Camp Thunderbird

How I get roped into these things I don't know, but I just returned from a stint as chaperone for a Grade 4/5 overnight trip to a local YMCA/YWCA sponsored camp. I've got to learn to say no sometimes, but my boss was good enough to give me the time off and they needed male chaperones, so how could I say no.

All in all, it was a fun trip and again a nice opportunity to share in one of my eldest daughter Emily's experiences. Not all Dads, especially Navy Dads, are lucky enough to get so many opportunities to grow up with their kids.

Camp Thunderbird, located on the western coast of Vancouver Island in the town of Sooke (45 min from Victoria), is quite a nice facility. Looking back on my own Y camp experiences as a kid, we never had it so good. The sheer size of the area and the quality and number of buildings, activity facilities and kitchen staff were quite impressive. As with any camp experience, the counselors play a key role in the success of the experience. The "kids" running this 2-day activity filled session certainly had enthusiasm, which in the end more than made up for some inexperience and inability to connect one-on-one with the campers. In the end, nearly every kid had the "time of their life" and I would certainly recommend the experience for future school trips.

Now, maybe it was my attitude or a bit of stress relief, but I and some of my fellow chaperones/school staff had way too much fun. I was loose, free-spirited and quick-witted, all traits rarely exhibited in my day to day goings on. It started right away when the counselors welcomed us to Camp Thunderbird and introduced themselves. They all had assumed "nature" names, so instead of Peter, Angie, Mark, Kay and Tom, we were introduced to Snapper, Pumpkin, Goose, Leaf and Daisy (yeah - that was Tom). We couldn't keep a straight face and of course promptly chose "nature names" for ourselves. I ended up as Trout, which I guess was appropriate given the amount of time I spent on and in the lake over the two days.

Whether on purpose or not, I ended up as chaperone for the "discipline-challenged" fifth graders. 8 in number. Accomodations were rustic but comfortable. The cabins were bare bones, with bunkbeds and light, but nothing else. Outhouse was a 5 minute, unlit walk away with no hot water and an outdoor shower near the lake. The girls had it a bit nicer with heated cabins with indoor bathroom/shower facilities, but what can you do? In the end, despite several name-calling and rock throwing incidents among my group, I didn't have nearly as much of a problem with my group as anticipated and even had them all sleeping by 1030. My fellow chaperones complained of little sleep, with the kids still goofing off well after midnight. It probably helped that all 8 were on the school basketball team which I have coached the past two seasons.

Being the only parent/teacher who brought a bathing suit, rather than roam about with my group to the different planned activities on both days, I had to be the in/on water parent for all the kayaking sessions. This meant 5 water exit demos (flip your kayak over and demonstrate you can get out) as well as a number of unintentional dunkings on the lake. As a top-heavy guy, kayaking is not one of my specialties, and my back and legs are still aching from my futile attempts to maintain balance. By the end of the second day though, I had gotten the hang of things and was maneuvering around like a pro.

A good time. Campfire songs, skits and cookies brought back a flood of memories, but one thing the experience did leave me with is an understanding that I really don't comprehend what makes a 4th or 5th grader tick. What I thought was completely lame and hokey, was a hit with these guys and what I thought was a hoot fell on deaf ears. I guess that's why the 20 something crowd is in charge of these things. Long live Snapper!

Under the Knife

Well, surgery it is. Banged up my shoulder pretty good in a hockey game last October. It's actually quite amazing how fast your body will whip from a standing position to prone when skating over a stick. As soon as my blad hit the wood of the stick, it was like a bad waterskiing face plant straight to the ice. I assumed the damage was to my chest, which took the brunt of the impact, but over the next month or so as the pain in my chest subsided, I began to notice my shoulder more and more.

After waiting months on end, I finally got the MRI and lo and behold, an 1+ inch tear across my supraspinatus tendon (connects to your arm and runs underneath the clavicle). With the great "free health care system" in Canada, I don't even get to see an ortho for a consult until the end of September and then God only knows when I might get surgery after that, so I'm attempting to jump the queue a bit and have forwarded my MRI down to the Naval Hospital in Bangor. Hopefully they will see a bigger priority on this and get me in to see a doc much sooner. I'll keep you all posted.

No respect

NL umpire Shag Crawford probably summed it up best when he said, "The best thing about umpiring is seeing the best in baseball every day. The cardinal rule of umpiring is to follow the ball wherever it goes. Well, if you watch the ball, you can't help seeing somebody make a great catch... That's what makes umpiring so much fun."

