Come What May...I'll Be There

Though the world changes around me every day, with old buildings coming down and new ones going up, I am the same as I was when I first came off the assembly line more than 50 years ago — strong, sharp, and ready to do whatever is expected of me.

Like on that March afternoon in 1965 when the whole town celebrated the Springboro boys’ basketball team's return from the state basketball tournament. My owners, Bud and Phyllis and the kids, didn’t know anyone on the team personally, but they were as swept up in the excitement as everyone else. On a moment’s notice they piled in and and I took them for a ride to see the parade.

Like that June morning in 1972 when tents and booths were needed to set up the summer festival, which shut down Main Street for an entire week. Bud and I hauled a thousand items for Lion’s Club members Bill Crocker, P.B. Stockman, Ralph Wade, Dick Chenault, and Mother’s Club members Myrtle Reedy, Evalyn Harris, Peg Leisz…and many more. We worked hard to get everything ready. Boy, I slept good that night.

Like that hot August day in 1979 when Sam, the youngest of Bud and Phyllis’s kids, left for his freshman year at Ohio State. They loaded me up with boxes and suitcases and an old couch that had been in the basement and I boldly made my way north. On the way home, while Phyllis sobbed uncontrollably, I worked extra hard so the ride home was a little more comfortable. I think she noticed, too.
…

I AM MORE than just some old truck.

I am a member of the family. I am part of my town’s history.

I have been everywhere and know just about everybody. I made trips to the Springboro IGA no less than 8,000 times, until it closed. I know every inch of the way to Springboro High School (all three of them that have existed in my days). And I can still climb that testy part of Bunnell Hill Road out near Lower Springboro Road, just as well as the young trucks do.

Though other trucks have come and gone in the last six decades, I keep doing. I always have.

Like that cold Sunday morning in February 1983 when Rev. Dawes thought he might have to cancel church because of all the snow. Bud had the idea of using me as a bus service and I didn’t mind. So we spent the morning getting people to the Springboro Christian Church, and I did all of it without a single complaint. Many people were blessed that day.

Like that Friday night in October 1991 when I led a caravan of Springboro fans down Rt. 741 to Kings, where the Panthers played the Knights for a conference championship. Bud and his friend talked about how much fun it had been to watch Bobby Anderson, Chad Dixon, Todd Worthington, and Steve Agenbroad and their teammates all season. Though the game hadn’t gone as they wanted, Bud promised to send a note to head coach Dave Stuckey, congratulating him on such a great season.

Like that snowy morning in January 2001 when Phyllis had to be rushed to Dr. Swope’s office because of heart palpitations. Though I’d spent the night on freezing temperatures, I started right up and got us on our way. And though the roads were slick from all the snow and ice, I was fast and steady the whole way. Dr. Swope healed her right quick, though she had to stay off the hot taco sauce for a while.
…

THERE ARE VESSELS that do much more important things than I do. Some are bigger and carry tanks into war, others are much faster and get people from one side of the country to the other in just a few hours. But I am content to be myself, and do what I can.

My AM radio used to belt out the top 40 hits on Cincinnati’s WSAI many years ago when the kids were young, but now Bud keeps it on 700 WLW. Through the newscasts, I’ve listened how America persevered through the riots of ’68, the energy crisis of ’77, the stock market crash in ’87, the terrorist attacks on 9/11, and the recession of 2008. Now I hear the ways America will get through the current pandemic.

Perseverance is the key. It is the single most important quality to get through this life. I know I cannot go as fast as I once did, and I need more frequent stops on longer trips, but if I stay focused and stay the course, I can continue to be useful. 

Like I was in 2005 when I took Bud and Phyllis to attorney Tom Kirby’s office to handle the estate when Phyllis’s mother died. Like in 2012 when I got some dedicated fans to a Springboro girls’ basketball tournament game. And like in 2016 when I helped Mayor John Agenbroad by getting extra materials delivered for the Veteran’s Memorial located on the north end of town. I've done thousands of things for many people.

I am more than just an old truck. I am a member of the family. I am an important part of this town. 

Whatever is needed, one thing is for sure: I am ready.

I'll be there.
…

(Jeff’s note: Obviously, I’ve let my imagination run a little with this story. Please don’t ask me why you don’t remember Bud and Phyllis. Even worse, please don’t tell me that you do. I just loved this photograph I was fortunate to capture last Sunday night, and I decided to think up -- call it an artistic license -- a few words to go along with it. Thanks.)

I'm Still Looking Up To Wayne

I’m sure someone could compile an impressive list of Wayne Kemper’s statistics as a Springboro player and coach over the past 50-some years, but I guarantee the countless people who stood in line for more than two hours at his memorial celebration Thursday night were there because of quality that cannot be measured in numbers — his heart.

