and Alaska schools, it is really amazing how far advanced the schools in Alaska are in their academics. Alaska also lets kids go outside for recess down to -10 degrees, where Jay Allen and James are thoroughly frustrated that their current Virginia school is not allowing any outside recess this winter. We have not had a day below 20 degrees and only one of those and the kids are locked inside. Outstanding – does wonders for their behavior when they get home.

James would spend all his time outside if we let him. In Alaska, he was the biggest fan of the Williams Reindeer Farm near Palmer.  We used to walk around the reindeer and feed them and then walk over to visit with the moose.  They let James kiss the moose a couple of times too, but they had to wash his mouth out afterwards (the moose’s mouth, not James’s).

Like Jay Allen, James was also baptized by his grandfatherin Alabama. Despite AJ’s encouragement, he did not execute a “cannon ball” in the baptismal pool. Chulafinee Church made a big deal out of the baptism and had a meal for our family and friends afterwards. They are a great bunch of folks who will be forever connected with the Benefield family.

As we moved back to Virginia and got everybody settled into their new activities, James wanted to become a Cub Scout. The biggest reason he was excited about scouts was that he heard they launch rockets and race cars.  He was also fired up about going camping with the scouts – until about 9:30pm, then he was a little homesick. That worked out ok, because as it turns out, we were camping out with the wrong pack on the first campout. When you introduce yourself as the new guy, nobody questions your presence and if you only know a couple other people, it is easy to assume they are just running late. But in spite of all the learning I have to do to be a scout parent, James is really enjoying it. So far, we have sold hundreds of dollars of popcorn, launched a rocket, and eaten another troop’s smores. It is a pretty good deal for dads, too.  Our next event is the Pinewood Derby, and I haven’t done that since I was ten or eleven, so no guarantees that we will win this year, but if the car looks cool, James will be happy.

Family

For the family, there were some big events we shared.  Alabama won another National Championship and we had to say goodbye to our classic suburban, The Beast! The Beast serve us well while we were in Alaska and we were sad to part ways with it, but Cammie would not agree to cross the US in an 84 Suburban. I solved that by buying an 88 RV named the Jack Wagon and driving the 4800 miles in that. 

The Jack Wagon is its own adventure with its own Facebookpage and blog, but I had to at least mention it here.

In addition to the sadness of leaving Alaska, we left a great team at the Warrior Transition Battalion-Alaska, too. There is no way for me to describe how good those folks are at what they do, but I did attempt it on youtube if you want to listen to a very long farewell speech.

It will be interesting to see if we have as many visitors while in DC as we had in Alaska. We always welcome our friends to come visit, but we don’t blame any of you who find Alaska more attractive than Washington DC.

Cammie

Cammie hit the big 4-0 and we threw a surprise party for her. I don’t know how many more years it will be safe to jump out and yell surprise at her, so I felt some urgency to have the surprise party this year.

If being surprised is not in Cammie’s comfort zone, taking a leadership position definitely is not, but she did agree to be the President of the JBER PWOC this year. It was a tremendously rewarding experience for her and it has linked her to some really wonderful women of faith. Thanks to Facebook, those ladies are able to follow and support each other even as we have to PCS and move away.

One of the things I had participated in every year was the Governor’s Prayer Breakfast. The first couple of years, I attended without Cammie, but 2013 was our last one for a while so I asked her to go with me. It is a great event every year and there are people of faith from all over the state. One of the people we had a connection with at the prayer breakfast was Miss Alaska, DebbieJo Ebben. She is the daughter of one of our friends in Eagle River, Tim from K9Home Away from Home. When we asked to take a picture with her, Debbie immediately recognized us as Bella’s (our puppy) parents. She knows our dog better than she knows us, but that is not unusual in Alaska.

We miss Alaska and realize the fishing in Alabama is not quite the same as fishing in Alaska, but we are adapting. 2013 was a great year and 2014 will be another great year!  We will keep you all posted on our return to Alaska!