Okay, Little League may be far from the "best" brand of baseball, but as umpire, you do have the best seat in the house. This is my second year umpiring and my first as Umpire in Chief for Esquimalt Little League, so I must be doing something right. Either that, or I'm that "poor sucker" who volunteered for the job nobody wanted.

With two of my kids now fully involved in baseball, I had a choice to make. I've always felt the best way to experience your kids and their love for sports is to get right there on the court/field/rink with them. I guess that's why I've coached minor B baseball, Grade 4/5 basketball and Novice ice hockey the past two years. I'm still helping out on both Emily and Matthew's baseball teams, but I prefer to engage in my latest passion, umpiring. If there can be such a thing as a natural umpire, I guess I'm pretty close:
(1) I'm a rules guy straight from the heart. Probably comes from my navy nuclear propulsion background, where nothing gets done without a procedure and every day you learn another little nuance on how the plant works to add to that swirl of "rules of thumb" flowing through your brain. (2) I'm loud and have no qualms about speaking up in public.
(3) With a background of catching and goaltending, I have no fear of the ball. Sure, a foul ball or missed pitch will find it's way to some spot uncovered by your protection at some point and even a 12 yr old's fastball will leave a mark, but bruises go away in time
(4) I love a good argument. And it doesn't matter whether I'm right or wrong (of course the ump is never wrong), I'll find a way to argue my call better than the coach can argue against it. It never fails, I have yet to find a coach that knows that rule book better than I.

Back onto the title of this little missive. You certainly have to have thick skin to strap it on and step behind the plate. Coaches, parents, even players on the bench will always think they have the best view of every play and try and make your calls for you. I've heard some good ones, heard more than my share of moans and groans and had my fill of coaches trying to make up their own rules for how the game should be played. The trick (and hardest thing to come to grips with as an ump) is to ignore as much as possible. When the coach/player/parent decides to make a comment or talk back, you really have to give 'em the benefit of the doubt and tell yourself that the comment is merely one of frustration and not directed at you personally. Now I know better, but if you don't, you'll end up throwing out half the team and clearing the stands of spectators during every game. It's amazing how serious some people will take the "game" of baseball.

I thought I'd leave you with some good examples of some of the ignorance and frustration I deal with on a daily basis. Just a reminder, I don't get paid for this:

1. Opening Day: A young batter steps up for the first time in minor A (first level where kids vice coaches pitch). His heals are on the inside batter's box line and toes just cm from the plate. I warn him he is standing too close, but he ignores me, diving to the dirt twice on pitches that were strikes. In his 2nd at bat, still oblivious to my warnings, he tries to turn from an "inside" pitch and gets hit square on the back of his shoulder, dropping like a rock. Now, good on him, as he gathers himself from the dirt he's putting on a brave face, holding back tears as the coach runs down to assist him. I followed them a few steps up the baseline and stopped the young boy to see how he was doing. When he replied that he was okay, I stepped back, raised my right hand into a fist and rang him up on strike three. He was hit by a pitch nearly right down the middle of the plate. The coach was incredulous and (I assume) his mother began screaming obscenities from the stands. The next time that young lad came to bat, he stood squarely in the middle of the batter's box and I haven't had to warn him about standing too close to the plate in a game since.

2. 9-10 Year Old District Tournament last July. Top 6th in a tie game (6 inning games in Little League) with a runner on 1st. Batters swings and misses at a pitch that glances of his bat directly into the catcher's glove. I make the signal for a "foul tip" and call out "Strike". Meanwhile, the catcher has fallen over backwards in the process of receiving the pitch and the runner takes off to 2nd base. No throw is made and runner makes it to 2nd standing up. I say and do nothing and get in position for the next pitch when the defensive team's coach comes onto the field and proceeds to tell the runner that he has to go back to first because it was a foul ball. The young baserunner doesn't know any better so he proceeds to walk back towards first. I immediately call time and send the runner back to second. the coach is furious and demands to know what I am doing. I calmly try to explain the rule. that a foul tip is the same as a strike and the ball remains live. Runners may advance at their own peril. Coach is having nothing of this and starts a Monty Pythonesque torrent of arguments essentially summing up with the fact that I am dead wrong and that is not what the rule book states. This could have gone on for hours, but I wasn't going to let that happen. I calmly advised him to protest the call if he so strongly believed the call was wrong but that in the interest of proceeding with the game I was not going to continue with the argument at that time. He grudgingly left the field, making a pitching change in the process. It didn't end there, though. Apparantly he went through the rule book while his pitcher warmed up and realized he wasn't going to win any protest and tried to think how he could recover the situation. Just as I was ready to put the ball back in play, out strides our friendly coach, heads straight towards second base to talk with the base ump and then tells our poor baserunner to return to first. Well, this obviously peaked my interest, so I stopped the runner on his way back to first, sent him back to 2nd base and asked the coach what he thought he was doing. Never admitting he was wrong, he proceeded to tell me that because the runner had voluntarily gone back to first [when the opposing coach told him the ball was foul and directed him to return to first btw ] I was incorrect in sending him back to 2nd. I wasn;t going to have any of this, explained to the coach that he cannot deliberately attempt to mislead or distract an opposing player on the field and therefore the runner would stay on second. Our coach blew his top, starting yelling first at me and then at the poor runner standing on second (who proceeded to cry), then chased the boy off 2nd and proceeded to pull the base off of it's mounting, refusing to relinquish it. Needless to say, the coach was tossed, runner stayed on second and scored what ended up to be the winning run one batter later. Honestly, though, what was this man thinking. Someone who should be a role model for his kids, getting so into a little league game that he would embarass himself like that on the field.