He was a loving brother, an admired classmate, a loyal Springboro citizen, a proud military veteran, a cherished husband, a dedicated father, a doting grandfather, and a powerful coach, all of which goes way beyond how many touchdowns he may have scored or wins he would have achieved. 

He embodied what it means to be love and light. Since his sudden passing last Sunday morning, there is obvious sadness that he is now gone, but there is also so much celebration in the fact that he was ever here. The world is a better place because of his 71 years living in it.

…

WHEN MY FAMILY moved to Springboro in 1964, we lived two houses down from the Kemper family on Redbud Drive. Because Wayne and his twin brother Wendell were twelve years older, I was the little pipsqueek who was always looking up to what all the Kempers (which also included Sharon, Karen, Jack, and Joyce) did ahead of me. 

While I played pickup games in the backyard or on someone’s driveway, Wayne and Wendell played varsity football, and Wayne and Jack played varsity basketball. I could only dream of one day doing what they did.

Years later, when my involvement with Springboro sports continued, first as a sportswriter and then as a dad, I would see Wayne all the time because he had become a coach. Not surprisingly, he enjoyed an excellent reputation because of the way he treated his players. He got positive results by exuding a positive energy. I soon realized I had yet another reason to look up to Wayne. 

I took this photograph of him a few years ago before a Panther home football game, figuring I would use it someday after sitting down with him and then writing a feature on all of his Springboro experiences. I regret that I never got around to doing that.

But in the past few days, so many others have told those stories here on Facebook, and they have done it so well. Wayne’s impact will live on in the lives of all those he touched. 

That’s because his heart touched theirs.

…

THERE WAS ANOTHER moment just last year when I asked Wayne to take his photograph. It was Hall of Fame Night at a Springboro home basketball game and all of the current members were asked to line up along the baseline during the halftime festivities.

I said to Wayne, “Let me put you more to the center. I want to use this photograph someday.”

That’s when Wayne said something that stunned me. “Jeff, I’m not in the Hall of Fame.” I thought for a second he was kidding me, or just being shy. Surely, after for that 50 years of his service to Springboro, as a player and a citizen and as a coach, I just assumed he had already been inducted. In my eyes, he was living proof of what it means to be “The Heart of the Panthers.” 

Then it occurred to me. To be eligible, he had to retire from coaching. And Wayne showed no signs of doing that anytime soon.

In the years to come, I do not know when or if Wayne will ever be inducted into the Springboro Athletic Hall of Fame. That is up to a committee that works hard to make those decisions.

But I do know this. 

Regardless of whether he is ever in the Hall of Fame in the game of sport, he is definitely in the Hall of Fame in another, more important arena. The game of life.

I will continue to look up to him.

To Dianne, his wife; and to Sean and Stacie, his children; and everyone else in his family, I am so sorry for your loss.

Rest in peace, Wayne. God bless you.

Okay, I'm Convinced, Boro Football Is 'Big Time'

I remember a Friday night in 2010 when Springboro played its first-ever football game against Centerville, a powerhouse in Southwest Ohio for as long as I have been alive. 

I was there because that’s what I do on Friday nights — go to football and basketball games, either involving Springboro, or Franklin, or sometimes both (my TWO hometowns). I could not believe my small town of Springboro was on the same field with the mighty, mighty Elks.

I grew up in Springboro in the late 60s and early 70s when it had only two traffic lights, and I was there every Friday night. Boro played other smaller schools like Kings Mills and Blanchester and Waynesville — even Mason was a smaller school back then. But it was Friday night lights at its finest, and I loved every minute of it.

When Springboro’s population explosion hit in the late 1990s, I figured it would take a long time for the football program to get to the level of the really successful big schools in our part of the state, schools like Colerain, Northmont, Huber Heights Wayne…or Centerville. Big numbers did not automatically equate with big time success.

But Ryan Wilhite, who was named Springboro’s head football coach in 2006, came here with a large school mindset. He had been an assistant coach at Wayne, which — like Centerville — has had more than its share of football success. He had already been with teams that had big programs on the schedule.

The goal was to infuse that mindset into Panther football. I was eager to see if it would happen.

…

IN THE SUMMER OF 2012, when I knew my daughter Chloe would be a football cheerleader, I volunteered to write stories about the Panthers – something I had done in college and law school 30 years earlier for The Star Free Press. I intended to do it only for that one year.

But I learned immediately that I was witnessing something special. Coach Wilhite gave me open access to everything the team and the coaches did. I sat in on pre-game, post-game and halftime team meetings. I heard the game plans. I stood along the sidelines. Without a doubt, I had the best seat in the house.