The Scuffle (My Favorite Memories of Deacon Ervin)

Forgive me if my memory is not perfect, but this is one high school happening I want to share on the occasion of the passing of a beloved classmate. I have recounted this story dozens of times and struggle to get it right each time. I never do justice to it as a comedy, but I want to try and maybe some classmates will assist me in recreating it in memory of our friend.
In the spring of 1988, just before our graduation from high school, we had a student teacher named Leesa Williams who asked Jeff Smith and me to stage a fight. After our fake fight, Ms. Williams was going to ask all of the students to write about what they saw. The fake fight would have probably faded into my memory if some of the writings presented later were not so memorable.   Jeff and I cooked up a plan to argue and then scuffle following lunch. I don't remember what we were (fake) arguing about, but I knew it had to culminate in a fight, so when Jeff started jaw-jacking with me, I kept poking at him. It was very awkward and clumsy, but wasn't everything we did in high school. Jeff yelled at me to be quiet, I told him to buzz off and make me be quiet if he didn't like it. So, he lunged at me and we rolled up against the wall swinging wildly at each other, but barely making impact. I even caught myself laughing at one point and then realized that was going to compromise the whole plan and corrected myself. We sold every last one of our classmates on the authenticity of our fight. Spencer Sheffield and Scott Walker and Steve Swafford even jumped between us to break us up.  They were perfect props to allow us to continue to sell the act, leaping and swinging and running at each other, testing their ability to keep us separated. We sold the fight so well that when Ms. Williams took us into the hall to "discipline" us for the "fight", she jumped between us when we went to shake hands. You have never seen a student teacher so relieved (not to have to find an alternate profession) when she realized we were only shaking hands. She confessed that we sold her on the fight and after a half second of thought was very pleased that the writing assignment she was about to convey upon the rest of our class would be completely authentic - they all thought the fight was real.
That is a lot of background, but I remember that fake fight because of three students - Amanda Smith, Tracy Ervin, and I think Hope Harlan was the last one, but I may stand corrected when my classmates read this. I remember Amanda's account of the fight because she publicly stated her belief I had no chance of winning. This severely affected my psyche and may have been the biggest reason I joined the Army and became a career warrior (just kidding, but I owed Amanda that line as payback). Hope (I believe it was Hope) said that she completely bought our act, but was baffled as to why Mrs. Noell walked in, took something from her desk, walked out, and paid Jeff and me no mind whatsoever. I had not noticed that and found it hilarious upon reflection. Mrs. Noell didn't realize that she, too, had almost compromised the whole operation.   
That was not the most hilarious account though. My good buddy, Deacon Ervin, read his account of the fight and had us all in stitches. Deacon was sitting directly behind me when we faked the fight and he was not in on the gag - at all. In fact, in a rare moment of poor scholarship, Deacon was completely distracted from the happenings in class and was counting money from some fund raiser. I can't for the life of me remember if it was from church, school, or some community venture, but he had a desk full of change when the fight broke out. I hate to admit it, but in spite of planning a fight, the speed at which Jeff lunged at me caught me off guard and we ended up completely tangled up before I got out of my desk. The result of this upon Deacon's collection of change was a total launch of the balance of his account. As Jeff and I put our hearts into selling our fight, Deacon pounced onto the floor to recover his change. He was counting as he recovered to make sure no penny was lost. Deacon recounted his drama in a way that only he could and I laughed so hard (along with my classmates), that my ribs hurt. He never even cracked a smile as he told his version of the events, but he was the only one in the room not smiling - the only one not belly laughing.
To this day, that is the only fight I have ever been in that resulted in sore ribs from laughing. Every day with Deacon was like that - he inspired the best of us all the time and I know I will never again culminate a fight with that much laughter. I miss him already and I wish I had the words to make everybody understand what a treasure the world has lost. I hurt too badly to try on this day, but I will try again later to make sure nobody underestimates what a loss the world has suffered with the tragic passing of Tracy Deacon Ervin. I will see you again Deacon and we will laugh together as we did that day. Until then, rest in peace, Brother Deac.

Benefields go Coastal (from 2005)

Cammie and I decided to take a little vacation by ourselves while my mother bravely watched our children.  We initially booked a cruise, but backed out a few weeks prior due to the tantrums our son, Jay Allen, started throwing the very week we planned our vacation.  We knew it would be harder to return from a cruise than from the beach (I could actually picture myself swimming back to Florida), so we went coastal – to Coastal Georgia, that is.

We started our vacation in historic Savannah.  Being the thrifty people that we are, we sought and found a great deal on a hotel (www.priceline.com).  When we got to the hotel, we noticed everybody was staring at us in a strange way.  Maybe the ribbon worn by the manager and hotel employees explained the staring.  It said, “Welcome, Paranoid Schizophrenic Researchers Convention.”  Maybe that explains the great rate the hotel gave us.  Maybe we were not just guests, but were subjects!  Maybe they were trying to make us paranoid by staring so they could study our reaction!

