October 31- Mi Dia De Los Muertos

     Halloween is a special time of the year for me.  My first memory of Halloween is from when I was 4 years old; and my aunt decided to take Cain (my cousin), Joel, Ruthie, and me trick-or-treating. I was so excited because I was dressed as Casper the Friendly Ghost, with a Casper mask on my face and a bed sheet draped over my body.  We jumped in the car, and my aunt said something that we didn't understand because we were so young.  "Your grandmother has passed away."  Then she started the car and off we went, in search of sweet candy goodness.  We had a great time, and we came home with tons of loot; but there was a stillness about the house and everyone else in it.  We would then find out that our grandmother died during that day.

     Our grandmother, Leonor Perez Gracia, was my mom's mother; and she passed away on October 31, 1978, at 4:00 p.m.  She died of heart failure, which is ironic because she had a wonderful heart.  Although I didn't know her long, I knew her well.  She used to help me hide when we would play hide-and-go-seek, picking all the best hiding spots.  She used to let me eat her bananas, which she had to eat because of the medications she was taking; and she would never hesitate to allow me to devour the last banana.  She taught me a lot of Spanish, mainly because she didn't speak any English; but I have some fond memories of that precious lady.  Also, it seems the more I hear stories about my grandmother, the more I realize that she is exactly like my mother whom I adore.  

     On the day that my grandmother passed away, she did a noble thing for this four-year-old.  Although she lay on her deathbed, she insisted that my mother buy costumes and take us out to have that great time.  To this day, I never miss dressing up for Halloween; and I always take a moment to remember and respect the woman who was responsible for my very first memory of Halloween.  In the Hispanic culture, El Dia de los Muertos (The Day of the Dead), is a time where people take two or three days to celebrate the memory of family members who have passed away.  Most people celebrate November 1st and 2nd; however, I celebrate my Day of the Dead on Halloween night, because that's when it all started for me!  

**** IN LOVING MEMORY OF LEONOR PEREZ GRACIA****

                               

Ghost Encounters

     My life has been one crazy encounter after another, most of which have logical explanations.  I'd like to tell a few of the encounters which are difficult to explain, and one that literally left me speechless.
     As a kid, I used to follow the same nightly routine.  I would wake up in the middle of the night, walk into the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of tap water.  From my parents' kitchen, I could see directly into the living room.  Before I could finish pouring my water, I would be overcome by an entire body chill.  The hair on my neck would stand up on end, and my skin would be covered in goosebumps.  Then I would see "IT."
     "IT" was a black figure that stood four-feet tall and was so black, IT was darker than the (dark) living room.  I would pour as much water as I could, until I was compelled to run back to my room.  I always felt as if IT was right behind me as I leaned forward- like a world-class sprinter does at the finish line- to avoid IT's grasp.  I never told anyone in my family about my sightings, and I continued to have them until I left home for college.
     One Mother's Day weekend, I came home from Sam Houston to see Glo (my mom).  It was a Friday afternoon, and I was a little tired from my dialysis treatment; so I decided to take a nap.  I was in my old bedroom, laying down, with my eyes almost closed, when I saw a short, dark figure walk into the room.  Everyone in my family is short, so I took little notice of who the person was.  The figure walked in and around to the far side of the bed (where I was napping) and knelt beside me.  Suddenly, every muscle in both of my legs cramped; and I shot up and yelled, "Ruthie!"  I thought that my sister, who stands a whopping 4'10", was the person that came into the room.  To my surprise, there was no one at the foot of the bed.  I bolted across the house into my parents' room, where Glo and Joel (my brother) were watching television.  This time I couldn't hold back; and blurted, "Okay, I've been seeing this thing in the house since I was little; and it just touched me!"  Glo had a look of disbelief; but before she could speak, Joel blurted, "It's about this tall (showing 4' with his hand), and it's black!"  That was the first time we ever discussed the black being, and I was relieved that I wasn't crazy.  I would never see a black being, that size, again.  The other would be much larger and more brazen.
     When I was living in an apartment at Sam Houston, I had so many weird encounters.  I saw a loaf of bread fly off the top of the refrigerator, an ornamental glass full of golf tees fly across the room (twice); and I was shoved across my bed in the middle of the night.  One day, I was packing my soccer gear for an away game; and I saw a man run through the hallway, toward my roommate's bedroom.  I dropped my gear and chased after him.  He was dressed in a red flannel shirt (unbuttoned and untucked), blue jeans, and black, padded high-top shoes.  I was only five feet behind him when he darted into the unlit bedroom.  As I ran into the room, I turned on the light; and he was gone.  I finally gathered enough nerve to march into the leasing office and ask the manager if anyone had reported seeing ghosts in their units.  The manager stopped what she was doing and looked at me in disbelief.  She smiled and said, "You're the third person, today, to ask me that same question."  As we talked, she informed me that the entire complex burned down in the 1980's, but she (supposedly) didn't know if there were any fatalities. Needless to say, I didn't live in that apartment complex much longer.
      Some years after Lacye and I were married, we lived in a condominium that was owned by some very good friends of ours.  They had told us a few stories of strange events that they had, while they were living there; and we had some experiences of our own.  One time, I was in the kitchen talking to Lacye, who was in the dining room facing me as she leaned on the kitchen bar.  As I was talking, I leaned against the wall with all of my weight.  A few seconds later, I looked; and I was 8 inches from the wall that I thought was holding me up.  I immediately stood straight up and carried my conversation into the dining room.
     My biggest encounter in that condominium was on a late Saturday night.  I woke up from a nightmare to the sound of heavy footsteps.  These were footsteps that sounded like they were on a mission.  The steps started at the bedroom door and quickly came around to my side of the bed, where I was now sitting up.  I reached out to my left and felt as if I put my hand inside of the freezer.  The temperature difference was astounding, and my entire body went into a full-on chill.  This wasn't a nice entity; so I started to say, "Je..."  My lips suddenly pinched shut, as if a thumb and forefinger were holding them closed, as if to say, "Don't say that!"  From the side of my mouth, I managed to say, "Jesus!" and the entity immediately disappeared.
     I have learned so much from these (and many other) encounters.  I know that some spirits don't know that they are no longer living and go about their daily lives.  I know that some entities are good and cause feelings of warmth, and that some are evil and fill you with paralyzing fear.  I also know- and am confident- that the name of Jesus has power over all beings, and that allows me the strength to face anything that comes my way.


