Monday, March 30, 2009

Who is Calvin Borel?


Writer's Note: This was orginally written in 2007 the night following that year's Kentucky Derby. I am not much of a horse racing fan but I can remember how my parents loved to watch the Derby. Thinking about the upcoming Final Four in Detroit next weekend and how magical that sports event can be I thought I would repost this blog. Calvin Borel is just one of those characters that makes watching such event mean far more than the event itself.

Every since I was very young I have been a sports fan. It was a family tradition: My father is a baseball fanatic following the St. Louis Cardinals pretty much forever and a Carolinas Tarheel Basketball nut for as long as I have been alive. My mother, God rest her soul, loved high school football, college basketball, boxing, and all the Olympics events both Winter and Summer Games. Even though I was drawn to bicycles and skateboards instead of a football, baseball, or basketball, I did develop an interest in watching those games. After I spent some time in England as an exchange student when I was seventeen, I learned about soccer and rugby, getting to play rugby while in college and a few years following.

In my lifetime, I have had the great fortune of witnessing, on T.V. of course, some spectacular moments in sports:

1973 Secretariat winning the Triple Crown by setting two track records and a world record and completely decimated the field.

1980 USA defeating USSR in the Semi-finals of the Olympics in ice hockey and then going on to win the Gold.

1982 Michael Jordan hitting the winning shot and James Worthy stealing a pass to win the NCAA national basketball championship.

1983 Jim Valvano running around the court looking for someone to hug after his Cinderella North Carolina State won the NCAA national basketball championship.

1999-2005 Lance Armstrong and the US Postal/Discovery Team’s domination of the Tour de France (Alpe D’Huez especially).

Many more….these are just the ones that I can remember off the top of my head at 1:36 am. In each event, it wasn’t necessarily the actual athletic feat that I remember the most. No, it was the shear joy that the athletes, and yes, even the horse, seemed to show when they finally accomplished their goal. It wasn’t about money. It wasn’t about fame. It was not about the accolades that were about to be bestowed. …the bragging rights, no….the ego boost, no. That joy that shown forth was simply the bi-product of achieving what each had longed for probably their whole lives: to be the very best!!!!!!!!!

Well, you’re probably asking yourself right now, “What the heck does this have to do with Calvin Borel?”…and…”Who in the world is Calvin Borel anyway?”

Until this afternoon I did not know who he was either. I had been working out in the basement and doing a few chores while listening to sports talk radio (my now not so secret guilty-pleasure on those rare weekends I am not skating, working, or doing family stuff and church). They were talking about the Kentucky Derby and I was not paying very much attention. I can remember something about how no one had been able to really pick a clear cut favorite and how this year’s race could be interesting so I decided to cut it on the TV and check it out. They couldn’t have been more right. But more about that later.

Calvin Borel:
• Started competing in his sport at age 8 and turned professional at 16.
• Been in his sport for almost 30 years.
• Was quoted as saying "All I ever wanted to be was (in his sport). A lot of kids make plans to be firemen, cowboys or astronauts, but I knew by eight that I wanted to (do what he does)."
• Is one of only 6 riders in modern racing history to win 6 races on the same day on the same card.
• Born in Louisiana and to this day has retained his authentic Cajun accent.
• In his career has recorded over 4000 victories!!! 4000!!!
• Is famous in his sport for his work ethic, often doing chores that are “beneath” his status/position.
• His nickname is “Bo-rail” because of his penchant to stay close to the rail all the way to victory.

Ok, enough right? “Who is Calvin Borel?” you scream. Well, he is the jockey who won what could be one of the most amazing races in the history of the Kentucky Derby riding Street Sense, a 9 to 1 odds horse not picked to win. What makes it so amazing is that at one point in the race Street Sense was 19 lengths behind and in next to last place with the field stretching before him. Calvin’s nick name was true, and Bo-rail road that horse along the inside and with a half mile to go put the hammer down, the sea of other horses parting like the Red Sea, and Street Sense with Calvin on his back streaked to a win!
It was an awesome display of power and speed.