All that paranoia made us hungry, so we hoofed it over to River Street for dinner.  A double ear-ringed gentleman with a beard and a sports coat stood outside the River House Restaurant handing out coupons (a good strategy to increase the Sunday night crowd).  For some reason, he neglected to hand us a “buy-one, get-one-free entrée” coupon, so I asked for one.  The modern day pirate then told Cammie she would have to dance for the coupon.  I laughed, Cammie laughed, but he persisted.  I then wheeled around and looked Mr. Pirate in the eye and said, “She’s not dancing.  We are Baptist and it’s more likely that we will make love on this sidewalk than it is that my wife will dance for you!”  To which he responded, “Here’s your coupon.  Enjoy your dinner.”  We do not resent the fact that some people think Baptists are crazy, we use it to our advantage. 

We made our way inside and had a great seafood dinner with no dancing involved, and thus concluded our first night on vacation. 

I woke up early the next morning and went for a little run to better acquaint myself with Savannah.  It was an uneventful run, except when a car sped through the crosswalk and almost ran over another gentleman and me.  Note to self – watch crazy drivers on cell phones when crossing the street in Savannah.

After I retrieved Cammie, we made our way to breakfast on River Street and then headed back to the hotel room to check out.  In the same crosswalk where I made the note to self earlier, a crazy van driver on a cell phone ran a red light.  With my head on a swivel, I saw the impending danger and pulled Cammie back even with me by her arm.  It gave her quite a start, but before she could ask why I pulled her backwards, the crazy van driver blew by us – less than three feet away.  You could say that we were three feet from spending the rest of our vacation in the emergency room.

Now charged with all the adrenaline associated with a brush with death, we decided to stroll through historic Savannah.  At 11:30am, we signed up for a walking tour that started at 1:00pm.  I have no explanation why, but we spent the 90 minutes before the walking tour walking.  But remember, we were child free and just escaped two crazy drivers, so there were no limits on our energy. 

During our 90 minute warm up walk, I decided (for the first time in many years) to buy a cigar in anticipation of UNC’s championship celebration later that night.  I found a Churchill in the Savannah Bulldog brand at the Tinderbox on Bull Street.  The Savannah Bulldog Cigars are named for the two bulldogs that diligently protect the Tinderbox, Pinky and Max.  I almost stepped on Pinky on my way in, and if I did not know that Pinky is a trained security professional, I could have sworn that he was asleep.  Max was due to relieve Pinky in a few minutes, so the store security apparatus remained in a high state of alert throughout the day.

Our Savannah Walks, Inc. tour (37 Abercorn Street, 888-SAV-WALK, www.savannahwalks.com) started on time with a crowd of about 30 people, including a Paris Hilton look alike.  Our guide, David D'Arcy, predicted early on that many people would be surprised that we actually walked so much on our walking tour.  His words proved true as our group began to stretch out over several dozen yards as we moved from site to site.  As the history buffs among us listened intently to David’s oratory on the most significant and interesting pieces of Savannah’s history, one member of our group had a hunger attack and ran to the nearest food stand and bought hot dogs for her and her son.  She walked the rest of the tour with a very colorful mustard and ketchup stain on her shirt.  The parents who brought their young children on the tour paid little to no attention to David as they tried to run herd on their rowdy children.  Cammie and I smiled at our collective wisdom in leaving our precious, well-behaved little people with their grandmother (Lord help her).  There were only about six people who managed to keep pace with David during the whole tour despite his best efforts to keep the group together.  Despite some of the challenges of the group members, it was a great tour.  We enjoyed the great weather and the great history of Savannah.

There is more history in Savannah than you could take in if you lived there for years, but we absorbed as much as we could in a day.  I highly recommend the walking tours over the trolley and horse drawn carriage tours, but if you want to eat hot dogs or resent the walking part of the walking tour, you can tour Savannah on the seat of your pants.

After a quick trip to the candy stores, we left Savannah and headed to Jekyll Island.  We stayed at the last resort on Beachview Drive, the Holiday Inn.  We did not know it when we arrived, but one of the locals let us know that Jekyll Island is the place to go if you are a newlywed or a nearly dead.  Giving our choices, forgive us for claiming to have just gotten married (12 years have gone by really fast!).