  

From Football To Futbol

In 1993, I transfered to Sam Houston State University (SHSU), with a scholarship, to work as an equipment manager for the Bearkat football team.  My job was to make sure that the players' equipment was in good condition at all games and practices.  I worked around athletes who were strong, fast, and had great work ethics.  During that time, I began to miss being an athlete, too.  When the off-season started, in the second semester, I decided I was going to get back in shape; so, I started working out in the weight room.  I felt like a twig, in that weight room.  There were giants who were stacking heavy plates on the workout bars, like they were pancakes at a breakfast buffet.  I didn't care, anymore; so I started working out my arms, legs, chest, stomach, and back.  On days that the team ran, I went out and started running with them.  Several times, I hurt so bad, that I thought I might die.  My major motivation was the memory of that doctor telling me that I couldn't play soccer, anymore.  I used to tell myself that he was wrong; and that doctors "practice" medicine, meaning that they didn't know everything, either.  A few times, the football team had to play soccer; and I felt like a king on that stadium field, for just a few minutes.  I struggled that entire semester, just to try and feel "normal," again; but it would soon pay off, when the 1994 fall semester started.

When my second year at SHSU started, everything was looking up for me.  Lacye had graduated high school; and was now enrolled as a student at Sam. I was more experienced at being an equipment manager, for the football team; and I was in much better physical shape.  I had another roommate, who was one of my close friends, and dialysis was going well at the Huntsville dialysis center. Little did I know that my dream was about to come back to life.

One day, I was talking to my roommate, and he said that he tried out for the SHSU mens soccer team, and made the cut.  He also informed me that he was headed across campus to play in the first scrimmage of the season.  I asked if I could come along, and possibly fill in as a warm body.  He said that he would introduce me to the coach, and then we would see what he said.  I grabbed some cleats out of my closet, went to pick Lacye up from her house, then headed to the soccer field. 