Two pieces of advice for would be parents and coaches of ballplayers out there:
(1) It's a game.
(2) You won't ever know the rule book better than the umpire, so unless you're upset with a judgment call, don't bother trying to call the ump on a rule interpretation

"Play Ball!"

Great Vid for Yankee Haters everywhere

This has probably already made it's way around New England a while ago, but just found it's way to this lonely Red Sox fan out in Victoria, BC. I'm still laughing too hard to type, so I'll shut up and post it.

http://www.kickina.com/chokeback/

How does she do it?

As we approach Mother's Day, I have recently learned first hand why I could never survive as a stay-at-home parent. My wife is a saint, oozing patience and compassion. I am a wuss.

Salome wrenched her back somehow on Friday and by Saturday morning was crippled to the point of being bed-ridden. For the past three days, I have tried vainly to tend to her needs and somehow manage to survive the 20 month old. Notice I don't use the words "watch", "look after" or "care for" when I describe the experience. One would actually have to be in control of the situation in order to go that route. I was used and abused by that child, a child that can neither speak nor walk, yet somehow manages to exist in three places simultaneously. No sooner do you resolve one crisis (the dog dish up-ended on the floor), than he is on to the next (out the door and half way to the stairs).

In the end, it was probably nothing more than usual that Salome deals with on a daily basis, but I swear the child sensed weakness and did everything in his power to drive his father insane. I have never been one to doubt the true measure of what my stay-at-home wife has accomplished with our children, but this experience has given me a new found respect and admiration. As I finish this blog, I imagine the fish tank is drained, the entire contents of the pantry are lying on the kitchen floor and TV remote has been hidden away never to be found again; but, heh, Salome is back on her feet... let her deal with it :-)

Back in the Saddle

Well, now it seems I have a reason to post anew. It's been sometime, but now that I'm linked on Blogalicious, I'll need to keep this up so I don't end up "On the Bench". Mark has graciously provided me the letter "C" to work with, so without further ado:

Canada - temporary home of the Crowley clan. Despite all the complaining as you read through my other postings, this has been a fantastic duty station. My mission since coming here has been to pass myself off as a native Canuck. I have succeeded beyond my wildest expectation, perhaps too well. I dress and speak like a Canuck, have a Canadian child, now write defence, colour, organisation and say "prOgress" and "prOcess" with a "long O sound" without even thinking about (rhymes with boot) it. I'm never going back to American beer again and truly believe Tim Horton's kicks Dunkin Donuts ass any day of the week. I know the words to "O Canada" by heart in both English and French and am enrolled in French language training through the Canadian Maritime Forces. Thank goodness we have the Olympics, World Hockey Championships and other events so I can cheer on the Red, White and Blue.

Carl Yastrzemski - Number "8", the man we call "Yaz". Oh, how many times did I imitate that stance (I was a lefty batter - which helped). I'll never forget that final game and the slow trot around the stadium. In college, when he published his biography, he came to the BU Bookstore for a signing. I waited in line a couple of hours to get him to sign a book for me and as a gift to my brother, I even got him to sign a copy of the Impossible Dream album (story of the 1967 Red Sox). I can almost hear Jess Cain singing out loud the "Yaz Song".......