But this is NOT what inspired me to write this blog. It was another spectacular Kentucky Derby but most of them are exciting. No, what made this special was Calvin himself. Once he had passed Hard Spun, Calvin could not help but take a quick look back over his shoulder, to take it all in as he drove Street Sense to a gap of 2 ½ lengths (a big gap!).
This was my first hint this was even more special to him than just a win. Once he crossed the line Bo-rail began slowing the horse down by practically hugging it, patting it, talking to it. He alternately was pointing to the sky and saying something and then back to the horse. Once the escort caught up with him and began to lead Street Sense back around the track Calvin was standing completely erect in the saddle and was yelling to and giving high fives to all of his competitors. Each, though disappointed in their misfortunate, seemed genuinely happy for him, patting him on the back, smiling at him, and cheering him as he went by. By the time a reporter got to him on horseback for the first interview his face was covered with tears. As he sobbed with joy it made his Cajun accent even harder to understand. As they moved forward he continued to point at the sky and then back to the horse. I was taken by the overwhelming joy on this man’s face. I realized that this was one of those moments in sports that transcend almost all others: Here was a man, late in his career, who had seen success after success, but in four previous attempts had not even been close to winning the coveted “Run for the Roses”.
And now, here he is the winner on a spectacular horse and in spectacular fashion.
In the interview he thanked everyone: God, his brother (the trainer), the owners, the horse, his fiancĂ©, everyone! I was mesmerized by the whole scene and just when I thought it could not be even better Calvin showed his overwhelming love and commitment to the horse that he had just road to victory. In the middle of the great celebration, Bo-rail takes a sponge from a bowl of water brought out by the handlers and proceeds to give Street Sense his post race bath. Right there in front of the Queen of England, the entire Derby crown, his fellow competitors, and the world, Calvin’s act of devotion to his charge spoke volumes about who he is as a competitor and a man.
To me, the picture of him bathing his horse with such joy will stick in my sports memory locker right along side the vision of Lance’s raised arms at Alpe D’Huez, Jordan’s hand in the air as he released the winning shot, or Jim Craig skating around the ice with the American flag draped around his shoulders.

Calvin Borel, I salute you and thank you for today’s memory.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Mamma Chicken Little, Heaven, Hell, and the Trap Question

My mother, God rest her soul, was an incredible woman in a number of ways. She worked in the textile mill that was the anchor of the mill village I grew up in for almost 50 years walking to work everyday. For 45 years of that she worked the same job in the supply room as a clerk ordering parts and supplies for thousands of pieces of machinery, looms, spinning frames, and other equipment. Peggy, as she was called by everyone except her children, was famous in the Concord area for her homemade macaroni and cheese, her fudge, her cheese straws, and the seven different kinds of cakes she made every year at Christmas. A tireless worker at Kerr Street United Methodist Church, she along with my Dad, was the key ground beef chili maker for that organization’s Friday hotdog sales. This was not your normal fund raiser mind you. Kerr Street was a hot dog making machine and literally developed a business almost exclusively manned by retirees and senior citizens that grossed over $2000 a week! That was every week except the weeks of Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Mom and Dad would cook over 125 lbs of ground beef every Thursday night for the chili that to this day is still my favorite ever.
(Kerr Street still has hotdog sales the first Saturday of the month in Concord, NC so go check it out if you are in the area. No offense to Forest Hills UMC or Epworth UMC but neither of them could hold a candle to Kerr Street, but I guess I am a bit biased).

Mom loved her children and grandchildren, her family, my Dad, and my amazing Grandma Spears, with a passion, and would go out of her way if she felt someone needed something. Even though we were poor, my mother never lacked a penchant for gift giving, even if it was from the sale rack at Belk. Matter of fact, she reveled in the fact that she got things 30%, 50%, and the holy grail of purchase prices, 75% off. So much so that she would tell the recipient.
It would go something like this, “Do you like the shirt? Guess what the price was? Now guess, what I paid for it?”
When my mom passed away a few years ago I wanted so bad to take just a little bit of her ashes and put them under the sales rack in the Belk at Concord’s Carolina Mall. It was her favorite place to be for goodness sake. Needless to say my family did not let me.

Christmas was Peggy’s favorite time of the year and her love for Santa Claus ceramic figurines was legendary. To this day, the house I grew up in has over 150 Santa’s of all shapes, sizes, colors, and designs, on display on shelves, in china cabinets, in curio cabinets, and even on dressers and window sills. It looks like a “ceramic Santa museum” for crying out loud.