When we arrived, I saw all the tall, fast, skilled players who were already on the team, and I became very nervous.  I was introduced to Coach Michael, who was the founder of the mens team.  I was told that I could sit on the sideline, and he would see if he could fit me into the game.  Half-way through the first half, Coach called me over and said that I was going in to play.  I took my last few warmup moves and crossed the white line, for the first time in a year.  There were not many people in the stands, that day; but I felt like I had crossed over, into my first professional soccer game, with thousands of screaming fans.  I reached my position, as a defender, looked over and gave Lacye an uneasy grin, and the play resumed. 

My mind was racing in that last 20 minutes of the first half.  I wasn't confident, I was rusty, and I wasn't sure if my body would hold up.  I did everything I could, but I continued to play timid, and slow.  The half-time whistle blew, and everyone ran to the sideline for a break.  I ran over to Lacye, the best cheerleader I ever had, looking for the usual, "You're fine, You're good, Don't worry."  

Lacye opened her mouth and said, "What's wrong with you?  You're playing like a puss, and you can play much better than this!"  My jaw fell open, and she proceeded to tell me all about my play, and that I never played that bad, before.  Those words hit me like a wrecking ball to my chest; and I felt all of my insecurities fade away.  

I soon found myself on the field, in the second half, and my game changed dramatically.  I played confidently, winning headers in the air.  I realized quickly that all of the squats and lunges made my legs strong enough to jump with the taller players.  I was outrunning players to the ball, because of all the sprints I ran with the football team, and I was able to play physically, because my upper body was strong, from lifting weights.  Suddenly, I felt like a brand new player, than when I entered for the first time.  I was back!

The game ended; and everyone was packing up, to go home.  Coach Michael made his way over to me and said, "There's a spot on this team, if you'd like to play with us."  I didn't hesitate to answer him, "Yes!", in fear that he might realize he made a mistake.  I rushed back to the athletics department and quit my job with the football team (even paid back my scholarship), and turned in my keys to the equipment room.

Through the next four years, I would end up playing for the Bearkat mens team, assistant teaching a soccer class for Kinesiology majors, being the co-captain for the team, and coaching the team in Coach Michael's absence.  We would even win two consecutive Texas Collegiate Soccer League Championships. 

 I forgot that God gives us our talents, and if we use them for our own selfishness, you will be stripped of that talent.  Soccer was my dream, and by my own fault, it was taken away from me.  However, just when I gave up and finally broke; I was given a second chance.  Many times, the second chance is way sweeter than the first.

Now, I look at everything differently.  When I'm at home, I love laughing and talking with Lacye.  When I'm in the classroom, teaching Spanish, I tell stories, jokes and sing songs with my students.  When I'm struggling, I thank God that he's there to pick me up.  Finally, when I'm on the soccer field, coaching, I smile while I try to convey two points: 1. NEVER say "I can't."  2. It's ok to make mistakes, because I'll give you a second chance, too.

Light In The Dark: The Joel Trevino Story

In the story, "Hemodialysis," I stated that, "None of this new information would shock me."  My big brother, Joel, would be the one who showed me the many faces of kidney disease, kidney failure, and kidney transplant.  Through his eyes, I would be able to see what my possible future could be; and because of him, I would learn how to get back up, every time I was knocked down.  

Joel was a great, big brother when we were kids.  He always looked out for me and our middle sister, Ruthie, when we were away from home, or our parents.  Joel was short, muscular, and quite a charmer with the girls.  I learned a lot from him, as I grew up, following him all over God's creation.  I learned how to cook a grilled cheese sandwich on the stove, that mannequin wigs at the department stores weren't always glued down, and I learned how to play soccer.  We used to spend hours, from morning to night, kicking a soccer ball to each other.  I always prayed that I would be able to tell soccer stories like his.  Joel was very intelligent, very popular, and heavily recruited by the U.S. Marines by the end of his junior year in high school.  

