A Beacon of Light

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  • My name is Kevin Carroll. I was born and raised in San Francisco, California, where I attended Saint Ignatius College Preparatory. I am a graduate of both Santa Clara University and the University of San Francisco. Following a 40-year career in teaching and pastoral ministry, I launched a new career as a writer and speaker.

    I live in San José, California. My wife, Kathy, and I have three adult sons and five precious grandchildren. I have much for which to be grateful.

    I can be reached via email at kmc43sjc@gmail.com

    My books are available for purchase online from Amazon. I also have copies of some of these titles at my home for those who would like to buy them directly from me.

    A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude  (2017)

    Cherries in the Summer  (2021)

    The Ambassador of 38th Avenue  (2022)

    Dad: 12 Questions…  (2023)

    A Focus on Gratitude  (2024)

    Through the Lens of Gratitude  (2024)

    A Bahamian Odyssey (2026)

  • 02.05.2023 – Wanna Dance?

    It was the summer of 1958. I was four years old at the time. My brother, Tom, was eight, my sister, Cathy, was seven, and my younger sister, Peggy, would celebrate her first birthday a few months later. Our parents took us on a family vacation to Monte Rio, California, along the Russian River. We stayed at a place called Sunny Side Court, which was located just off Highway 116. For the purposes of this article, you may refer to the photos above. Sunny Side Court was small. We had a suite at the top of the stairs.

    I have vague recollections of spending our days at the beach on the river. It was different from Ocean Beach near our home in The City. Rather than sand, the beach was covered with rocks. A small portion of the river was roped off for supervised swimming — or, in my case, just playing in the water. I also recall a slide which allowed kids and adults to climb the ladder and slide down into the river. I don’t think I ever tried it.

    Looking to the right down the beach, the Bohemian Highway crosses over the river at that point on the Monte Rio Bridge. (As you might imagine, Google Maps was quite helpful in putting my thoughts together for this post.) On the other side of the bridge, there was a small miniature golf course. And, for some reason, I vaguely recall that another family we knew from The City was renting a home adjacent to the mini golf venue, though I do not know who that might have been.

    Most of the memories I have of our Russian River vacation are a bit sketchy, but there is one experience I remember vividly. Keep in mind that it’s been almost 65 years since this happened. This event, apparently, was a bit traumatic for me.

    One evening, Tom, Cathy, and I went to a dance located in what is now the Russian River Hall. I’m guessing that one of my parents walked us over to the hall, which was just a half-block from our room at Sunny Side Court. (Again, see photo above.) There were a fair number of people of all ages at this dance. My parents had invited guests to our rental for the evening, so I assume we were left under the supervision of some other adult. I seem to recall seeing Tom and Cathy having a great time, but I didn’t want to be there. I most certainly didn’t want to dance.

    After sitting on the side for awhile, I was approached by a woman I did not know. She asked me to dance with her daughter. I declined. I’m not sure how quickly it escalated, but she eventually told me, in no uncertain terms, that I had to dance with her daughter. I refused. She was furious. At that point, despite my age, I walked out of the hall — alone — and down the road to Sunny Side Court. After climbing the steps, I sat on a chair outside the front door crying, knowing that my parents had company and not wanting to ruin their night. Before too long, my Dad, who must have heard my whimpering, came out and found me. He picked me up and carried me through the living room and into the bedroom, my head buried in his shoulder. I was so embarrassed.

    That’s it. That’s the memory. I cannot say for certain, but I’m pretty sure that experience is the reason I have never liked dancing. Poor Kathy has put up with me, and this dancing phobia, for almost forty years. I used to be willing to dance after three beers, but now I rarely drink. Therefore, I rarely dance. Perhaps some day, I will enlist the help of a therapist to help me work through this issue.

