This Moment

I've had many new moments in my life recently.  That kind of sounds dumb, new moments.  Every moment is new, each having the ability to become life changing events, or keys to new feelings, or at the very least new memories.  What I mean by new moments for me are times in my life where I've never previously experienced what was happening.  This last year has been rough.  The moments have been painful.  The moment I realized my business wasn't going to continue and was shutdown.  The moment the property went into foreclosure.  The moment the bill collectors started calling our home.  And the moment I understood I haven't lived up to my own expectations.  Don't get me wrong, there are good moments too.  Every afternoon, right around 2 o'clock when my 2 year-old daughter climbs into the chair I'm sitting in and grabs hold of my thumb.  She sinks into the spot next to me and falls asleep.  This is more than just a moment.  It's a wish come true.  This is the powerball of the fatherhood lottery.

I've been watching more Angel games this year than in previous years.  I've always been an Angels fan, but not like this year.  I think I've missed less than 15 games this year.  It would have been less, but work sometimes gets in the way.  As everyone knows, the Angels have been doing fantastic this year, but this isn't the reason I've seen more games.  When I'm watching the games, those moments that happen each inning, I don't think of my business, or of foreclosures, or my fading dreams.  Those moments are pushed aside by Torii Hunter's walk-off grand slam, or Frankie Rodriguez's nerve-racking save, the rejuvenation of Garrett Anderson, or of a no-hitter loss.  The Angels have become my therapy.  They've covered my wounded moments with the medicine of winning ballgames and World Series expectations.  Sometimes my daughter sits next to me and watches too.  She'll sit there for as long as her 2 year-old attention span will let her.  Her moments don't last as long as mine.  Those moments to me become ours and will never go away.   

As I sit here writing this, I can hear my 12 year-old son in the other room singing "Black Dog" by Led Zeppelin.  He's playing a game on the computer while having music play in the background.  Zep is my favorite band and something the two of us have recently started to share.  He doesn't know that I'm listening, which is probably why he's singing so loudly.  And he doesn't know all of the lyrics, so he fills in what he doesn't get, "I don't know, but I've been told.  Phillerup woman ain't got no so".  It makes me laugh, probably because I have no idea what Robert Plant is singing too.  It doesn't matter to him what the words are, it doesn't matter to me either.  Because I know, at this moment, my son is singing for me.