By the end of his senior year, Joel had decided to make a career with the Marines, and was excited about serving our country.  God had other plans, and Joel was diagnosed with a kidney disease, called Focal Glomerulosclerosis with Nephrotic Syndrome, in November of 1986.  Simply stated, this disease is caused by a build-up of scar tissue in the filters of the kidneys, causing them to cease the production of urine.  By the end of 1987, the disease progressed aggressively, and Joel was faced with the choice of dialysis or a kidney transplant.
Through tons of prayers and research, Joel decided to have a kidney transplant, and was put on the Texas kidney recipient waiting list.  While waiting to be called for a kidney transplant, he started Hemodialysis with a temporary venous catheter.  The catheter is one tube with dual directional flow, that is placed into a vein, in the chest, for dialysis treatments.  The treatments started, and Joel's body did not respond well.  Several times, he returned from dialysis treatments with severe muscle cramping, nausea, vomiting, headache, and fatigue.  More than once we had to carry him into the house from the car.  All of our family and friends stayed in constant prayer on behalf of Joel, that he would receive "the call" for a transplant; and that prayer was answered.
On November 26, 1988 (the morning after Thanksgiving), we received a call from the transplant team at Houston's medical center, saying that a kidney became available, and that Joel was a match. We would discover, later, that the donor was a teenage girl named Kimberly, which is now the name of his beautiful daughter.  Joel was taken into surgical prep as soon as he arrived at the hospital, and the transplant was in progress.  The next month was spent in acute rejection, which meant that his immune system was aware that the body was being invaded by a foreign object (the kidney), and one month after the surgery, Joel completely rejected the kidney.  On December 26th (the day after Christmas), a nephrectomy was performed, and the young kidney was removed from Joel's body.  
My brother never let any of these hard times stop him from being the happy, energetic, hilarious person that we all loved and admired.  From the beginning of 1989 until June 12, 1990, Joel would use a different type of dialysis, called Peritoneal Dialysis.  This was different from the Hemodialysis because it didn't require needles; and it allowed Joel to be as normal as he wanted to be.  During that time, Joel, Ruthie (our sister), and I took a trip to Las Vegas and California, to visit family.  When we weren't traveling, we spent much time swimming in a swimming hole, which we were sure was home to some kind of huge sea creature.  One time, we were floating in our raft, when the middle of our raft raised several feet out of the water.  It was obvious that one of us was trying to be funny, until we realized that we were all accounted for, inside of the raft.  We never went back to that swimming hole; but found out that it was completely filled in, soon after our near-death experience.  Toward the end of that time, our dad (we call him Benit) was tested as a donor for a second kidney transplant.  Well, Benit was a match and Joel's second transplant was set for June 12, 1990.  

Benit gave Joel his kidney, and was out of the hospital in six days.  He never needed, nor liked the pain medicine.  He never had any complications, and he never had any complaints.  We all hoped and prayed that Joel's recovery would follow suit; however, his stay would be much more complicated.
Joel would spend the next 35 days in the hospital in a state of chronic rejection.  That means that although the body was aware that something was different, it could be tricked through the use of high levels of anti-rejection drugs.  Doctors said that his body would most likely reject his second kidney, but that it would be some time before that day.  During that 35 days, Joel would go through hell and back, in a story that will be told in a book of his own.  There would be laughter, crying, a World Cup, horrible pain, bad reactions to medications, angels, death, and Gary Coleman.
Everything sounds very intriguing; however, I only have enough time to tell one of these stories.  Joel was moved closer to the transplant floor nurses' station, because he was having so many problems.  In that time, my Aunt Elizabeth, from California, called Joel's room to check on him.  The conversation went like this:  Aunt Liz: "Hi, Mijo.  How are you?"  Patient: "What?  Who is this?"  Aunt Liz: "What do you mean, 'Who is this?'"  Patient: "Who do you want to talk to?"  Aunt Liz: "I want to talk to you!"  Patient: "Who are you, Lady?"  Aunt Liz: "I'm going to come over there and slap you, Mister!"  Patient: " This is Gary Coleman, and I think you have the wrong number.  I just moved into this room, today!"  Aunt Liz: "OH!  I'm so sorry, Gary Coleman!  I must have called the wrong room!"  She soon found out that Joel truly was moved, and that she prank called the wrong patient.  I only wish he would have responded with a, "Whatchoo talkin 'bout, Lady?" 