  • 02.03.2023 – Prophetic Words

    Having completed my Master’s degree in June 1984, I began what turned out to be a 31-year stint in pastoral ministry and education at St. Lawrence Parish and Academy in Santa Clara. I began that work in August with a fair amount of experience for a 30-year old. Previously, I’d worked as a prefect in the dormitory at Bellarmine College Prep in San José for five years. I’d spent a year as a full-time teacher at St. Augustine’s College in Nassau, in the Bahamas. I’d taught part-time at Bellarmine for three of the five years I worked there as a dormitory prefect. And I’d spent four years at St. Christopher Parish and School in San José, where I taught middle school literature for three years and served as the parish Director of Youth & Young Adult Ministry for three years. For two of those four years, the second and third, I balanced both jobs concurrently.

    So in the summer of 1984, as I prepared to begin my work at St. Lawrence, someone shared these words with me: “Be careful! Working for the Church will challenge your faith.”

    My previous experiences at the three other Catholic institutions had been, for the most part, quite positive. Yes, there were a few incidents at both Bellarmine and St. Augustine’s which were alarming, but they certainly did not “challenge my faith.” Little did I know that the warning I received in the summer of 1984 would be so prophetic.

    I should point out that there is a significant difference between my “faith” and my relationship with God. The issues I will mention have not interfered with my relationship with God. We’re good! My faith in the Catholic Church as an institution, however, most notably as I have personally experienced it at the local level, has most definitely been a challenge for me.

    There was a time when I believed the Catholic Church was a credible institution characterized by honesty and integrity. I have since learned otherwise. It took awhile, but I finally realized that Church leaders often use the terms “process” and “focus groups” to deceive parishioners and employees into believing that their input is valued and given serious consideration in making significant decisions in the parish and diocese. In my experience, it’s not. And with little accountability for finances, a parish or diocese has the opportunity to manipulate funds to serve their own interests.

    There was a time when I believed that all Catholic priests were “men of God,” deserving of the trust and respect of their communities. Wrong again. Certainly there are some priests, maybe even many priests, who are deserving of our trust and respect. In 2023, we all know this is not true for an alarming number of ordained clergy. And sexual misconduct by priests is only part of the problem. I truly empathize with those priests who serve with integrity, who legitimately live the vows they’ve taken, and who understand that their status as ordained ministers does not mean that they are any closer to God than anyone else.

    There was a time when I believed that the role of ordained ministers was to “humbly serve” the people of God. Sadly, it seems that too many priests today consider their “vocation” to be a business venture, a source of status, or simply a laid-back job opportunity which requires little effort or accountability on their part. I’ve found it amusing to hear so many priests, when introducing themselves to a new parish community, tell the assembly how successful they had been in the business world and how they sacrificed a lucrative salary to become a priest. That story has gotten old. 

    There were times, in the sixty years since Vatican II, when I believed the Church would continue moving forward to meet the needs and challenges of the ever-changing modern world. Sadly, it seems that many seminarians and newly-ordained priests today are doing everything possible to drag the Church back to the 1950s.  

    I’ve been impressed by the leadership of Pope Francis I and the efforts he has made to support the vision of the Second Vatican Council. It is sad to see those efforts thwarted by bishops and priests who would prefer to wallow in the Church of the ‘50s. As a result of these bishops and priests, the Catholic Church, at least in the United States, is becoming increasingly obsolete and irrelevant to educated Catholic women and men.

    Yes, working for the Church has challenged my faith — my faith in the Church as an institution.

  • 02.01.23 – Challenging Times

    I enjoyed a nice visit with my longtime friend, Dan Pasini, yesterday morning. We shared our thoughts on a variety of topics, but one particular thing he said was on my mind when I woke up this morning. He mentioned that of all the people he and I know in common, he is the only one who still has a living parent. I think he might be right.

    Dan had asked me how I was doing after the death of my mother. I appreciated his asking, and I was grateful to be able to tell him that I’m doing well. How blessed I was to have Mom in my life for 68 years. How blessed I was to see a woman continue to grow spiritually and emotionally into her ‘90s. How blessed I was to have the opportunity to walk the journey with Mom in her final weeks. Yes, I’m doing well, thank you.