Clive Cussler - Favourite "summer reading" author. Most of what I read is history, but I can't help snapping up every book Clive puts out and reading it cover to cover in one sitting. Sahara was such a huge let down, because I had an image of all the main characters burned into my head and McConaughey, Zahn and Macy weren't even close. Can anyone name the other Cussler book to make it to film? Fairly forgettable movie with Jason Robards and Alec Guiness as the only headliners.

Cochrane - as in Father Cochrane. My senior year homeroom teacher at Boston College High School (no affiliation with BC - and "we" came first). Although I generally look upon my entire H.S experience fondly, it is Father Cochrane that has stuck with me the longest. Every Tuesday and Thursday, we were given a "word of the day". These words were not obscure by any means, but not words often used in conversation. Once given a word, if ever we were to hear the word used in conversation, we had to yell "FOUL". It became a game of sorts and I can still remember all 62 words to this day. Late in my senior year, when dedicating the groundbreaking of our new gymnasium, a little old lady, widow of the graduate who had left a large sum of money for the creation of the new gym made the mistake of using one of the words in her speech. A chorus of "FOULs" resounded loudly from the crowd and the poor women was so taken aback that she nearly fell over and had to be helped to her seat.

Connecticut - home away from home. We still have a house there in lovely Salem. Maybe we'll return again some day if the Navy sees fit to send me there, but for now it will remain rental property. As it's been empty now for 7 months, the income stream has dried up, so if you know anyone looking to rent a nice raised ranch on 1+acres of open land in a quiet cul-de-sac, conveniently located just 30 minutes from New London and 45 minutes from Hartford at rush hour, please let me know.

Clinocardium Nuttali - also know as Nuttel's Cockle. Subject of my Master's Thesis and most resilient of creatures. Never having taken a biology class beyond freshman year of H.S let alone a marine biology class and given my only experience with tending marine creatures was a single goldfish at age 9 that lasted all of three weeks before getting flushed. I ventured from OSU (Oregon State) to Newport, OR to speak with staff at the Newport Bay Aquarium. They were quite helpful, provided me an unlimited supply of bivalve food and an open invitation to come get filtered seawater to stock my tank. They suggested that to best ensure success in my experiment, I would need to acclimate the cockles to their environment for some period before doing my experiment. For six months I "cared" for my subjects in their chilled 50 gallon bio-environment. I fed them once a week as advised and conducted a complete change out of the their seawater twice a week (a 5 hr round trip to the coast and back with 7, seven-gallon containers). Even when I conducted the experiment, I was so paranoid these things would die before I could kill and dissect them as planned (morbid isn't it). Well, after I finished my experiment, because it involved radionuclides, we had to store the system to allow it to decay prior to disposal. The water was fairly easy to dispose of and was separated off, but the sediment had to be stored and disposed of as bio-waste. Eight months later, after I have long left OSU, I get a call from my lab assistant, describing how they found a lone cockle in the sediment when they went to dispose of it. You guessed it - still alive and perfectly happy. And to think I was worried they would die off if I didn't change their water every 3 days!

Coaching. Let's just say that my organized team sports experience growing up consisted of 2 1/2 years (broke my wrist) of little league/babe ruth baseball. That's it. Don't get me wrong, I loved sports. I played pick-up versions of every sport imaginable and developed some skill as an intramural sports geek (broomball rules!), but I never had much experience with coaches. Now I have kids. In the past two years I have organized and coached the Grade 4/5 basketball team, started and coached a school swim team, coached three different little league baseball teams and even became assistant coach of my son's hockey team, a sport I had never actually played until this past year. A lot of work, but no better way to spend quality time with your kids than to be on the field, court or rink right alongside them.

City of Corpus Christi (SSN 705). What can I say, the most demanding 4 years of my life, but an experience I'll never forget. It was real hard saying good-bye when I walked off the brow for the last time in Guam. Although I have another 5 years to kick around in the Navy before I can move on to a second career, I will never again serve aboard a submarine. I will do everything in my power, though, to get aboard for rides whenever possible as it is an experience you just can't describe.

Christmas - okay, a gimme, but definitely the number one holiday in my books. I don't know about you, but I still believe in Santa :-)

Captain (Star Trek) - Complete with picture of Willaim Shatner. Taking a cue from Mark, this is the first "random" article that came up starting with "C" on my Wikipedia search. I guess it would be a bit more interesting if I actually watched Star Trek, but I don't, so that's that.

Well, rather long winded, but that's me. You know the drill, provide a comment on one of the issues above and I'll send you tour very own letter to work with on your blog.