After 35 days of some ups, but mostly downs, Joel was released from the hospital where he would go back to college, and finish his general studies close to home.  In 1993, Joel would transfer to Texas A&M, where he would pursue a degree in Psychology, all the while still holding on to the kidney that Benit gave him; but he was still in rejection.  I was at Sam Houston, then, and my roommate (Darren) and I would spend a lot of time prank calling Joel in the middle of the night.  He was only 45 minutes away, and we kept in touch, everyday.  One day, Joel called me and said that I should go to the school library and set up a student account, so that we could type back and forth to each other, and save money on our telephone bill.  He said this "new thing" was called email; and it would be awesome.  We never did chat back and forth via email, and I was sure it would never replace any of my old ways of correspondence; but I was wrong.
In 1994, Benit's kidney lost the war to Joel's immune system; and another nephrectomy was performed, removing Benit's kidney.  Being away from home, and only a year from graduating from A&M, Joel decided to give Hemodialysis another attempt, and had an Arteriovenous graft put in his left arm.  He had many reservations, because of all the bad experiences he had; but hemo(dialysis) agreed with him, and his life was, again, back on track! 
Dialysis was actually a great experience for Joel.  He had previously gained a lot of steroid weight from the transplant, that hemo would remove from his body.  The weight loss made him look like himself, again.  He would meet some really cool patients, and even make friends with the employees that worked at the dialysis unit, where he had his treatments.  He started playing golf, and was feeling so well, that he started running his own treatments at the unit, including sticking his own needles in his arm, and filling out his own chart. 
 One day, I was dialyzing at my unit, in Huntsville, which was owned by the same people as Joel's unit.  Mary Jo, my nurse, walked up to me and stated that insurance could no longer allow me to fill out my own chart, because another patient at another unit was writing things like, "Patient Rocks!  Patient Looks Good!  Patient Feels Good!"  All I could do was glare at Miss Jo and ask if this "other patient" was Joel.  She just grinned and walked away.  I was a little put out, but I was overjoyed at the fact that my brother was feeling like his jovial, prankster self.  I'd pay that price, anytime.

In May of 1995, Joel graduated from Texas A&M with a Bachelor's degree in Psychology.  In the Fall of '95, he transfered to Stephen F. Austin (SFA), to work on a Master's degree in Sports Psychology, with an emphasis in Statistics.  Throughout his two-year stay at SFA, Joel would have countless thrombectomy's (declotting procedures) on his dialysis access, located in his left arm.  None of these surgeries would slow him down; but, due to the fact that he missed so many days of school, Joel dropped out to recover, and went back home to Friendswood, Texas.
Back in Friendswood, Joel would be married, have a beautiful daughter, named Kimberly, and become an ordained youth minister for the Baptist Church.  Now, still on hemodialysis, Joel teaches about God's plans for his kids; never forgetting the lessons that he has been taught.  He is always happy to see you, and loves to sit and tell his story.  
Personally, Joel has always been there for me.  He drops everything that he's doing to talk to me; and I adore him with every inch of my being.  I thank God that he was there when I was down, ready to step in, if he could.  He's my brother, my mentor, my best friend, and my Light In The Dark.  

Hemodialysis

After learning the news that my kidneys had failed, and that I needed dialysis, I had plenty of research to do.  First, I learned that dialysis is a way of filtering the blood's chemical and liquid impurities by means of a machine and an artificial kidney.
I chose Hemodialysis, which required access to a major source of arterial blood; therefore, an Arteriovenous Fistula (AV Fistula) had to be constructed in my left forearm.  Simply stated, a fistula is a man-made, skin-surface artery.  This is done by sewing a deep (Radial) artery to a vein.  The pressure from the artery causes the vein to blow up, like a balloon, and allows plenty of room for my "sticks."

I would then learn that two fifteen gauge needles would be inserted (stuck) into my fistula and taped down in opposite directions, which would create a blood circuit.  Blood would be pulled, by a pump, out of my arterial stick, while returning blood to my body through the venous stick.  From the arterial stick, blood flows through lines of sterile tubing into a filter (artificial kidney) which separates the clean blood from the waste known as urine.  From the artificial kidney, the blood is pumped back into my body, via the venous stick.  This is a four-hour treatment that I learned that I would be living on, three to five days per week, for the rest of my life (unless I wanted a kidney transplant).