    It’s no secret that, for so many others, death comes prematurely. Even as I write this, I question my use of the word prematurely. While there is much I don’t understand about life and death, I believe that God has a plan for each of us. This makes me realize that a person who dies in their thirties, forties, or fifties has not necessarily died prematurely. This word simply means that, for those of us who are coping with the loss of a loved one, the person died before we were ready to say goodbye.

    Mom did not die prematurely. Even my Dad, who died at age 82, did not necessarily die prematurely. His death was sudden and unexpected at that time, but his death was inevitable. I only considered it to be premature because I wasn’t prepared for such a significant loss at that particular time in my life. 

    I came across an interesting quote this morning. In his book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief, author Francis Weller discusses how we might respond to the loss of a loved one. He wrote: 

    “We may be able to honor the losses
    and live our lives as carriers
    of their unfinished stories.”

    My first thought, upon reading this, was that my mother had no unfinished stories. She lived a full life, complete with countless joys and sorrows. She died less than a month before her 93rd birthday. Unfinished stories? Well,… yes. 

    Should Mom have lived to the ripe old age of 100, which is something she had no desire to do, she would have continued to do what she did. And what did she do? Throughout her life, and even into her final days, she cared about people. She treated people with kindness. She empathized with the losses of others. She listened intently as people shared their stories. And, from time to time, she imparted little pearls of wisdom for those of us who are still trying to find our way in this world. In other words, she was quite busy!

    Anyone who is grieving the loss of a loved one has the opportunity to honor that person by continuing the good work that person did in their lifetime. By consciously doing this, we might be better able to embrace the grief — and honor our loved one.   

  • 01.26.23 – Missing Home

    I’ve never been much of a gambler — on sporting events, in card games with friends, in popular casinos, or in life itself. I’ve been to Reno. I’ve been to Tahoe. I’ve even been to Vegas. Those gaming venues pale in comparison to the world-class casino I experienced on Paradise Island in the Bahamas in the mid-1970s. 

    The casino, which was linked to the Lowe’s Paradise Island Hotel and the Britannia Beach Hotel by indoor pedestrian walkways, offered a variety of gaming options. My partner in crime, Dan Pasini, and I were never tempted to risk our meager paychecks on the gaming tables. As full-time teachers at St. Augustine’s College in Nassau, we were issued work permits, which prohibited us from gambling in the casino. 

    Occasionally, Dan and I would venture across the Paradise Island Bridge to enjoy the excitement of tourists from around the world wagering staggering sums of money playing craps, roulette, and baccarat. It appeared that more moderate sums were wagered on the black jack tables. I was astounded to realize that many gamblers were betting more money on one roll of the dice than I was earning each month.

    Although we did not gamble, we enjoyed walking around the casino and watching the tourists being tourists. We also found a restaurant, in the pedestrian walkway to the Britannia Beach Hotel, which we could actually afford. For a reasonable amount of cash, we could enjoy a bowl of conch chowder, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a glass of iced tea. We were grateful for that opportunity.

    One Thursday night in the fall, we wandered down to the lobby of the Britannia Beach Hotel after dinner. Much to our surprise, there was a television in the lobby. Even more surprising to us was that Streets of San Francisco was being aired. I don’t think either of us was really homesick, but we made it a point to visit Paradise Island quite regularly on Thursday evenings throughout the academic year. On most nights, Dan and I were the only two watching TV.

    I recall being grateful for the opportunity to see so many familiar sites around The City. Given that San Francisco is quite small (only 49 square miles), Dan and I were familiar with just about every neighborhood used to film the various episodes of the crime drama. I think our Thursday night visits to the Britannia Beach Hotel made it a little easier for two 20-year-olds living so far from home for the first time. 

    Today, the two hotels and the adjacent casino have been replaced by the high-end Atlantis Paradise Island Resort & Casino. I took a brief tour of the complex with one of my Bahamian friends in June 2006. While it was impressive, for sure, I missed the simplicity of the venue I’d come to know thirty years earlier. I also missed the familiarity I’d hoped to experience in my return to Nassau.