With such unbridled access, I learned that the essence of Springboro football consisted of course on meeting goals and winning championships, but also on something way bigger than that —turning teenage boys into strong and productive young men.

Coach Wilhite is big on teachable moments. “You cannot play ‘afraid to lose.’” he will say. “You cannot control outcomes, but if you focus on process and fundamentals, good results will come,” is another one. I quoted him last July when I dedicated our new courtroom at the Warren County Common Pleas Court, saying “We didn’t get where we are all by ourselves. We got here on the backs of all those who came before us.”

I want to write a book someday on the life lessons I have heard during these sessions. It is why I continued to write for six seasons, but that’s another story. 

In 2012, Centerville was Boro’s second opponent of the season. In the game’s early going, it was evident that no matter how hard the Elks hit, and no matter how much they scored, another thing was also true — the Panthers were not backing down.

In the end, in a game that I would put in my top 10 biggest wins in Springboro football history, the Panthers eventually outmaneuvered and overpowered the seemingly invincible Centerville Elks, 42-28, giving them a huge win that served as a springboard to a 10-0 regular season. I felt like a kid just being part of all the excitement.

As a team, but also as a program, Boro made a statement that night: “Here we come.”

And the Panthers kept coming. A year later Boro was 9-1 and again in the playoffs, this time at Colerain, a school that has won the Division I state championship. A year after they were again 9-1, winning handily in a week five contest at Northmont, another big-time school.

After that, the schedule continued to get harder, and the Panthers continued to hold their own. I could go on and on and on, and someday I will.

…

SPRINGBORO WENT 9-1 AGAIN THIS season, with Mason, Wayne, Springfield, Northmont, Trotwood, and Centerville on the schedule. They won the GWOC and will play at Dublin Jerome tomorrow night in what will be the Panthers’ sixth playoff appearance in eight years. They were ranked in the top 10 Division I teams in all of Ohio. All of it is remarkable.

But do you know what? This team played with such confidence, it expected to be exactly where it is.

And do you know what else true? I can see why it has such confidence.

With all that is happening with Springboro football, from its varsity coaching staff all the way down to its pee wee players, there is some serious Panther Pride going on. The program is Big Time. I am convinced.

Go Boro.

Let Me Tell You A Story

I’m not as comfortable telling stories as I am writing them, but I’ll take every opportunity I can get to talk about the people I know, the things I have seen, and the moments that make both of them special. 

I had fun Saturday night at the Springboro Hall of Fame ceremony, when Sean Welsh, Sean Kennedy, Ryan Coates and Coach Paul Bohaboy were inducted. In addition to introducing those who are the best of the best, I talked about life lessons that punctuate all of our lives, and thus come up every day when I am in the courtroom. Each lesson can be best illustrated by — of course — good stories, many times from the world of sports.

1. Sometimes we are called to be pioneers.

I remember attending the parade for the 1965 Springboro basketball team that made it all the way to the state finals. They were a band of talented players and coaches who had no experience getting that far in the tournament. In that same year Springboro started its football program. Both teams went boldly where no previous teams had ever gone before. The lesson is that sometimes all we can do is put our head down, do our best, and believe that everything will go our way. I love stories that encourage people to do that.

2. Children only have one childhood. Help make it a good one.

I remember in the early 70s walking to varsity games, sitting along the sidelines, laughing in the lunchroom, getting milkshakes at the K&W, camping out in the summer, playing ball at the park, and living in the same neighborhood as what seemed like 500 of my closest friends. I had an incredible childhood. The lesson now is to encourage adults to let their children have an incredible childhood, too. Protect them from conflict. Let them be little.

3. Don’t focus on being perfect. Be the best you can be.

While in college, I became a sportswriter for a weekly newspaper that covered Springboro, Franklin, and Carlisle. Yeah, that’s me in the photograph 35 years ago. I got paid to watch games, talk to the participants, and then write about it. I witnessed countless excellent players who were incredibly talented and willing to work hard to be the best they could be, despite their mistakes. That’s a lesson because too many times I encounter people who feel bad or want to quit because they have not done everything perfectly. But the standard is not perfection. It’s being the best you can be.

4. You never know who is watching.

Once I became an attorney, I became a husband and a father, so I became an observer from the stands once again. It was a reminder that kids are always watching, and always learning. They look up to the people in their lives for guidance on how to overcome obstacles and succeed. So that generated another truckload of stories. It is a lesson that the pee wee players of today can be motivated by the varsity players, the same way children can be influenced by their parents. Be responsible.

5. Don’t stop believing.

When my daughter Chloe was a senior at Springboro, she was a varsity cheerleader. Since I was going to be at all the games, I figured I could be a writer again. I was given this front row, behind-the-scenes, in-depth involvement that was beyond anything I could imagine. And I felt part of an undefeated football team and a league champion, District champion basketball team that overcame difficult circumstances. Those teams modeled what people need to hear every day — don’t stop believing, because very often the positive change will come five minutes after you are ready to quit.