None of this new information would shock me, until I spoke with my Nephrologist (kidney doctor).  He told me that dialysis was very hard on the body, especially for the first three months.  He said that there were going to be side effects, such as severe thirst, muscle cramps, stomach aches, head aches, nausea, and fatigue.  He also told me that playing soccer, again, was not possible.  He said that I wouldn't even have the strength to climb a flight of stairs, much less play a soccer game.
I was speechless.  Of all the bad news that I had dealt with, this was the worst!  I could hear my soccer dreams running down the drain; and would feel that pain, every time I had to dialize.
I went home, furious!  I was mad at my body, mad at the world, and mad at God.  I stormed into my room and tore all of my soccer poster off the walls.  Next, I went into my closet and made a pile of soccer shoes and jerseys. Then, I fired through my dresser and added soccer socks and shorts to the mound.  I yelled, "If Soccer won't have me, then I won't have Soccer!"  Finally, I shoved all of that crap into two big trash bags, and marched them to the trash cans, where they now belonged.
I stopped watching soccer. I stopped thinking about soccer.  I even decided to transfer (along with Lacye) to Sam Houston State University, where I accepted a scholarship, as an Equipment Manager for the football team.  My job was to go to practices and games, and make sure all of the players' gear was in good, working condition.
I spent the next year dialyzing, studying biology, working for the Sam Houston State football team, and hanging out with Lacye in Huntsville, Texas.  I believed the doctor, and was sure that soccer would never again be a part of my life.  I wasn't sure of what my dreams were, anymore; however, I knew that my new dreams would include Hemodialysis, because I couldn't imagine ever having a kidney transplant.

Ten-Foot Tall and Bulletproof

Lacye and I dated for the rest of my senior year; however, my focus was not on my relationship with her, or anyone else, for that matter.  I was sure that my life was going to lead me down the path of professional soccer; and, I would do whatever it took to make that happen.
I had everything going for me.  I had tons of friends, a smoking-hot girlfriend, and a couple of private universities offering me scholarships to play soccer.  Unfortunately, I had a very bad temper, used my friends for my personal gain, and treated Lacye as a temporary trophy.  Little did I know, my temper would cause me great physical pain, my friends would disappear, and Lacye would save my life four times.
Near the end of my senior year, my parents and I decided (for several reasons) that leaving Texas for college wasn't possible.  So, I decided to stay at home, where I would study and play soccer at the local junior college.  I still kept in touch with the two university coaches, who were willing to give me a chance the following year.

My first year in college was a dream come true.  I easily started as a defender and played every minute of the first semester.  The school newspaper came out to do an article about the team, and I was on the cover.  There was even praise from our coach about my playing style.  My grades were pretty good, and I was surrounded by tons of new friends.  Lacye and I were still together; although, we had already broken up, once (almost twice), due to my selfishness.  I had it all!  I was ten-foot tall and bulletproof!
The second semester began, and something changed.  I started falling asleep a lot.  I love to sleep; but, I was falling asleep in church, at the movies, on the phone, and even at the wheel.  I started to throw up, three to five times per day.  My color changed from a beautiful brown sugar, into a pale yellow.  I lost 20 pounds; and I developed these big, grey bags under my eyes.
I concluded that my two jobs (Peppermint Park and Miller's Outpost), my full school schedule, soccer, and my social life were just pushing me too hard.  I decided to push back; so, I ate breakfast, every morning, packed a lunch for school, napped when I could, and worked even harder at soccer practice.  Nothing worked.  My meals were still coming back up, I was sleeping all of the time, and I was being called lazy at soccer practice.
Once again, my mother and I made an appointment with my kidney doctor, who had been following my stable kidney disease, since I was thirteen.  The doctor asked me to come in for blood work, and they would call with the results, in a few days.  He was going to look at several factors; one being my Creatinine level, which indicates how hard my kidneys are working.
When we returned home, there was a message, waiting on the answering machine.  The doctor stated that the lab made a mistake, by misplacing a decimal on the lab report.  He said that my Creatinine level read 12.0, instead of the original 1.2, when I was thirteen years old.  We agreed to follow the same routine the following morning, and again were met by the blinking answering machine.  This time, the doctor's report was worse.  My Creatinine level was now at 13.0, with 14.0 being the highest. He said that my kidneys had failed, which meant that my blood was full of poison, in the form of urine; and that I had two choices: start kidney dialysis or slip into a coma.  I obviously chose the dialysis, and started making plans to have an Arteriovenous Fistula built into my left forearm, which serves as an access for kidney dialysis.
I went home with the news, and made my rounds to Lacye, my friends, and my soccer team.  Lacye didn't know what to say, and went to her mother for advice.  I was sure she would run away (but you'll find out, later).  My friends and teammates didn't understand what was about to take place, and they trickled out of my life.  I spoke to my present coach and my potential coaches, and they said that I was a liability; and would not allow me to play on their teams.
I was devastated.  I spent so much time, thinking about myself, and neglecting the people around me, that I had nowhere to turn.  I felt like God was tapping me on the shoulder, saying, "Look at the mess you've made."  The one good outcome was that I found out who my closest friends were, because a handful of them stuck around, especially Lacye.  I was sick.  I was scared.  I was no longer Ten-Foot Tall and Bulletproof.