    “Any change, even a change for the better,
    is always accomplished by discomfort.”
    Arnold Bennett

  • 01.25.23 – In Seven Words

    I think it’s true that the more people speak, the less others listen. Unless we are particularly focused on what a person has to say, our attention span can be alarmingly limited. As a writer, I am constantly challenged to make my writing interesting without getting too wordy. When Fr. Michael Mitchell was appointed pastor of St. Lawrence Parish in Santa Clara back in the mid-1980s, he shared his philosophy of homilies with the parish community on his first Sunday with us: “Be brief, be witty, and be gone.” Seven simple words. In the years that followed, that phrase would accurately describe his reflections on the readings of the day. He was one of the best homilists I’ve encountered in my life. His three- to five-minute reflection on the Scriptures each Sunday was always worthy of my attention.

    While much has been written by philosophers about various aspects of life and living, less voluminous, yet valuable, pearls of wisdom are available to us in more manageable seven-word quotes. Here are 25 such quotes worthy of our consideration.

    1
    “The best way out is always through.”
    Robert Frost

    2
    “Believe you can and you’re halfway there.”
    Theodore Roosevelt

    3
    “Always remember, your focus determines your reality.”
    George Lucas

    4
    “Failure is another stepping stone to greatness.”
    Oprah

    5
    “Fall seven times, but stand up eight.”
    Japanese Proverb

    6
    “Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.”
    Oscar Wilde

    7
    “Begin each day with a grateful heart.”
    Brother David Steindl-Rast

    8
    “There is no beauty without some strangeness.”
    Edgar Allan Poe

    9
    “The greatest pleasure of life is love.”
    Euripides

    10
    “Adjust your focus when life gets blurry.”
    Syeda Faiza

    11
    “Realize that everything connects to everything else.”
    Leonardo Da Vinci

    12
    “Life is an opportunity; benefit from it..”
    Mother Teresa

    13
    “Radiate boundless love towards the entire world.”
    Buddha

    14
    “Happiness is a direction, not a place.”
    Sydney J. Harris

    15
    “Every sunset is an opportunity to reset.”
    Richie Norton

    16
    “The sea cures all ailments of man.”
    Plato

    17
    “Seize the day, then let it go.”
    Marty Rubin

    18
    “You are enough just as you are.”
    Meghan Markle

    19
    “Today is the only day; yesterday’s gone.”
    John Wooden

    20
    “The desire to reach hearts is wise.”
    Maya Angelou

    21
    “Kind words cost little, but accomplish much.”
    Hal Urban

    22

    “Whatever you are, be a good one.”
    Abraham Lincoln

    23
    “You never know what you’re gonna get.”
    Tom Hanks

    24
    “Having a smart brain is not enough.”
    Dalai Lama

    25
    “Don’t raise your voice, improve your argument.”
    Bishop Desmond Tutu

    Seven words worth pondering. Seven words worth sharing. Just seven words… I took a quick look through my first book, A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude, and found that I had included this seven-word gem: “Everything we experience happens for a reason.” Simple. Profound. True.

    I invite you to consider, and share, YOUR seven words of wisdom.

  • 01.24.23 – “Good morning, Papa!”

    We all have those little things that rub us the wrong way. Some call them “pet peeves.” One of my colleagues during my teaching days got incredibly annoyed whenever her students would click their pens repeatedly during class time. My oldest son, Tom, could not tolerate the sound of me rubbing my hands together in the car on a cold winter morning. And for those of us who had the pleasure of taking World History from Fr. Raymond Pallas, S.J. at St. Ignatius, he used a common pet peeve as punishment for student misbehavior in the classroom. He would drag his fingernails down the chalkboard in the front of the room, causing the hair to rise on the arms of just about every student. Not surprisingly, I have a few pet peeves of my own.

    For example, it drives me nuts when I hear people say, “Me and…” Yes, I was an English major at Santa Clara University, but there are many educated people who don’t seem bothered by that common grammatical error. I’m not one of them. 

