Bring me back the coach

It was a complicated week-long journey of twisted teenage pretzel logic: unpaid speeding tickets, missing vehicle registrations, inept police departments, interstate licensing regulations, motor vehicle appointment scheduling mix ups, about-to-be-revoked licenses, and a non-renewal letter from State Farm.

The underwriters decided that the $30,000 we've paid in premiums over the last 6 years wasn't enough for the risk.

So, the parental management team threw up their hands. Here again was our nemesis - the dreaded two-headed demon of frontal brain dissociation and teenage hormones.

My reaction, of course, was to escape into a ghost book or a new conspiracy theory. But before I could, Julie pulled out her journal, sat down next to me, and read me a story. It was an entry I wrote myself, on a cold day in February, 1999.

"Today we cleaned out the garage and set up the Playschool hoop inside. Andrew and I started a game, and he dunked the ball every time.

Then Tommy shows up. He and I play alone for a while. I narrate, saying things like 'the kid never misses!' His face is lit up with a huge smile. Then the three of us start playing a game - Tommy and I against Andrew. Tommy is wearing his new coat from Kohl's, not a Bulls coat but it's the same colors, red and black - and he loves it."

Well, Tommy decides he wants to be the 'coach' for Andrew and me. He sits on the steps and says, 'time out for some snacks for the players.' The 'coach' goes inside and gets some snacks for us. He comes back into the garage with a Tupperware bowl filled with orange Jello. It's actually half-eaten and it has three spoons in it. He also brings out some strawberry yogurt.

His heart is so bright and innocent and warm. I ate the Jello on the sidelines with the coach - the great, irreplaceable, bounding Tommy."

It's been a long time since that frigid February day, but I remembered it again - with longing - as she read it, like it was just yesterday. It is a reminder of the essence of the soul. I can see him again like I've always seen him - from a diaper-wearing, bottle-drinking backyard explorer to the coach of the garage basketball team.  Goodness and innocence.

And it importantly reminds me of something else: when the zombie underwriters send you a nasty non-renewal, or when the DMV pushes you into their maddening maze, it's time to stop, sit on the steps, and have some orange jello.

It tastes like goodness and innocence. Simple, sweet, pure. And it's good for your soul.

Thank you, coach. Now let's go fix those little things.