More than 50 years ago, President John
F. Kennedy gathered several scholars and dignitaries at the White House
for a conference, and remarked, “I think this is the most extraordinary
collection of talent and human knowledge that has ever been gathered at
the White House, with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson
dined alone.”
To me, that's a reminder that sometimes smaller can
be better than bigger. In that same regard, sometimes little moments
can be as significant as big ones.
I thought of that recently when someone asked me whether a celebration we were attending, which included virtually everyone from my family, was one of the best moments of my life.
It was obviously a happy occasion, and I smiled as much as ever. But I was quickly reminded of JFK’s quote and of the quieter, simpler moments that seem to define me. So I said, much to the surprise of the listener, “It’s up there.”
Big doors turn on small hinges. Sometimes I don’t want to see the forest for the trees.
…
IT WAS A COLD winter night in January 1972, and I was a sixth grader who would rather die than miss a Springboro Panther varsity home basketball game. Though the gym may have held only a thousand at the most, it seemed to me like 100,000 were actually there. My friends and I arrived early and sat in the first row, right next to the visitors’ bench, and we cheered guys like Jim Hough, Jeff Howard, Gary Patton and Gordy Gregg to victory. They rarely let us down.
One night before making the long walk home (kids used to do that, you know), Lowell Hayes — a Springboro super fan who was also on the school board — made a comment to us I had never really considered. “Before long we’ll be watching you guys play,” he said. To the ears of a wide-eyed 11-year-old kid who was coming up through the Panther system, that was almost too much for me to comprehend.
Me? Out there? I went home absorbed in a dream, and it was magic.
…
BY 1978, MY FAMILY had moved from Springboro and I was a senior at Franklin High School, where I was a proud Wildcat who had played many different sports, I was starting in left field on the baseball team that spring. On the first Saturday in May, we hosted Springboro for a doubleheader.
After the second game, I was covered in mud as I sat in the dugout watching the Springboro bus pull away. Those guys were my childhood friends, and would remain my friends forever. But the guys next to me, the ones wearing red and black, they were more than just friends. We were blood brothers. I love thinking about all things we did together, and the memories we share even still.
We were made to connect with one another. Friendships are magic.
…
THE DAY WAS MAY 26, 1990, and Bill and Judy Armacost were celebrating their daughter Kathy’s graduation from Miami University. Because they had traveled with my mom and dad frequently, sharing more laughs than most people do in a lifetime, the Kirbys were invited. So I went, not sure it was anything I would enjoy for very long.
The Armacosts also knew a young woman named Kim, who was also there. It was not a blind date, or anything anyone arranged. But I definitely felt the connection with her.
Two years later, Bill walked Kim down the aisle on a windy, wet Derby Day Saturday afternoon. The pastor said for better or worse, till death do us part, and we said we did. And we still do.
Kim lost her birth father when she was a little girl, and the man she called “Dad” passed away suddenly in early February 1990. Since then, Bill has been like a father to her, and we have both loved him for that.
Huey Lewis sang, “That’s the power of love.” Can you feel it?
…
IT WAS COOL EVENING in 1997 and Kim and I took our two children (Adam, age 10, who was born to her first marriage, and Chloe, 2, born to us in 1995) to Caesar Creek for an evening picnic. No championships were won that day, and no ceremonies were held. But it was one of the greatest days, one of many we spent when the children were younger.
After dinner, Adam and Kim sat back to look at the blue sky while Chloe and I took a little walk. There may be nothing better in the world than to be around young, vivacious, bright, beautiful children who are so inquisitive, expressive and impressive.
We don’t inherit the world from our parents. Instead, we borrow it from our children. I will cherish this moment, and photograph, forever. Magic.
…
IT WAS JULY 1, 2012, and Tim McGraw was center stage at Cincinnati’s Paul Brown Stadium. As if this show wasn’t enough, Kenny Chesney would come out a little while later. In you ask me, the gift of music is by far the most enjoyable and influential art form there is. I would trade every talent I have (all two or three of them) to play guitar and sing a song.
Near the end of the show, Tim McGraw played one of his most famous hits, “Live Like You Were Dying.” And, as you probably know, it’s an anthem that cuts to the core of your soul. Chloe and her friends were in the row ahead of us, all arm-and-arm swaying to the music. They feel the power. They were in the moment.
The entire show was tremendous, but that imge will stay with me forever.
…
I COULD GO ON and on, about other concerts, church services, anniversary celebrations, and even funerals. Our lives are like books, and each day we place more lessons and more memories on the blank pages in front of us.
The good outweighs the bad. The positive is greater than the negative. Too often we are Dorothy in search of paradise somewhere over the rainbow, thinking achievement and satisfaction can be found in a title, diploma, possession or economic status. Instead, it turns out we have everything we need right there in our own backyard.
The simple, the small and the seemingly insignificant...is big enough.
Singer Peter Mayer has a song called “Holy Now” that invites us to look around every day at the beauty found in simplicity. He says his challenge used to be in finding miracles, and traveling the world over in search of them. But once he embraced his faith and all it actually meant, the challenge turned elsewhere.