    Clutter is another one of my pet peeves. In years when I had to share classroom space with colleagues, I was annoyed when a room was left in disarray, or when the teacher left the room at the end of the period without erasing the board. It’s such a simple courtesy to leave a workspace neat, clean, and ready for the next teacher.

    I didn’t need to wear corrective lenses until I was 42 years old. At that time, I realized that my arms were not long enough to hold an item far enough away from my face so that I could read the label. After twenty-six years of wearing glasses, one particular issue continues to bother me. I don’t like it when my lenses are dirty. Most often, I am the one responsible for the condition of my lenses, but now that I have grandchildren,… Yeah, I think you know what I’m saying. Sometimes, however, I just can’t get upset by the inconvenience of fingerprints on my glasses. Today is one of those days.

    Penny and Scarlett arrived around 7:00 this morning. Kathy, with a little help from me, takes care of the girls in our home four days each week while our son, Steve, and his wife, Morgan, go to work. It is a labor of love, but it’s not always easy. The challenge of caring for the girls is far outweighed by the experience of unconditional love we receive from them.

    This morning, I was asleep in bed when the girls arrived. I heard them come in, but I wasn’t ready to get up yet. A few minutes later, I sensed that Penny was standing next to the bed. I kept my eyes closed. I was wondering what she would do. In the most gentle way, she said, “Good morning, Papa!” I slowly opened my eyes and gave her a big hug. “I want you to come downstairs,” she said. So, of course, I got up.

    As I got out of bed, Penny walked over to the dresser, picked up my glasses, and brought them to me. Not surprisingly, her fingerprints smudged one of the lenses. It didn’t bother me at all. “Thank you so much,” I said to her. Penny smiled, then brought my slippers to me.

    Is it possible for a day to begin any better than this? Sure my lenses were sullied, but I didn’t care. I was so grateful for the tenderness with which Penny cared for me this morning. I’m feeling especially blessed today.

  • 01.23.23 – Guest Post

    Today’s blog post was written by Ann Scapini Giluso, a graduate of St. Christopher School and Presentation High School in San José. While some may bristle at what she wrote, I can absolutely relate. We grew up in a different time, a different generation, a different world. Were we better off then than now? That’s for you to decide.

    •               •               •

    I grew up in San Jose, California. Never once did I question my parents income. It was never discussed. We didn’t eat a lot of fast food because it was considered a treat, not a food group. We drank Kool-Aid made from water, that came from our kitchen sink, and real sugar. We ate bologna sandwiches, or even tuna (which was in a can not a pouch), PB&J, grilled cheese, and hot dogs, but mostly we enjoyed homemade meals consisting of meat, potatoes, and vegetables.

    We grew up during a time when we mowed lawns, pulled weeds, babysat, and helped neighbors with other chores to be able to earn our own money. By no means were we given everything we wanted.

    We went outside a lot to play, ride bikes, run with friends, play hide and seek, or go swimming. We rarely just sat inside. We drank water from the garden hose outside. Bottled water was unheard of. If we had a Coke, it was in a glass bottle, and we didn’t break the bottle when finished. We saved it and cashed it in at the store for a refund.

    We watched TV shows like Leave It To Beaver, Gilligan’s Island, Happy Days, Bewitched, The Brady Bunch, Looney Tunes, The Flintstones, The Jetsons, Sanford and Son, The Wonderful World of Disney, McHales Navy, Andy Griffith, and I Love Lucy.  Mom and Dad decided everything we watched or didn’t watch. After school, we came home and did homework and chores, before going outside or having friends over. We would ride our bikes for hours. We had to tell our parents where we were going, who we were going with, and we had to be home when the street lights came on!

    We learned from our parents instead of disrespecting them, and never treated them as if they knew absolutely nothing. What they said was law, and we did not question it — and we had better know it!