My mother also loved the Lord so much and it was her faith that cemented the foundation for my walk with the Lord ,that of my brother Darrell, and the family. Today in churches we participate in “small groups” or “life groups” where we get together with others for fellowship, study the Word, and to support each other. Mom was the queen of small groups but back then it was called “Circle Meeting”. Man oh man, did I love it when Mom’s Circle met at our house. My mother was quite the show off when it came to her culinary skills fancying herself a mill hill Julia Childs and Circle meeting at the Karr house was center stage. The cheese straws, homemade chocolate fudge, a soggy pineapple cake, a German chocolate cake, lemon drop squares, and date nut roll were produced in mass along with this pineapple punch that had frozen rings of fresh pineapple floating in the punch bowl. Yum! It was as sight to not only behold but to partake in and my Dad and I waited patiently out in the yard, in the garden, or down at my oldest brother’s pond, for the moment we were allowed back in the house to clean up the left overs!! Talk about pigging out! In anticipation of that event I suspect I fasted for a couple of days.

Mom also had her challenges. All of you have heard about the glass half full, glass have empty way of describing people:
“There are two kinds of people, those who see a glass of water (that is 50% filled) half full, and those who see it half empty.”

Well Peggy was a third kind: It was not only half empty but the last drink she would ever have in her life! To twist another cliché: Mom could always find the black cloud surrounding the silver lining. I used to call her the eternal fatalist, Momma Chicken Little, whose sky was always falling no matter how uplifting everything seemed to be going at the time.

It made being around her sometimes difficult to say the least but I think it also shaped how I have tried to live my life more to the optimistic side. Don’t get me wrong, for those of you who know me in person, and especially my family , my emotions are best represented by the shape of a roller coaster’s layout except the climb up is often close to vertical, very high, and the return is a bullet train straight at the ground. For the most part however, I have been the person who no matter how bad things can get seems to take it fairly in stride. This has become more true as I have gotten older, learned to cope a bit with my issues, and have been feted with the blessed assurance of God’s grace and love. I think because I was constantly trying my best not to get drawn into my mother’s negativity, which by the way was often directed at my “failures” and shortcomings, I developed a “seek the positive” approach to most challenges in life (with the exception of losing my hair. I had great hair. I miss my hair).


It is from this perspective I have tried to approach the representation of my faith. Growing up in a conservative United Methodist family who happened to believe that one needed to make a conscious decision to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior I did not get exposed to the “Hail, Fire, and Brimstone” theology that seemed to be and still is in some denominations, the motivation to get saved. Don’t get me wrong, I was taught about Hell, believe it is real, and believe it to be a place I surly do not want to go. I just did not grow up in an environment where the fear of damnation was the scare tactic (a term one of my Facebook friend’s wrote today in a posting on my page) used to get me to make that decision to follow Him, the “turn so you don’t burn” approach if you will.

Having said that and being someone who has been making a conscious effort to live my faith I recently was faced with situation where someone who is not a Christ follower asked me the age old question:

“So, do you believe that since I don’t believe in Jesus I am going to Hell?”

At first I was taken aback. Thoughts ran through my head at an even more jumbled and rapid pass than my normal ADD/ADHD/OCD brain typically conjures and I was reeling a bit looking for something profound to say.

My first thought was just to say “no” of course not.

My second thought was “well, the Bible teaches blah blah blah’.

My third thought was “change the subject doofus and quick”

And my forth thought was “Man I need a moment, where’s a Snickers bar when you need one”. (I made that one up but you get the picture).

Then in a moment of clarity that is rare in the typical fog called my brain an email exchange I had recently with a very close friend came to mind. This gentleman and I have known each other for a few years now and have grown a friendship that is filled with brotherly love. No, we are not going to see “I Love You, Man” together but a “best man” this friend of many, a good one would make. After reading my blog he had sent me an email that had expressed how over the years his concept of the Christian religion as presented by the judgmental, holier than though, exclusivity that has been so prevalent in church for hundreds of years and especially in the traditional ranks during the 20th century did not line up with the loving God that leaped off the pages of the New Testament to him. He honored me by saying that though my “born again” stuff some time made him a little uncomfortable, I had never made he feel anything but loved and respected and that he found that my seeing God in helping people write a resume or in a conversation about a pair of loppers special. Of all the emails I have received from friends over the years it will remain one of the most precious.