The challenge was not where miracles ARE. Instead, the challenge was to find where they AREN’T. Because they’re everywhere.
The biggest moment of my life? There are a million of them.
I thought of that recently when someone asked me whether a celebration we were attending, which included virtually everyone from my family, was one of the best moments of my life.
It was obviously a happy occasion, and I smiled as much as ever. But I was quickly reminded of JFK’s quote and of the quieter, simpler moments that seem to define me. So I said, much to the surprise of the listener, “It’s up there.”
Big doors turn on small hinges. Sometimes I don’t want to see the forest for the trees.
…
IT WAS A COLD winter night in January 1972, and I was a sixth grader who would rather die than miss a Springboro Panther varsity home basketball game. Though the gym may have held only a thousand at the most, it seemed to me like 100,000 were actually there. My friends and I arrived early and sat in the first row, right next to the visitors’ bench, and we cheered guys like Jim Hough, Jeff Howard, Gary Patton and Gordy Gregg to victory. They rarely let us down.
One night before making the long walk home (kids used to do that, you know), Lowell Hayes — a Springboro super fan who was also on the school board — made a comment to us I had never really considered. “Before long we’ll be watching you guys play,” he said. To the ears of a wide-eyed 11-year-old kid who was coming up through the Panther system, that was almost too much for me to comprehend.
Me? Out there? I went home absorbed in a dream, and it was magic.
…
BY 1978, MY FAMILY had moved from Springboro and I was a senior at Franklin High School, where I was a proud Wildcat who had played many different sports, I was starting in left field on the baseball team that spring. On the first Saturday in May, we hosted Springboro for a doubleheader.
After the second game, I was covered in mud as I sat in the dugout watching the Springboro bus pull away. Those guys were my childhood friends, and would remain my friends forever. But the guys next to me, the ones wearing red and black, they were more than just friends. We were blood brothers. I love thinking about all things we did together, and the memories we share even still.
We were made to connect with one another. Friendships are magic.
…
THE DAY WAS MAY 26, 1990, and Bill and Judy Armacost were celebrating their daughter Kathy’s graduation from Miami University. Because they had traveled with my mom and dad frequently, sharing more laughs than most people do in a lifetime, the Kirbys were invited. So I went, not sure it was anything I would enjoy for very long.
The Armacosts also knew a young woman named Kim, who was also there. It was not a blind date, or anything anyone arranged. But I definitely felt the connection with her.
Two years later, Bill walked Kim down the aisle on a windy, wet Derby Day Saturday afternoon. The pastor said for better or worse, till death do us part, and we said we did. And we still do.
Kim lost her birth father when she was a little girl, and the man she called “Dad” passed away suddenly in early February 1990. Since then, Bill has been like a father to her, and we have both loved him for that.
Huey Lewis sang, “That’s the power of love.” Can you feel it?
…
IT WAS COOL EVENING in 1997 and Kim and I took our two children (Adam, age 10, who was born to her first marriage, and Chloe, 2, born to us in 1995) to Caesar Creek for an evening picnic. No championships were won that day, and no ceremonies were held. But it was one of the greatest days, one of many we spent when the children were younger.
After dinner, Adam and Kim sat back to look at the blue sky while Chloe and I took a little walk. There may be nothing better in the world than to be around young, vivacious, bright, beautiful children who are so inquisitive, expressive and impressive.
We don’t inherit the world from our parents. Instead, we borrow it from our children. I will cherish this moment, and photograph, forever. Magic.
…
IT WAS JULY 1, 2012, and Tim McGraw was center stage at Cincinnati’s Paul Brown Stadium. As if this show wasn’t enough, Kenny Chesney would come out a little while later. In you ask me, the gift of music is by far the most enjoyable and influential art form there is. I would trade every talent I have (all two or three of them) to play guitar and sing a song.
Near the end of the show, Tim McGraw played one of his most famous hits, “Live Like You Were Dying.” And, as you probably know, it’s an anthem that cuts to the core of your soul. Chloe and her friends were in the row ahead of us, all arm-and-arm swaying to the music. They feel the power. They were in the moment.
The entire show was tremendous, but that imge will stay with me forever.
…
I COULD GO ON and on, about other concerts, church services, anniversary celebrations, and even funerals. Our lives are like books, and each day we place more lessons and more memories on the blank pages in front of us.
The good outweighs the bad. The positive is greater than the negative. Too often we are Dorothy in search of paradise somewhere over the rainbow, thinking achievement and satisfaction can be found in a title, diploma, possession or economic status. Instead, it turns out we have everything we need right there in our own backyard.
The simple, the small and the seemingly insignificant...is big enough.
Singer Peter Mayer has a song called “Holy Now” that invites us to look around every day at the beauty found in simplicity. He says his challenge used to be in finding miracles, and traveling the world over in search of them. But once he embraced his faith and all it actually meant, the challenge turned elsewhere.
The challenge was not where miracles ARE. Instead, the challenge was to find where they AREN’T. Because they’re everywhere.
The biggest moment of my life? There are a million of them.