Dents

I don’t have many childhood memories and most of the ones I do have aren’t terribly fond. But, those that are include lazy summer Saturday afternoons spent at Fenway Park in the mid-1960’s with my dad. We were living in Framingham at the time and my dad was a diehard Red Sox fan. I’ll never forget walking into that stadium for the first time after all I’d heard and read about it and all the hours I’d spent watching Sox games on our small black and white television. I remember feeling like I was entering a shrine and being overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells that are unique to one of the most iconic and hallowed venues in all of sports. I remember watching the likes of Lonborg, Petrocelli, Smith, and Conigliaro. But, most of all, I remember coming face-to-face with the famed Green Monster and my childhood idol, Carl Yastrzemski (Yaz). Like the Red Sox Hall of Famer that preceded him in left field (Ted Williams), Yaz had long since mastered the art of deftly playing balls that routinely caromed off its 37 foot high façade, a skill that always seemed to elude visiting left-fielders. Time and time again, hitters rocketed balls into the Monster certain of a double only to watch Yaz field the ricochet cleanly and either throw them out at second base or hold them to a single. To me, it was like watching a highly-skilled artist or musician ply their trade.

What most don’t realize, however, and I certainly didn’t as a child, is that, because, as originally constructed (in 1933), the upper portion of the Green Monster was comprised of a wood frame covered in tin – and later (in 1976) with hard plastic – each of those hits left a mark – a dent – on the wall. Actually, they’re impossible to see from a distance (as evidenced by the photograph above). But, if you’re privileged to be afforded a closer look and you catch the light at just the right angle (as the gifted photographer below was and did), you can plainly see them – thousands of them. In fact, in August 2014, the Boston Globe estimated that there were a total of 211,044 dents, based on a hand-count that it commissioned of 33 of the 116 panels that make up the wall, while a high-tech, algorithm-based estimate performed at the same time counted a total of 164,630. Whatever the number, it’s huge and it’s growing larger by the day. Some of the dents, the ones left by especially violent collisions between ball and wall, are deep, while others, likely by-products of more glancing blows, are shallow – some almost imperceptible. But all are permanently and immutably etched in the wall’s Dartmouth green façade and each one has a unique story to tell.

I thought about Fenway Park, the Green Monster – and that little boy seated in Loge Box, Row FF, Seat 5 – the other day on a walk. I’m not entirely sure what prompted it. Maybe it was the smell of freshly mown grass on a beautiful Saturday morning. Maybe it was the soft breeze left behind by a passing storm. Maybe it was Summer coming to an end. Maybe it was just part of what, of late, is my seemingly insatiable desire to try and put all of the pieces – my pieces – together in a way that makes sense. Or maybe it was the somber realization that, six decades later, the too sensitive, too trusting, too-often-exposed heart of that little boy – the one whose needs were (and still are) so simple, so fundamental – has come to resemble that Wall. The recognition that every angry, critical, hurtful, judgmental, and careless word; every vacuous, drive-by hug; every teardrop shed uncaught; every overture of love left unrequited; every act of indifference, insensitivity, rebellion, and abandonment; every moment spent unnoticed, unappreciated, and unpursued; and every turning and running away; had left their mark – a mark that, in the case of my heart, no amount of “I didn’t mean to’s” or “I’m sorry’s”, however warranted or sincere, could ever fully erase.     

The thing is: It’s your heart too. It’s all of our hearts. It’s our collective heart. It’s time. Time to be a little (okay, a lot) more conscious of and sensitive to that reality before we speak and act. Time to realize that, while some hurt is unavoidable, an inevitable by-product of what it means to be fully human, fully alive, and fully engaged, much of it is – and there’s simply no more room for that kind of hurt. Time to acknowledge that the walls of our collective heart are saturated with it. Time to dial it back, to check mean-spiritedness at the door – all the doors (e.g., our homes, our offices, our churches, our playgrounds, our virtual portals, etc.) – and leave it there. It’s time to stop hurting and start healing. It’s time we gave a second or, in some cases, a first thought to the impact we – our words and our actions – are having on our own heart, the hearts of others (family, friends, and strangers alike), and our collective heart. It’s time we ask ourselves if we and they are adding to the hurt – putting another dent in the wall – or contributing to healing. Because it’s one or the other. There is no “middle ground” in the park where we’re playing – and there’s no Yaz. There’s just you, me, the ball and the Wall.

https://youtu.be/l0oLWu-xUdc

*Image credit (Dents in the Wall) Strongylos Photos (2014)

We Share A Heart – A Wedding Toast

Many of you have never met the Blackwell’s before. Ashley once said, “We’re the group that put the “fun” back in dysfunction!” I’m not sure I’m ready to fully embrace that description of us quite yet, but there’s no doubt we’re different than most. For starters, we believe in Real Talk. We’re not afraid to put it all out there – the good and the not-so-good. Michael knows that about us – and, remarkably, he’s still here. But, I felt it important to let the rest of you know it before I deliver the opening line of my toast, so that you don’t drop your glasses or wonder if I pulled out the right remarks. I’d prefer that you didn’t – and I assure you I have. Oh, and one more housekeeping item: I’ve been known to cry at Little League baseball games, so there’s virtually no chance I’m gonna make it thru this toast without someone having to mop the floor!