    We watched what we said around our elders because we knew if we disrespected any grown-up we would get our behinds whipped. It wasn’t called abuse. It was called discipline! We held doors open for people, carried groceries, and gave up our seat for an older person without being asked. We didn’t hear curse words on the radio, in songs, or on television, and if I cursed and got caught, I had a bar of soap stuck in my mouth. 

    “Please.” “Thank you.” “Yes, please.” “No, thank you. “Yes, ma’am. “No, ma’am.” “Yes, sir.” And “No, sir.” These were all part of our daily vocabulary!

    It seems that the world we live in today is just so full of deception, division, hate, and disrespect for others. I will never forget where I came from and only wish that children these days had half the chance at the fun and respect for real life we grew up with! And we were never bored!

  • 01.21.23 – Wow!

    “Wow! Ski boots are really comfortable.”
    ~ No One Ever

    I don’t ski. I don’t snowboard. In fact, I’ve never driven my car in snow and I have no desire to do so. Ever. As beautiful as it is in snow country, I am not at all inclined (pun intended) to visit the Sierras in the winter months. 

    My parents took my siblings and me on our one and only family snow trip to Squaw Valley, site of the 1960 Winter Olympics, over the St. Patrick’s Day weekend in 1967. We took a morning lesson and did our best to put what we learned into practice in the afternoon.

    In March 1971, I participated in a weekend ski trip to Squaw Valley with the St. Brendan Parish (San Francisco) youth group. My high school classmate, Tony Kopas, and I did our best to navigate some of the less-challenging slopes on Saturday, but we decided not to use our Sunday lift tickets. Instead, we skated at the Squaw Valley Ice Arena with some friends we had met the day before, then rented snowmobiles and thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon.

    In the early- to mid-1980s, while serving as the Director of Youth & Young Adult Ministries at St. Christopher Parish in San José and then at St. Lawrence Parish in Santa Clara, I organized a number of weekend and day trips to various ski areas. Weekend trips were to North Lake Tahoe, where the kids skied at Squaw Valley on Saturday and Northstar on Sunday. For the day trips, we went to Dodge Ridge, Bear Valley, or Sierra Ski Ranch. All the trips were quite successful, but instead of venturing out onto the slopes myself, I always stayed in the lodge where the kids would know where to find me. I enjoyed those trips immensely.

    The March 1986 weekend ski trip with the St. Lawrence Young Adult Group was memorable for a number of reasons. Kathy and I had married the previous June. We were expecting our first child in early May. Needless to say, Kathy and I spent our days enjoying the warmth of the lodges at Squaw Valley and Northstar. While back at the motel in the small town of Tahoe Vista on Saturday night, it began to snow. Despite my many trips to the Sierras through the years, I had never seen falling snow. I opened the sliding glass door in our room and stepped out onto the balcony. What an amazing experience! It was captivating. I was most surprised by the silence. When it rains, I can hear the raindrops pelting the pavement, the patio furniture, or the deck of the balcony. The snow was different. It settled silently in the courtyard of the motel and on the railing of the balcony. It was one of those moments of awe in my life. 

    My decision to avoid skiing, and visiting the tops of the mountains during the winter months, has one particular disadvantage. I have never experienced a view like the one in the photo above. I saw this image in a Facebook advertisement for one of the ski areas and it caught my attention. All I could think was “Wow!” I don’t know for sure, but it appears that the snowboarder in the photo might have stopped briefly for the very same reason. 

  • 01.18.23 – So Much Wisdom

    As I peruse the myriad posts on my Facebook feed each day, I’m constantly amazed by the plethora of pure garbage I find there. I guess that’s to be expected from social media today. Fortunately, however, when I’m patient and persistent enough, I eventually come across valuable gems worthy of serious consideration — things I wish I’d written, or ideas which hit home with me. These pearls of wisdom often inspire me to write articles which illustrate a connection between those words and my life.

    The quote above, which seems to be attributed to no one in particular, consists of three brief sentences, all of which ring true in my life.