…

In the interest of brevity, I have offered the Reader’s Digest version of all of these principles here. I could go on and on…and on.

I love all these stories. I enjoy finding new ones. I often feel like a magnet, always observing, listening, and feeling them as they cling to my soul.

… 

WHEN I WAS a kid growing up in Springboro, my dream was to be a superstar — someone whose name was always in the headlines. But that never happened, partly because my family moved to Franklin but mainly because I played more like Dr. Seuss than Dr. J.

I never got that one great story to tell about myself. 

But God had other plans for me and made me a writer.

Now I have a million of them.

"I've Got All I Need Right Here, In A Small Town"

When I think of a small town, I think of the weekly newspaper, where a woman sits alone in the darkness. She is finishing her story on last night’s school board meeting, which will appear on the front page next to the photo of some Boy Scouts who raised money for a homeless shelter. As she writes, she is careful to quote the school board members accurately, without elaboration. For forty years she has followed a fundamental journalistic credo — she is not the news, only a reporter of it. 

I also think of a pastor who picnics with his family and their small congregation on a warm Sunday afternoon. The morning’s message was entitled “Pass The Salt,” which encourages polite, grateful, complimentary, and humble behavior, the qualities that most reflect God’s heart. "We should model the joy in life, not beat people up with its shortcomings," he says. “It’s like corn on the cob. If I sprinkle a little bit of salt on it, it is tasty and makes me want more. But if I dump the whole salt shaker on it, I’m only left with one choice — to spit it out.”

And I think of the tavern that has a burger and a beer for three bucks, and a local band known as “The Silvertones.” It’s the place to be. They play sing-along classics like “American Pie” and “Hound Dog” and “Sweet Caroline,” but then every now and then they slow it down. One night three years ago, a guy mustered up the courage to approach a girl he had known since high school. They danced. They hit it off. Now they have a beautiful old house across town and their first child on the way. He now has a special request every Friday night, “My Girl.”

“Got nothing against the big town,” John Mellencamp says.

“But I can breathe in a small town, and that’s just where I wanna’ be.”

If you live in America’s heartland, you cannot spend your days on the beach, I realize.

But we can stroll down Main Street in a small town, which is a thing of beauty in a whole other way.

…

WHEN I THINK OF a small town, I think of a mom and her teenage daughter going to a drug store to buy

a eye shadow and lipstick, because the time has come for her to wear such things. But only in moderation. “Honey, I know what it like,” the mom says. “When you’re fourteen you want to be seventeen, and then when you’re seventeen you want to be twenty-one. Take it from me, the years will come soon enough, and it won’t be long that you’ll be wishing they don’t come quite so fast.”

I also think of a coach who stands at midfield after the last home football game. For thirteen years, he has emphasized character, hard work, and fundamentals, knowing that success is the byproduct of all those things. At this level, the players don’t play for scholarships — only the love of the game. As he takes one last look around, the coach smiles. After the game, he had been approached by two parents whose son was not a starter. “We can never thank you enough for how much you have loved our son,” they said. “He’s a better person for having been part of this team. The skills he will take with him will make him a better man.” For the coach, this was the highest compliment he could receive.

And I think of an elderly woman with a fresh bouquet of flowers, placing them on the grave of a man who was her husband for sixty-seven years. Actually, he is still her husband, and always will be. She misses him terribly, but celebrates every day that he is no longer in pain, and now lives the life no human can even imagine. She holds the note he wrote to her just before he died. “When we were teenagers, I waited for you to notice me. When you were in college, I waited for you to come back to marry me. But when I am gone, I will still be waiting for you to join me. Forever.”

I lived in Springboro when I was a kid, then graduated from Franklin — both small towns in the grand scheme of things.

I now serve Warren County, which is a collection of other great small towns like Morrow, Clarksville, South Lebanon, Carlisle, Pleasant Plain, Lebanon, Mason, and Waynesville (the latter of which is where I took this photo of my wife Kim last fall). 

I love our small towns. I am thankful to know so many wonderful people. I am blessed.
…

WHEN I THINK of a small town, I think of a retired school teacher who sits on his front porch on a cool summer night. He has spent the day cutting grass, walking his dog, and running errands around town — running into countless former students who love him dearly. As the night comes to an end, he listens to the symphony of the crickets, with his wife at his side. “You know, the kids keep saying we need to move to Florida,” she says. “They have new condos and big towns down there.”

He reaches over and grabs her hand. He smiles.

“And leave this?”

Nah…

"I've got all I need right here."