The Perfect First Date, Almost Wasn't

Have you ever kicked yourself, because you missed an opportunity that would have changed your life?  I would still be kicking myself, if Lacye wouldn't have saved my butt on the day of our first date.

After Lacye gave her phone number to me, we started talking on a daily basis; and, we finally agreed to go out at 7 P.M., on a January Saturday night.  I was coaching a youth soccer team, called the Friendswood Arsenal, which was in a tournament, that day.  The tournament ended with a dramatic comeback by our boys, that led to a big after-tournament celebration with the team parents.  After the pizza and pitcher celebration, the team parent that I rode with, dropped me off (safely) at home; and since I had been coaching all day, I took a nap.
I woke up around 6 P.M. to the ringing telephone.  The conversation went something like this- Lacye: "Sam? Did you forget about our date, tonight?"  Me: "Um, No!  I was just jumping into the shower.  I'll call before I leave to get directions to your house."  Lacye: "I was starting to think you were going to stand me up."  Me: "No way, Lacye. I'll call you in just a few minutes."
I bolted out of bed, to the shower, dressed myself and called Lacye in about 20 minutes!  I was like Bruce Wayne rushing to the Bat Cave, after a call from the Bat Phone.  I ran outside to the worst weather, ever.  It was about 40 degrees, and it was raining cats and dogs.  I jumped into my trusty (more like rusty) white, 1983 Toyota pickup truck that we lovingly named "The Lightning Bolt," and hurried to pick up Lacye at her house.
When I arrived at the Brymer house, I sprinted to the front door, collected myself, then rang the doorbell.
Lacye answered the door, and invited me in to meet The Parents.  Inside, I met two of the coolest people in Tom and Carolyn Brymer.  We talked about our plans to go to dinner and a movie, and the exact time of her curfew.  I promised to keep her safe and sound, and also to return before curfew (just to impress); and away we went in the Lightning Bolt.
I was pretty nervous, which was very uncharacteristic of me on a date; so, I turned on my trusty cassette player.  Poison's "Nothing But A Good Time" was playing a bit loud; so, I started to turn down the volume.  Lacye asked, "Do you like Poison?"  I said, "Yes, I do."  The next words from her mouth were literally music to me ears.  "I love them!  They're one of my favorite bands!"  Right then, the nervousness that I had melted away, and we talked and sang all the way to the movies.  We watched Cape Fear, and had a great time scaring each other, during the most intense parts of the movie.
After the movie, we braved the downpour, to Chili's, where the date reached near perfection.  We entered Chili's, and that place seemed to turn into my own personal Cheers, where everybody knows your name.  Before we could be seated, I was called over to three different booths, by my friends who just happened to be there, too.  I met Lacye at the table, and she smiled at me and asked, "Do you know everyone, here?"  All I could do was laugh and shake my head (no!) in disbelief.  That very second, a couple was being seated across the isle from us; and, the next thing we hear is, "Sammy!"  We were both shocked at that moment; and from there, the date was as smooth as silk.  We talked, joked, laughed, and smiled at each other the rest of the dinner.
Once dinner was over, I drove Lacye back home, singing and talking the whole way in the rain.  I walked her to the door, and all of that nervousness that had melted away came back like a tidal wave!  We stood and talked, until that awkward moment filled the air.  I had this internal battle for just a moment: "Kiss her!"  "No! Don't kiss her!"  I just froze in my boots, until Lacye bid me goodnight, reached across, and gave me the sweetest, most welcoming hug.  I asked if we could go out, again, next weekend, and she said, "Yes."  Lacye smiled, turned around, and walked inside.
I slowly walked back through the freezing rain to my truck, and sat inside for a second.  Dripping with rain, and soaking the Bolt's interior, I reached up and smacked myself in the forehead for not kissing Lacye, but most of all for almost missing out on the perfect first date.