Go Long

I have a favorite shirt store.   Yes, and, knowing I’m no clothes horse, you probably know it's nothing fancy.  I have just grown to like the way the shirts fit me—I like the fabric, the colors and I even like their label.  There’s a message on it, usually accompanied by a stick figure depicted engaged in one form of recreation or another.  It's "Life is good."  I know, I know, it sounds trite.  But just reflect on it with me for a bit. 

I don't need the shirts to tell me—life is good and especially for me.  I live in a beautiful place, a place I hope never to leave.  How did that happen?  I have no clue.  I certainly didn’t set out to land here.  It was just serendipity, I guess.  I have managed to land in the right place.  But that's peripheral, really.  I have been given two precious grandchildren, and I don't know what I did to deserve them.  They are a delight.  In recent years other family members have begun migrating here to join us, either part time or permanently.  Not because we are so wonderful, it’s just that we have found a place where life is indeed good, and they know it when they see it. 

I have found dear friends here whom I will always treasure, wherever they roam.  Some are like me and will not willingly move away, others have dreams to pursue.  In today's small world, thanks to blogs, email.  I can probably stay connected to those who wander.  Maybe some day we’ll even resort to social networking if I ever find a way to get comfortable with Twitter or Facebook.

Other friends have begun to gather here, college friends who can't explain exactly how they wound up here either.  So, I don't need my shirts to tell me--Life is good.

But recently, the message on one of those shirts hit me right between the eyes.  Do you remember playing touch football in your younger days?  I do, and don't pretend you never heard about the younger members of the famous Kennedy clan when they played.  Anyway, I grew up in a neighborhood where this was the premier Fall pastime (in those days, major league baseball didn’t run on into November).   Touch football games didn't require as many players as tackle, since blocking was not really required.  Defensive rushers were just required to count three seconds (one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand).  So touch football is usually played with three or four on a side.   All that was necessary to stop the player with the ball was to touch him, pretty much anywhere.   Huddles consisted of the quarterback telling his top two choices what to do--e.g., “Rich, you take 5 steps out, then buttonhole toward the center,” and “Eddie, take 3 steps then slant toward the end zone,” and so forth.  By the time the quarterback got to me (the youngest and slowest), he'd say, "Jimmy, you go long."  I would dutifully run out there and “go long."  Most plays the QB never threw it to me, or even looked.  But I, along with my counterpart on the opposing team would run around out there and wave our arms, enjoying the state of "going long."  Once in a great while, a ball would float out in our direction, and one of us would catch it or bat it down--we were suddenly game changers, and, guess what?  Life was good!

You see, “going long,” if you have the patience, can be rewarding, and if life is good, you just might want to “go long” in more ways than one.  

Back to that shirt that hit me right between the eyes.  It said, "Life is good."  Below that was a simple drawing of a football, followed by the words:  "Go Long."  Sounds good to me, I bought the shirt.