Exploring Secret Gardens
7:13 a.m.
Saturday morning at Starbucks.
Highbury Avenue. London, Ontario.
The sound of Springsteen and musings about a Secret Garden wafting through one of the 23,768 coffee shops around the world that trace its lineage to a 1971 operation in Seattle, when three university friends got the idea to sell coffee beans.
Yes, you read that right. They just sold the beans. Served coffee as a taste-testing sampler.
And suddenly the moment seems right.
To write this post without a plan.
Without a pre-conceived angle or anything remotely resembling an agenda.
To bang something out completely unburdened by the feeling of responsibility or need to teach, philosophize or wax poetic on anything remotely connected to the relatively safe subjects of business, branding and personal development.
Just thrash about on the keyboard.
See where this thing goes.
Because in this moment, there is something in the haunting melody from The Boss and the The Big Man on sax urging me to dig a little deeper. Find something within my psyche that I am trying to make sense of.
Hopefully, in a way that will make sense to you.
My initial, knee-jerk primal instinct is to scream “Don’t Go There”. The silent voice inside my head is all too familiar with the well-worn excuses and B.S. about how my background as a meat-and-potato headline newscaster and sportscaster still makes this form of writing a most difficult, knuckle-cracking task. Especially when it comes to sharing thoughts on subjects deemed as “personal”.
“How do you write from the heart when you still think like a reporter who only thinks of reporting the facts? How do I reveal what is within when so much of my career has depended on shining the spotlight on the interview subject – the other person”.
But, deep down you and I know both know that’s a load of self-imposed, limited-thinking crap.
No matter how much you and I may lie to ourselves on a daily basis – the silent voice inside reminds us of the truth.
- We know when we’ve given it our very best; on the job or with our loved ones; the people we profess to truly care about.
- We also know when we take the short cuts; opt for the drive-thru, skip the exercise program and zone out in front of rectangular viewing boxes, cuddling our remote controls.
- We know when we’re wearing the social and/or professional mask and when we’re being warts-and-all real.
Only the silent voice can alert us when we’ve developed such an ingrained habit of wearing disguises before others that we’re unrecognizable to ourselves.
“She's got a secret garden, where everything you want, where everything you need, will always stay … a million miles away”
7:31 a.m.
“Satchmo” blares away on his trumpet and thoughts wander to Dad and his journey in life; coming to Canada in April of 1957 as he left his Scotland home for an adventure and career as a golf pro in Toronto. That was back in the day when you sailed on a ship because transatlantic flights were too expensive. That was when part of the job of a club pro was knowing how to actually make the clubs from scratch and not just play rounds or schmooze with well-heeled members.
But as Dad gets older and further along the back nine in his life, I wonder a lot about him lately. Wonder about the meaning of it all, the significance of his impact on me and if I will ever connect with him in a real, heart-felt conversation. To share the way I have been feeling lately about how much his 70+ years of setting a quiet example inspires me now more than ever.
Like my most fathers and sons from his generation of parenting, we never venture very deep in the rough with all that raw emotional stuff. The warm feelings are there, but words are rarely, if ever exchanged. Never mind birdies and eagles, those conversations are as rare as a a golfing albatross.
“I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom for me and you. And I think to myself what a wonderful world”.
7:49 a.m.
Thank goodness pro sports has never, ever failed us - and never will - as a way for two grown men, bonded through blood to connect. And no matter what falling outs we may have had along the way, Dad and I could always fall back on sports and re-connect through our favorite teams.
Personally, I think he messed up bigtime jumping on the Cleveland Browns and Toronto Maple Leafs bandwagons in the early 60’s. To be fair, those were great days when both franchises were perfect reflections of Louis Armstrong’s hit record at the time. “What a Wonderful World”.
But, I don’t think Dad realized how much his love and admiration for Jimmy Brown, Dave Keon and Johnny Bower would wind up being used against him for decades to come.
Let’s face it, who in their right mind would choose to become a fan of any team if they knew they were signing up for five decades of championship futility. The Browns have not won an NFL title since ’64; the Leafs Stanley Cup cupboard has been empty since ’67, but Dad is still proud to wear those colors.
That kind of person would have to be someone with an insanely high, off-the-chart, level of loyalty.
That type of person would have to be a most rock-solid, “man of his word” type of individual who would never turn his back on a friend.
That kind of person would be that rare human who would call a penalty on himself while playing tournament golf because the ball moved ever so slightly. Even though no one else in his group saw what happened. But, that individual would hold the spirit of the game in such high regard and do the right thing, honoring gentlemen traditions that date back to the birthplace of the sport about 700 years ago in St. Andrews, Scotland.
They would have to be the kind of father that would work three jobs and do whatever it takes to make sure his only son and two daughters had whatever they really needed in life.
I gave Dad a call to wish him a Happy Father’s Day and since we are both extremely private, the nature of that conversation stays between us. But, as I prepare to hit the road again this week with a visit to Atlanta before heading back to New Brunswick, Canada, I will pack the usual assortment of Father’s Day presents with me so I can hand over the latest additions to his Browns and Maple Leaf wardrobes.
I hope we have a chance to play some golf together this week.
I hope he is in good health and enjoying every day with Barb. They travel a lot and go dancing on Friday nights. I am glad he found her. Barb has been a ray of sunshine for Dad since coming into his life about a decade ago.
I hope he shoots his age when he turns 77 in September.
I hope he has found peace with all the ups, downs and demons that he has endured and struggled with and how much he is admired and respected by those who really know him.
I hope he knows how much he in the everyday thoughts of his only son.
How much he is loved.
And I hope in some small way, all of this has made sense to you.
And speaks to whatever is being whispered by your silent voice about secret gardens you seek to explore on the fairways you travel.
“At first people refuse to believe that a strange new thing can be done, then they begin to hope it can be done, then they see it can be done--then it is done and all the world wonders why it was not done centuries ago”
FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, The Secret Garden - 1911
p.s.... Springsteen and the E-Street Band (with the late Clarence Clemons on saxophone) took David Letterman and his audience on a musical stroll through The Secret Garden in 1995. The actual song begins at 1:56 after some revealing interplay ...The sax solo is worth the wait.
p.p.s... One of the rarest sights in golf - even more rare than a hole-in-one is "The Albatross", otherwise known as a double-eagle. The National Hole in One Association, states the odds for an average golfer of making a hole-in-one are 12,700 to 1. For a professional, the odds are 3,700 to 1.
The odds of achieving an albatross, meanwhile, are set at 6 million to 1.
Dad knocked one in when he was 15 playing on a short par-5 in Monifieth, Scotland, but here are some shots - including one from Ernie Els that have to be seen to be believed.
p.p.p.s... Perhaps even more rare than a golfing albatross is an NFL team with a Ph.D. at quarterback. In 1964, a brainiac known as Frank Ryan was at the controls when the 12-point underdog Cleveland Browns captured their last title with a 27-0 whitewashing of Johnny Unitas and the vaunted Baltimore Colts.
p.p.p.p.s.... As Kenny G proved a few years back, our yearning for a "Wonderful World" and the magic of Satchmo never gets old ...
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