My MVP

She may not even get into the game. But she worked hard against the starters in practice the other night, which made them better.

He is by no means the team's leading scorer, but he is a leader nonetheless. He is a model of unselfishness, devoted primarily to what is best for the team -- not himself.

She may be short on skills, but she is All-World in what it means to be an encourager. "Keep your head up." "Don't quit." When just the right thing needs to be said at just the right moment -- she's there.

He will go to college, but not because of an athletic scholarship. He will earn a varsity letter, but only because he played just enough minutes. Since he was a kid, his goal was to represent his town as a member of the varsity...and that by itself was always enough.
...

I AM FREQUENTLY asked to emcee athletic banquets for some local schools. I enjoy doing it, in part because it is the closest I will ever come to athletic recognition of any kind. 

I also like doing it because each team has a select few individuals who are, far and away, the best of the best of the best. And I think it's a tribute to a any school and community to recognize those who have worked hard for such a distinction.

But I especially like the part in every ceremony that focuses on a player who did not set school records or get named to the conference all-star team, yet really embodied the essence of everything the sport was about.

He is measured by his heart. She is known by her positive spirit. They are a coach's dream, a participant simply for the sheer enjoyment of doing their best.

The same holds true with every organization, too. I work in a court, where there are judicial assistants who are every bit as valuable as the ones making decisions. In businesses, there are secretaries and support staff who are the lifeblood of the entire operation. 

My MVP.
...

THE GAME WENT down to the last few seconds, and it was challenging game from start to finish. In the end, victory was secured. The post-game celebration looked like something after a Super Bowl.

But her uniform is still perfectly pressed. His forehead is not dripped in sweat. That's because they were not in the game, and they did nothing that would show up in the boxscore in tomorrow's paper.

But they celebrate with all the starters just as excitedly nonetheless. They are as thrilled and proud as if they had scored the game's winning points.

"We won!"

It's a scene I love more than any.

In A Game Among Friends, Love Wins

A scoreboard in the Springboro gym Tuesday night kept track of how many points belonged to Franklin and how many belonged to the Panthers.

But this group didn't care about that so much. While they love their hometowns, and each one of them is competitive to the core, they would never let any of that get in the way of the love they have for one another.

Allow me to diagram this photo for a second. That's my daughter Chloe, a Springboro graduate, on the left, and that's her boyfriend Cole Blevins, a Franklin graduate and former Wildcat basketball player, next to her. 

Jordan Scheper, the Springboro cheerleader in the middle, is our next door neighbor. Her sister Brooke, a former Panther cheerleader and one of Chloe's best friends, is on the right. Beside her is Shelby Blevins, a Franklin H.S. senior volleyball player, and also Cole's sister. Cole and Shelby are cousins to Jordan and Brooke.

Got all of that? Now even I am confused.

This group does everything together -- volleyball, camping, cornhole tournaments, boating, eating Chipotle, laughing, watching UK basketball, binge-watching something on Netflix, and listening to (very loud) music.

My wife Kim and I hear our basement door opening and closing all the time. And we love it. 

So there was a basketball game tonight, and two great communities were there to support their respective teams. By the way, the scoreboard said Franklin came out ahead in a game that went down to the wire.

But in this group, no one was a loser.

Love wins.

For Gil Burson, One Thing Meant More Than Anything, 'That's Amore'

I have a mental image of a teenage Gil Burson driving south on Main Street back in the days when Springboro was nothing but a village of a thousand people. The year is 1954, well before the K & W becomes a gathering spot for kids or the center of town requires a stop light.

Dean Martin is on the radio singing “That’s Amore,” a hit song from the year before. To everyone in town, Gil is a strong, tough kid who is defined by such words as “gutsy,” “determined” and “rugged.” But to those who really know him, Gil has a much different side — a sensitive side, one that has a real heart for people.

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie/
That's amore/
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine/
That's amore…

Gil has spent the last hour way north of town, near the airport, up where there was room to open the engine a little. He is on his way back to Springboro High School, which is just on the outskirts of the southern part of town. Gil is a senior, a starter on the Panther basketball team with a reputation of not being afraid of anybody, no matter his size.

Had the Panthers played football back in those days, he would have surely been a fullback and middle linebacker.

I love this image. It’s like the movie “Hoosiers,” the 1986 film starring Gene Hackman where everyone knows everyone else. When the Panthers play at home, the whole town is there. When the team travels to a neighboring school, a caravan of cars follows the team bus, just like in the movie. Gil is in the middle of all of it, a team leader.

As he drives down Main Street, or Front Street as the locals called it, he relishes the moment. Practice starts in a half-hour, and even though he was the team’s leading scorer in the game the night before, Gil will work harder than anybody as the team runs through its drills. He plays at only one speed — overdrive.