I pondered that the “born again” me that he was seeing was my attempt to emulate Jesus and it was from that perspective that the idea that Jesus calls us not to judge but to love flooded my mind.

I grasped the dual trap that was the question being asked:

Trap 1-
To answer “No, I don’t think you are going to hell because you don’t believe in Jesus” totally puts you in the vulnerable position of having your true faith called into suspect.

“What do you mean, you don’t think so? Doesn’t (your) Bible say that?” Conclusion: This dude’s not really a strong Christian like he confesses.


Trap 2-
To answer with the “yes” you are going to Hell if you don’t believe automatically puts the person asking the question on the defensive. It also directs that person to immediately jump to the conclusion that, “Here we go again, WHO is this person to judge me? Typical Christian!”

Who in deed? Who are we as followers of the Risen Christ whose resurrection was the prize won by the blood shed freely for us on the Cross and the defeat of sin to pass judgment on others?

It was this train of thought, inspired I believe by my still infantile walk with Him, that gave me the answer that seem the most appropriate-

>It is not my place to judge if non-believers are going to hell if they don't believe in Jesus. I just KNOW I am going to heaven because I do.<

You see, that practice of trying to find the positive way to look at potentially negative situations created by my developed coping mechanism for Momma Chicken Little kicked in. That combined with the blessings that God has poured down on me, that need to follow His Son Jesus by following his commandment “to love one another”, and the hope that I never judge others, gave me the direction I needed at the moment.

I don’t know if my answer made an impact. I may never know. The point is that as Followers of Him we are called not to judge, not to condemn, but to show his grace, mercy, and love through all action and words.

Who do you know that you need to tell, “…I just KNOW I am going to heaven because I believe in Him?”

Try it. You never know what the result might be but I assure He does.


Luke 6 Vs 37
"Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”

John 13 vs 34
“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”

John 13 vs 35
“By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Judging Others And The Well Woman

Today I had to make a presentation to the Cove Church staff (www.covechurch.org) on the developing CareerLIFE Ministry. It was great to see the whole team assembled in one meeting. I was amazed at how many of them I had already interacted with while serving either on the Remix Set-Up Team, the Statesville Campus Production/Set-Up Team, during the Job Search Basic class preparation and teaching, or just through attending weekly services. The work each team member does to further the cause of Christ through the Cove's ministry is incredible but what strikes me the most about the group is how they all are living their faith through their job, their obedience, and their service. To be around this group of people is truly inspiring.

At the beginning of the meeting there was a time for a devotional (hey, of course there was..It was a church leadership meeting, duh!!) and Christy (the awesome leader of Cove Kids Statesville and a tall drink of boundless energy..Redbull doesn't have a thing on Ms. Christy)was the one to share. She talked about the challenges of not being judgmental, drawing conclusions on first blush, and how we all struggle with how we quickly sum up people in our heads when we see them. Paul in his letter to Romans spent a great deal of time talking about this very subject(Romans 2:1-16). This hit home with me on several levels. For one, I have been guilty like many people of making judgments on people by the way they looked, dressed, talked, or acted. On the other side of the coin, because of the way I look, my tattoos, the fact that I skateboard, came from a poor family, shave my head, talk with a very thick southern accent, and pretty much look like a bouncer, it has been more than once someone has drawn a conclusion about me that probably was not accurate. One would think since I have felt the hurt of being judged in that manner I would not be so quick to act in the same way but alas it is trap I have fallen in more times than I wish to admit.