Truth is: I wasn’t always sure about Michael.

You’re probably thinking: “Well, that’s understandable. It’s the dad/daughter thing. You know the dad who thinks his little girl hangs the moon, that she’s the kindest, brightest, funniest, most compassionate, creative, empathetic, and loving person on the planet and, as a result, is certain that no guy is – or ever will be – worthy of her.” Don’t get me wrong, Ashley. In my eyes, you are (and always have been) all of those things and more – and I’m sure there was some of that in the beginning. But, that’s not the reason.

You see, in addition to her many attributes, I’ll be the first to admit that my daughter – our daughter – is one complicated young lady. And, I should know, because she and I share the same heart. WE FEEL IT ALL and, often times, we’re not bashful about sharing those feelings with the same level of intensity that we experience them, especially with those with whom we feel safest and love the most. Did I mention that, at times, she can also be a bit impulsive, impatient, stubborn as a mule, is quick to be critical of herself and others, and almost never sleeps through the night?!? Oops, I guess I just did. Sorry about that, Ash!

No, my concerns about Michael were rooted in something much deeper: His willingness (and capacity) to deal with all that – and still keep loving.   

But, those concerns disappeared 2½ years ago. 

I was on my way to work early one morning when I received a text from Michael. I’d known that he and Ashley had had a very difficult night and I’d texted him just to make sure both of them were doing okay. His response made my heart sink: “The evening didn’t end well,” he began. “We both said things to each other, we now wish we hadn’t. And, it left us wondering where we go from here. I’m just driving around unsure what to do next.” As tears began to trickle down the sides of my face, I pulled off the road and wrote him back.

“Michael,” I  began, “I don’t have any magic words, let alone answers for you and Ashley. Only the two of you can make decisions where your relationship is concerned. But, let me offer this truth that it took me WAY TOO LONG to learn: Love doesn’t run away from hurt. It leans in and moves towards it. Love also doesn’t add to hurt that’s already there with judgment, guilt, or shame. It offers empathy and forgiveness instead and redoubles its efforts to be part of the healing. Because Love sees beyond – beyond the flaws, beyond the brokenness, beyond the missteps. It sees the beautiful.”

“Trust me,” I continued: “That’s always been true when it comes to Ashley’s love for you. She has consistently seen something – many things – about you worth fighting for, even though, at times, it’s been through tears. And, fight for you she has. I also know this: For all her intensity and complexity, Ashley is one of the most extraordinary human beings I’ve ever known – and well worth the effort. Know that Cyndy and I are praying for you guys, because we love you both and we’re here to help or support in any way we can.”

I later learned that, not long after receiving that text, Michael went home and took Ashley in his arms.

That’s when I knew Michael was special. That’s when I knew he and Ashley have something special. You see, it’s not hard to find someone who loves (or at least professes to love) what I like to call the “auto-tuned” version of us, the us that the rest of the world sees, the us that’s a little too perfectly manicured and made-up, dressed just so, always on its best behavior, says all the right things at all the right times, knows what to do to fit in – and does it – usually with a big, albeit plastic smile.

The challenge is to find someone who fully embraces and loves our “acoustic self” –  the stripped down, un-made-up version of us, the us whose voice cracks at the wrong times, who has anything but “everything under control”, who, at times, is a little grumpy and frumpy, who sometimes forgets the words, who doesn’t always hit the right note …  the unvarnished and broken pieces of us, the us who is fearful, fragile, and, at times, uncertain of our worthiness.

We want to know there’s someone in the world willing to fight for ALL THAT IS US, who longs to be with it, whose heart aches in its absence – someone who cherishes it, sheds tears for it, passionately desires it. We want to know that there’s someone who will love when life is easy and we’re at our best – and who has the courage, strength, and resolve to love even harder when Life is hard, as it often is. I believe both of you have those unique attributes.

And I encourage you to nurture and share them liberally not only with each other, but in the world. Believe me: They are as rare as they are essential.

Michael, it is our great pleasure to officially welcome you into our family as a second son. And, Jan, Michael, and Rebecca we are thrilled to be joining our two families. As for the rest of you, my hope is that, in lifting your glasses, everyone in this room will silently commit to do whatever they can to support, encourage, and protect this very special couple in their life together. To Michael and Ashley!

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