    “The older you get, the more quiet you become.” — I don’t dwell on this much, but it’s true. My need, and even my desire, to interact with others is significantly less today than it was in my younger years. I enjoy being alone now. I appreciate and savor times of solitude. I still enjoy having others nearby, whether I’m at home, at a local coffee shop, or walking through my neighborhood, but other than a quick acknowledgement of their presence, I don’t feel the need to engage them in lengthy conversation.

    “Life humbles you so deeply as you age.” — Oh, yes,… it most certainly does. As I recently posted on my own Facebook page, I’ve come to the realization that “God did not put us on this earth for us to see how important we could become, but to see how much difference we can make in the lives of others.” In other words, it’s not about me,… and it never was. As I look back on my life, I realize that there were many times when I thought I was important — times when I considered myself irreplaceable. Fortunately, I’m over it. I now see that despite all the effort I devoted to accomplishing things of value in my lifetime, I’m really just a pawn in the chess game of life.

    “You realize how much nonsense you’ve wasted time on.” — This truly saddens me, because it is so true. On the chance that I could live to the ripe old age of 90, which is highly unlikely, I could divide my life into three equal parts. In the first thirty years, I prepared myself for adulthood. I went to school, worked a variety of part-time jobs, dated a number of women, and developed a sense of what I was being called to do in my life. The second thirty years was devoted to living out my adult life — starting a post-collegiate career, getting married, having a family, and doing my best to balance the challenges of all these responsibilities. For the most part, it was a wonderful time of my life. Like most experiences, however, it wasn’t all peaches and cream.

    Only now, as I enjoy the early stage of the third period of my life, am I able to clearly recognize how much nonsense (my Thesaurus tells me that a synonym that could replace this word is bullshit!) I wasted my time on through the second thirty years of my life. There were situations I could have and should have just avoided. There were people I could have and should have simply ignored. There were conflicts into which I should never have allowed myself to be drawn. Yes, the older I get, the more I realize that there were other choices I could have and should have made.

    I’m 68. I’ll be 69 in June. I’m not old, but I am most certainly older, a stage of life I am enjoying immensely and appreciating increasingly day by day.  

  • 01.16.23 – No, Thank You!

    “Never complain about the officiating.
    It does no good. During the game,
    I don’t want to be fighting two opponents.”

    ~ Coach John Wooden

    In light of my previous post, I guess it’s no surprise that I would begin this article with another quote by the incredible John Wooden. Coach Wooden’s name is normally associated with basketball, leadership, and life lessons. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard his name brought up in a discussion about professional football, yet his words quoted above might be invaluable for any number of coaches, players, or fans of sports at all levels.

    The officiating of sports can be somewhat problematic. It’s an imperfect science. Ideally, college game officials would be better than those at the high school level. There is certainly an expectation that those officiating professional football would be even better than those at the collegiate level. Still, the men and women who wear the black and white stripes are human. And humans are imperfect. 

    Even the replay officials have been criticized recently for making some calls that seemed inconceivable to those watching the game. It is important for us to remember that, despite all the technology at their disposal, they, too, are human.

    Author Drew Curtis made an excellent point when he wrote, “You don’t notice the referee during the game unless he makes a bad call” — or, perhaps, unless you think he made a bad call. It amazes me that, given the number of split-second decisions a game official must make, most calls, whether we like them or not, are accurate.

    Mistakes will be made. For this reason, I appreciate the voice of reason offered by Scottish footballer Jock Stein who said, “If you’re good enough, the referee doesn’t matter.”  

    Would I like to be a game official? No, thank you! For many people, the game of football — or any sport, for that matter — is serious business. Very serious business. For this reason, I think it’s helpful to look on the lighter side of things from time to time. I appreciate the humor comedian Jay Leno shared about officiating in sports:

    “I wanted to have a career in sports when I
    was young, but I had to give up the idea.
    I’m only six feet tall, so I couldn’t play basketball.
    I’m only 190 pounds, so I couldn’t play football.
    And I have 20/20 vision, so I couldn’t be a referee.”