Christy had found a video on Youtube of a spoken word interpretative piece about the Woman at the Well(John 4 4-42). It was a powerful representation and I am glad I got to see it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q49BbfgJbto


This scripture is one my favorites from the New Testament and has been one I have related to a great deal over my life. Though I was brought up in a strong Christian household albeit a poor one in a mill village in North Carolina called Gibson Mill (part of Concord, NC) and for the most part kept my nose clean as they say I struggled with being somewhat of an outcast. You see where I grew up back in the late 60's and throughout the 70's and early 80's people from "mill hill" were looked down upon by the "other side" of town in the more affluent areas. People who worked in the cotton mills and thus their children were labeled "lint heads", a derogatory term that came from the fact that cotton mill workers at shift end would take their work home with them so to speak in their hair, on their clothing, and pretty much all over. Cotton textile mills had to have high humidity throughout the plant to make the looms, yarn spinning frames, and other equipment run properly. The extra humidity, along with the sweltering heat inside the plants, made it virtually impossible to keep cotton dust and lint from clinging to some part of your body. "Lint Head" was the name used to refer to anyone who worked in the mill or were supported by someone who did. The connotation was that the person was not smart enough or good enough to not have to work in such conditions. The truth is, however, the overwhelming majority of textile mill workers in the South were strong Christians, hard working people, and completed dedicated to their families. Some of the smartest people I ever met were mill folk and I cherish my heritage. To be a "lint head" was to be judged by some people.

Within the mill village people looked after one another and were very protective of each other. Unless, you were different, or had something they did not have. I was blessed at an early age to learn to read. My grandmother and mother both taught me to read before I ever began elementary school. By the time I was in the first grade in the little school in my neighborhood, a school that was probably seventy percent mill hill children, I was reading on a 4th grade level. By the time I got to the 4th grade I took almost all of my English, reading, and math classes, separate from the other students because I was further ahead. Was I smarted than them? No. I just had been blessed with the advantage of parents and a grandmother that wanted something better for me than what they had in life and education was going to be the ticket out. As I grew into middle school and high school the friends I had grown up with in the neighborhood treated me different. Because I made better grades, took more advanced classes, and hung around with the smart "rich" kids, I was no longer accepted by my peers. In a sense I was outcast amongst the outcasts: Not being completely embraced by the other side of town because I was a lint head and no longer a full member of the mill hill gang because I was in more advanced classes with mostly kids from the other side of town.

The woman at the well was the ultimate "outcast among outcast". She was from Samaria, a small area north of Judea, that the Jews had great disdain for in those times. The Samaritans though they worshipped the same God as the Jews did not feel that they needed to worship Him in the temple of Jerusalem but rather on the mountain where they lived. The Jews hated them so much that they would literally travel miles out of their way on a journey in that direction just to keep from being "contaminated" by contact with the Samaritans by traveling through their country. Can you imagine? Driving or walking miles out of your way just to avoid the risk of actually coming face to face with someone of a different background than yourself? We don't do that now do we? To the Jews, the Samaritans were outcast. It is remarkable to note that Jesus not only traveled through the area but stayed there for two days. This would have been unthinkable of a Jewish man of that time.

The woman had had five husbands and was living with another man when Jesus met her at the well. It was midday, the hottest part of the day, when no one would have been at the well. She went then to avoid being seen by the other people of her village. Those people probably judged her, looked down on her, derided her for the lifestyle she had led, and treated her with disgust. She was a Samaritan outcast to the Jews and an outcast among the Samaritans themselves.

What is so awesome about this story is how Jesus decided to use her to spread His kingdom. First he went to where she was. She did not come to him. Second, after telling her everything about herself, he revealed who he truly was to her, the Son of the living God. I love this part because in most of the other writings from the Bible Jesus let others come to the conclusion of His true identity as the Savior but with the woman at the well He went directly to the heart of the matter: Vs26-"Then Jesus declared, "I who speak to you am he.""

The encounter with Him face to face along with His clear declaration that He is the Savior was so compelling to this outcast that she ran back to her village to tell His story. She was so convincing in fact in her witness to what Jesus had said and done for her that this person who had been ridiculed, looked down upon, and derided by her own people, was now leading them to Christ. She of all people Jesus chose to tell His story. The other Samaritans were so thirsty for the water He could give them to drink that they bid Him to stay with them for two days.

I love this story because it reminds me of how God can use any of us, no matter what our walk in life, no matter what we have done in our past, and no matter how we are viewed by others. It also reminds me to not be quick to judge others. They too, might be part of God’s plan for the Good News.

I don’t want to miss out on the Good News they bring. How about you?