To his left he sees Dick Chenault and his wife Phyllis outside their house, raking leaves and getting the house ready for the coming winter. For a second, Gil’s thoughts turn to the future and the notion that one day that could be him. After graduation, what will he do, and where will he live? Will he get married and have children and grandchildren? 

When the stars make you drool just like a pasta e fasule/
That's amore/
When you dance down the street with a cloud at your feet/
You're in love

Gil can only wonder about the days ahead. For the time being, though, none of that matters.

For now, Gil has only thing on his mind — basketball.
…

THIS IMAGE CAME to mind last week as I was standing in a very long line at the Anderson Funeral Home on Main Street in Springboro. I was among countless other people who were there to pay final respects to the man who helped make the now-City of Springboro what it is today.

Gil Burson, a husband, father, grandfather and friend, passed away last Monday at the age of 80.

Throughout the evening, one person after another passed through the line to offer condolences to Gil’s family. His wife Sarah had been with Gil for over 60 years, Their four children — Debby (Ben) Ballard, Conny (Russ) Tusing, Mike (Angela) Burson, and Don (Mary) Burson — all graduated from Springboro H.S. Gil and Sarah have seven grandchildren, Kacy, Becky, Jake, Josh, Mike, Matt, Taylor, Jared; and also six great grandchildren, Brady, Brielle, Sarah, Jack, Carson, and Macy.

There were tears but also some laughter. Gil was loved by so many. Because of his rugged exterior and his loving interior, I offered two words about Gil — velvet steel.

The next day, my friend Danny Griffith performed a beautiful funeral service that honored Gil in the best possible way. One of Gil’s grandsons, Josh Ballard, told some wonderful stories in a touching tribute. 

In accepting respects from a long-time friend and classmate, Mike Burson said this about Gil: “He was one of the last true Springboro silent Icons we had. No one really knew the name but as his roots spread throughout the generations, they all started to realize he was the old oak tree we all long to be.“

I love that. No truer words have ever been said.
…

AMONG THE MANY GLORIOUS things we get to do in heaven, I think we can dial up a time and place and go back and visit for a while. In that respect, I think I get to play outfield for the 1942 Yankees or play wide receiver for the 1964 Browns if I want to.

I picture Gil in that old car of his driving south once again along Main Street in Springboro, way back 63 years ago. He is young again, strong as an ox, and so excited to once again wear the blue and white for Springboro. 

Practice starts in a half-hour, and later tonight “I Love Lucy” will be on television. There is a wide smile on his face.

But as he drives through town that crisp, late fall afternoon, Gil does not have to wonder how his life turns out. Instead, he will already know. He will envision his first date with Sarah Bishop and their wedding a year or so later. He will beam at the sight of his children being born, and all the things they did as a family in the years that follow.

And the grandchildren. Lord, is there anything better than grandchildren? He would love them all the same, and all their achievements would be special. They were the next generation of Panthers. Taylor is a treasure, Jared is a gem. And Jake would win the Super Bowl with the New York Giants.

How did a simple guy from a small town get so lucky? He won’t know for sure, but he was. He will thank God for blessings far greater than he ever could have dreamed.

As he approaches the old Springboro High School, which houses only the sixth graders today, he will pause and reflect on a life full of special occasions and good people, and the reality he will get to see everyone again someday.

And he especially touched by one more thing, something that always meant more than anything to Gil.

Love.

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie/
That's amore/
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine/
That's amore…

A Magic Moment

When I captured this moment the other night between Cameron Rountree, Springboro's senior quarterback, and Brayden Wilhite, son of Springboro head coach Ryan Wilhite, I wondered if the conversation went something like this:

"Cameron, I really like your style, but if you look off the strong safety I'm pretty sure you'll find your back side receiver wide open."

Nah, I'm just kidding.

Instead, what I captured was a moment that defines the essence of hometown high school football, featuring two great kids.

I think I also caught a moment young Brayden will cherish the rest of his life. Here's why I say that.
When I was his age, I too stood along the Springboro sidelines, but not because my dad was the coach. I was just a fan, and this was back in the day when fans were allowed to stand along the outer edges of the field.

I was my team's quarterback, and what I lacked in talent I made up for with pure heart. I wanted to get better. More than anything, I wanted to be just like Rod Dillon, Springboro's varsity quarterback at the time. So when I went to the Panther games, I studied everything Rod did.

Take charge in the huddle, okay. Stand tall in the pocket, got it. Call the play in the voice of Donald Duck (yes, Rod did that), all right, never mind.

But hear me on this: if there had ever been a moment when he and I stood together, and he leaned in to hear something I said or if he ever gave me a word of encouragement, and someone was there to get a picture of it...