Jekyll Island is pretty calm and pretty tame and a great place to take your family.  It is small enough that you can tour the whole island on bicycle in one day of leisurely riding, as long as you keep the gnats out of your eyes. We rented some bicycles and did just that, except for keeping the gnats out of our eyes. 

Cammie and I had similar agendas during our first night at the beach.  She wanted to enjoy some interrupted sleep and I wanted to enjoy the NCAA basketball championship uninterrupted.   We both accomplished our goals, but I had to cheer silently during the game due to Cammie’s condition of slumber. 

I want to take an aside here to thank my childhood friend, Frankie Porterfield, for making me a UNC basketball fan back in the days of Dean Smith, Michael Jordon, Sam Perkins, James Worthy, Jimmy Black, and Matt Doherty.  His influence on me all those years ago made even this year’s vacation better.  I enjoyed a UNC championship and a Savannah Bulldog cigar that first night at the beach.  I hope Frankie enjoyed the game as much as I did.

Cammie and I discovered Jekyll Island’s major shortfall the next morning. There are few to no places to get breakfast.  We drove into the town of Brunswick and ate at the Cracker Barrel, where our waitress was country as cornbread.  She said honey and sugar enough to sweeten our whole day, but that would have been too perfect.

The last time Cammie and I went on a vacation by ourselves, we returned expecting Jay Allen.  To avoid that situation during this vacation, we decided to have our semi-annual fight over money right after breakfast.  Completely out of place during our fight, I looked out the car window to see the General Lee from the Dukes of Hazard sitting at the traffic light beside us.  The fight pretty well shut down any possibility that our third child would arrive anytime in the next year, but I do have a name ready for a boy or girl as a result.  Bobby Lee Benefield may or may not make an appearance, but that name will be waiting on him or her if he or she doesJ.

We are much more efficient in our fighting and getting over it routine at this point in our lives than we were as newlyweds.  We were both done being mad by the time we got hungry for dinner (coincidence?).  Already committed to riding our bicycles everywhere (and that is hard to do mad), we pedaled off to dinner in perfect harmony.  We enjoyed another great meal at Seajay’s on Jekyll Island and then rode around the island again.  We logged about 25 miles on our bikes that day and I include that fact only because we were proud of ourselves for riding so far.

Our last morning at Jekyll Island was great, too.  We woke up early and collected sea shells for our daughter Carlie.  I actually prayed that we would find a sand dollar for her, and we did.  I forgot to specify that we needed a dead sand dollar, so the one we found at the end of our beach walk was alive.  I have no doubts that God was teaching me a lesson after I lectured Cammie on communication during our money fight.  We threw the live sand dollar back, got back on our bikes, and rode off to go get our truck.

As luck would have it, the truck wouldn’t start, so we had even more bike riding to do.  Knowing that the truck would start if we waited a couple of hours (it does not like ocean environments and has pulled this stunt before), we went to the beach to hang out for a little while.

As soon as we got to the beach, dozens of dolphins started playing just feet from the shore.  I have never been that close to so many dolphins in my life.  I am really glad we didn’t pay for a dolphin tour, because I am sure we would not have seen as many as close.  I know that many of you have heard the myths about dolphins and moms to be, but I don’t think Cammie attracted these (but Lord help us if she did).

The dolphins ended our time on Jekyll Island on a high note, so we drove to Saint Simon’s Island for lunch.  We decided to eat at Barbara Jean’s Crab Cakes. On our way in, we saw Heather Whitestone McCallum on her way out.  Unfortunately, we took too long to figure out who she was and missed an opportunity to speak to her.  For those of you who don’t know the connection, Heather and I are both Jacksonville State University graduates and she was Miss Alabama before she was Miss America in 1994. 

Seeing Heather was interesting, but it didn’t satisfy our hunger.  We made our last meal on vacation really count.  Barbara Jean’s Crab Cakes (www.barbara-jeans.com) served up the best meal we had during our entire trip.  We ate so much it hurt, but, with thanks to John Cougar Mellencamp, it hurt so good. 

We drove happily back to Warner Robins to find that my mother had survived her time with her red-haired grand daughter and her toddler tornado grandson.  It was great to be home with our whole family, but I have to admit that planning on next year’s vacation has already begun.

I hope all of you are doing well and if you are planning a vacation, I hope sharing ours with you helps.