Thursday, March 5, 2009

In Memory of Tommy

Writers Note: I wrote this blog initially as an email to a friend of mine on my Blackberry as we were traveling back from the service in Mountain Home, Tennessee today (March 4, 2009). My oldest brother Darrell was doing the driving and our Dad was asleep in the back seat. To get there we had to go through some of the prettiest parts of the North Carolina and Tennessee mountains up Highway 421 and 321. I deliberately did not edit the order or composition because I wanted it to read just like it was originally typed on the Blackberry. The only edits I made were for clarity of subject or object. Thank you Darrell for driving so I could get my thoughts together in this format.


We are on our way back from the memorial. It was in a national military cemetery near Johnson City. It was a full military service outside in a gazebo built just for that purpose. The weather was beautiful and all these mountain folk who my brother has befriended over the last 10 years came up from the area he lived in to the south.
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One of his best friends and fellow Vietnam vet came up from Concord. He spoke and man it was so from the heart. They had gone to the wall in DC together several times and he had taken a photo of my brother with his green beret on with the Washington Monument in the background. . That photo looked liked something out of a magazine or Vietnam Veteran’s publication. It was displayed along with my brother’s medals and the framed citation telling the story of how he had been a hero. The chaplain read the story during the service and it was incredibly powerful.

When the attendants, color guard from the VFW, the chaplain, and the VA people arrived I started talking to the chaplain. Of course he had never met Tom until Tom's last trip to the VA hospital where the chaplain is assigned. He was young probably about 30. I think I caught him off guard when I asked if I could pray for him before the service. It wasn't that long ago I would not have been able to pray like that for and with a stranger.

The chaplain’s message was one of hope, of Christ love and sacrifice for us, and I am glad that he shared that with the mourners. I hope hearts were touched because without God's love and grace through His Son we are lost.

My oldest brother spoke too and the love that poured out of him for Tom left no dry eye including that of many of the color guard. I did not know this but Darrell had been drafted in the army and had to go to Vietnam. My brother Tom didn't have to go but signed up to support Darrell and they both took their physicals the same day. When Darrell got sent to Nam Tommy didn't have to go but by this time he was a green beret so he volunteered! He VOLUNTEERED! He didn't want his brother to be the only one making the sacrifice! I just stood there stunned and the tears pouring from the eyes of all the vets including my Dad's were overwhelming.

The sounds of a 21 gun salute and then the playing of taps by a lone bugle player in a military cemetery will be in my memory forever. I am not sure I have ever been more thankful for the blessings of living in this great country of ours. It made it quite clear to me that freedom is not free.

One of the most poignant moments of the service came after the gun salute. It was the act of the color guard folding the flag that covered the coffin (box that held my brothers ashes). I had seen that ceremony on TV but never witnessed it in person. The care and precision displayed by the young officer and soldier performing this duty sent chills down my spine. To watch how they valued even the importance of each fold being perfect while still being almost complete still at attention was awe inspiring. When it was completed the commander of the VFW honor guard who performed the gun salute stepped up, saluted the young officer, placed three of the shells (from the gun salute) on top of the flag and saluted again. He was probably in his late 60's and immaculately dressed in full formal uniform. As he performed his task tears poured down his face honoring the memory of a fellow soldier that he had never met! He completely personalized his role in a tribute to my brother. His salute was with a shaking hand yet it was performed with respect for the flag, for our country, and for Tom. When the officer handed the flag to Tom's oldest son, Darron, tears streamed from my eyes and everyone in witness.

His sons Darron (the oldest) spoke about the respect he had for his dad and how his dad had taught him how to work hard. Robbie (the youngest) talked about his dad's love for animals, people, respect for women,and yard sales. Ha ha. Britta his daughter wept as she said she didn't know about all this military stuff but this was her daddy and her safe haven. He was always there for her. And that he was hard headed and we all knew it and she was going to miss him so much.

When it was my turn I felt compelled to tell the story of getting him and his African Grey parrot out of Costa Rica. It was quite an ordeal but throughout it my brother just kept showing love to me and that bird. (This will be the subject of a future blog…it’s a TV movie in the making let me tell you.)

Even with all of the demons that haunted him my brother Tommy touched lives where ever he went. To see the neighbors, the fellow vets, family, and even members of the color guard, gathered in that setting to remember him will be a blessed memory for the rest of my life.

I love you Tommy. I will miss you. You are my brother and one of my biggest heroes.