...I...well...um...there are just no words to describe how much that picture would be worth to me. I can imagine what my wife would say: "Honey, does that photograph have to hang above the fireplace, above our wedding photo and the senior portraits of our children?"

So here you go, Brayden.

Way to lead, Cameron.

Click.

A Friday Night Storyteller

Something unexpected happened to me five years ago, right before my daughter Chloe's last year of high school. She was a Springboro football and basketball cheerleader, and I knew I would be at all of the varsity games.

I decided I wanted to be more involved, because sitting in the stands did not cut it for me. So in July of 2012, a month before football started, I started thinking. Maybe I could keep stats. Or maybe I would help with the equipment. I didn't know. Anything would do.

But another thought kept occurring to me. Way back in the 1980s, when I was in college and law school, I was a sportswriter for The Star Free Press, a weekly newspaper that covered Franklin, Carlisle and Springboro. It was something I enjoyed, in part because it made me feel part of the game, but also because it was a perfect diversion.

Watch a game. Talk to everyone involved. And tell a story. It was awesome.

Among the thousands of stories I told back then, I recounted all the excitement surrounding Springboro's undefeated football team in 1982 and Franklin's 10-0 team in '85. I smile when people tell me they have entire scrapbooks filled with the stories I have written and photographs I have taken.
...

SO WHY NOT DO that again? I would later joke, "I don't coach, and for reasons I don't understand, they won't let me play. But like any good lawyer, I can certainly tell a story. This is what I do."

I remember sending an email to Ryan Wilhite, Springboro's excellent head coach, and telling him what I had in mind. I didn't have credentials for a major newspaper, and I feared I might just be a waste of his time.

But he agreed to give me full access to the sidelines, the locker room and team meetings, and I wrote what came my way just on the Internet. To say it was a pleasure is the understatement of the century.

The Panthers went 10-0 and made the playoffs. And like those teams from so many years ago, I felt like I was practically a participant. The stories received a lot of attention, plus I was with Chloe the whole time. At the team banquet at the end of the season, I was given a game ball that was signed by every player, coach and cheerleader. It's on display in my office to this day.

A few months later, I was at the basketball games, following a Springboro team that advanced all the way to the Division I Regionals, giving me more and more stories, which made it all even better. It was a great way to spend Chloe's senior year.

But I figured it only a temporary assignment, and in time I would go back to cutting grass and cleaning the garage when I was away from the courtroom. After all, I figured if Chloe was done, then so was I.
...

THEN, SHORTLY BEFORE the 2013 football season started, I remember looking at Kim one night in a way that told her exactly what I was thinking. Everyone needs a hobby, you know. And a game only lasts a couple of hours. And it makes me happy. And...and ...

"Sure," she said. She's such a sweetheart.

Because Chloe had graduated, I was now free to also go to some Franklin games, which is my alma mater. When I was a kid, my family lived in Springboro until I was in eighth grade, but then we moved to Franklin. I'm like a dual citizen.

I could go to both games, hang with even more people I know, and tell even more stories. That made it doubly fun, because not only was Springboro still good, but Franklin was also creating a buzz everywhere it went. Luke Kennard, now a player for the Detroit Pistons, was a junior that year, becoming Ohio player of the year in both football and baskeball.

"Kim, do you mind?"

"I understand." And she still does.

Even though Chloe is now in law school, and we don't have any children in high school, I still enjoy going to the games on Friday nights. It's my way to get out into the community and give something back. Plus it is a still a great diversion, the best $8.00 I ever spend.
...

WHEN I WAS TWELVE, my dream was to be a big-time player someday, with my name announced on the overhead speakers and my achievements chronicled in the newspaper. I just knew it would happen, and when it did, I was going to have a really good story to tell.

But God had other plans for me and made me a writer instead.

So I don't have that one really good story to tell.

I have a million of them.

A Field On The Edge Of Town

Back when I was a kid, when Springboro had only two traffic lights, two schools and two police cruisers, my classmates and I were given 15 minutes of freedom two times every school day to do as we pleased, so long as we stayed on school property.

The scholars might have said education was all about reading, writing and arithmetic, but we thought it was about recess. 

When the wondrous moment finally arrived, we burst out the back door like dogs that found an open gate. We played football, searched for frogs, ran races, swung high on the swing set, played tag, ignored girls, told jokes and did back flips off the monkey bars (okay, that’s a stretch), all right up until the teachers raised their hands and told us it was time to go back to the grind.

Thankfully, Mr. C. Gordon always let us get a drink of water. “Take your time, but hurry,” he’d say.

I remember it as a time of innocence, boundless energy and fun.

On a field on the edge of town.
…

BY HIGH SCHOOL, MY family had moved. That meant I was a Franklin Wildcat instead of a Springboro Panther, something I never dreamed would happen. In the beginning, I thought the change might be the worst thing that ever happened to me. But in time, I realized just the opposite was true.

As a senior, I remember a Saturday doubleheader (against Springboro), when I looked around, embracing the moment, comprehending the changes, and realizing — surprisingly — that everything had actually turned out pretty well.

I had excellent teachers, great friends, and a ton of memories that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I would forever have two hometowns, not just one.

Doug Long, Franklin’s legendary baseball coach for 30 years, did more than emphasize baseball principles such as hustling, hitting and hanging on when times were tough. Instead, he instilled life lessons in us.

We were leaders, he would say. So act it.

We led best by serving, he added. So be helpful.

And never, ever fail to appreciate the opportunities you have been given, he concluded. So be grateful.

By the end of that Saturday doubleheader, after we had been fortunate to take both games, I sat in the dugout watching the Springboro bus drive away. It occurred to me it could have been me riding in that bus, and I’m sure my life would have been just fine if it had. But because of the move, I came to know a whole different group of really good people, guys who have been my friends for life.

Why was I so lucky? Who could have foreseen such a turn of events? I may have grown up having “The Heart of the Panthers,” but because of the move to Franklin, I would forever know what it means to be “Once A Wildcat, Always A Wildcat.”

I packed away my cleans and glove. I felt a sense of achievement, and satisfaction of a job well done.

At a field on the edge of town.
…

I DO NOT KNOW THE day or the hour, but I know it will come. Any stress, anxiety, doubt, worry or regret that has ever troubled my earthly existence will forever leave my soul, and in its place will be a heavenly total peace and a perfect love — the kind that is so absolutely amazing that I cannot possibly describe it.

I will be so overcome by God’s comforting and overpowering love that I will be instantly transformed into a presence that I never thought was possible. I will be assured that despite all my thoughts to the contrary, my life indeed had a purpose and my actions in fact made a difference (as does yours). This will result in me saying “Really?” about 15,642 times.

More importantly, I will instantly know that the loved ones I left behind will be all right, despite their moments of extreme sadness. Time moves much more quickly in eternity. Plus, in a figurative sense, I will have seen the end of the movie, or read the last chapter of the book, and know that God had it right when he inspired the words “Fear not” to be included 365 times in the Bible.

I could write an entire book on what I imagine heaven will be like, and maybe one day I will have the chance to put it on paper.

When my life flashes before my eyes, I will see faces of wonderful people who have meant so much to me through the years —my wife Kim, my children Adam and Chloe, my parents, my brothers and sisters and their children, and all my friends and acquaintances. I will also see the places I have been and the things I have done.

And I will see fields. In addition to the school playground and the Franklin baseball field, I will see the soccer fields my children played games on, the golf courses I played around on (hacked, to be more accurate), the campsites I have watched the stars on, and the football fields I have witnessed greatness on.

Life on earth is awesome. I cannot wait to see what is next.

Through it all, I will see one more image, a large piece of a stone with my name written on it.

In a field on the edge of town.

My Favorite Buckeye Of All Time

Without throwing a single touchdown pass or making even one game-saving tackle, my daughter Chloe -- who graduated this afternoon from Ohio State University -- is now my favorite Buckeye of all time.

She is now far ahead of such legends such as Archie Griffin, Chris Spielman and Springboro graduate Jake Ballard, and all the other Buckeyes who have ever worn the Scarlet and Grey, and will forever stay there, at least in my eyes. After all, I have never claimed to have total objectivity when it comes to my family.

Today was a celebration of Chloe's hard work, but also a significant step in Chloe's commitment -- along with her classmates -- to make the world a better place. 

I like the words of featured speaker Abigail Wexner, who is a leader in the Columbus area for her work in private, public and charitable enterprises: "You don't have to be the president, a CEO, an astronaut, or even a man, to make an impact."

She told the graduates: "Seize the chance to change the world, bit by bit, in meaningful ways....Reach out and put your arm around someone's shoulder. Within you is the power to make the ordinary heroic, one child at a time."

I look forward to seeing Chloe do just that.

She and my nephew Chase, who also graduated from OSU today, will head to law school at the University of Dayton in the fall. Their goal is not just to make money or achieve a certain status. Instead, it is to help families, strengthen a community and help those who are less fortunate, something our family has stood for for a very long time.

Yeah, proud.

I took this photo this afternoon of Chloe and her mother, my wife Kim, as everyone gathered near the Thompson Library right after the ceremony. It's beautiful.

I'll put ahead of every other photo I keep in my mental scrapbook of the Buckeye greats of all time -- ahead of Eddie George, Cris Carter, and Ezekiel Elliott.

My No. 1 will always be Chloe.

My favorite Buckeye.