Went to the Jason Mraz concert a few weeks ago at the ex-State Theater in Detroit.

It was epic. Arguably the best performance I’ve seen in person in my life. Right up there with Lauryn when Outkast opened for her here to kick off her Miseducation tour.

You know the slow song on one of your favorite albums that isn’t that great but you’re not gonna fast forward through it?

That’s Track 6: Love For a Child on Mraz’s new cd We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things.

The other tracks are so much better and funner, sexier, and cooler. But this song has my favorite line.

“What about taking this empty cup, and filling it up with a little bit more of innocence, I haven’t had enough, it’s probably because, when you’re young, it’s okay to be easily ignored, I’d like to believe it was all about love for a child.”

Innocence.
Someone once told me you can never go back to just holding hands. The point in the relationship where holding hands is new and electric, euphoric. You’ve never known anything more, so holding hands right then was the best feeling in your life. Once the relationship takes the next steps physically, you can never go back.

First heartbreak. First disappointment in a best friend. First understanding that a parent is fallible. First funeral.

Once you lose innocence, it’s gone.

The worst is when you don’t know you’ve lost it. When did you lose your sensitivity to violence? There’s a part of you that knows that exposing yourself to too much gratuitous violence is not healthy. That’s your ghost of innocence whispering to you quietly from purgatory, asking you to remember.

My children were born into a post hand holding era. They entered past the first kiss, past 2nd base, past the first time, past the tenth partner. Welcome, dear children, to the part of the relationship where people get bored and start to take each other for granted.

There is no innocence in the abortion or gay marriage debates. Innocence is gone long before these conversations.

When Isaiah dances he gets so serious. Somehow with all the dancing around to songs we do in the house, when it comes to weddings, it translates into very very serious versions of robot kung fu spin dancing. I can see that he feels the need to move and shake and kick, but he is also hyper aware of the eyes on him.
My heart soars when I watch him dancing, running, or playing with the hose in the 3 dollar plastic pool.

Ethan wants so badly for you to read to him. Chickens stuck in mud. Dinosaurs in cars. Goofy catches a fish. He wants to point and name and be affirmed and hugged. He wants to hide and surprise and get the monsters. He wants to run and run and grab and wrestle. He wants to pray and eat and eat. Every time he lets me hold him and I get to put my chin on his head, I petition God to help Ethan break through all my shortcomings and build him up as strong as possible. His laughter is so pure. It’s like you could keep filling your heart up through your ears with the sound of his laughter and never get full. When kuya goes out of his way to make baby brother laugh over and over again. When the minutes go by filled with silly noises, faces, and giggles. These pictures painted against the backdrop of anxiety, money, natural disasters, the news… Internal emotional breakdowns out of thankfulness occur daily.

And Owen. My tiny little rewind button.

“I want juice. I want juice. I want juiiiiiicce.” , says Isaiah.
“Wan joos…wan joos…”, says Ethan

As Owen contently sucks his toes.

What a blessing it is to see what will be and what is simultaneously.

At a month and half, Owen was trying to connect. Calling you with his eyes, engaging you with faces, encouraging you to talk to him and smile to him. For this you get a big silly grin. A grin that tells you that you are recognized and appreciated. Today he is 5 months old. Yesterday he got into it with the pentapus that hangs from his baby gym. He grabbed his legs and gnawed on his feet then whined and fell asleep. He doesn’t need to be held. He doesn’t need to be cuddled. He just sleeps until his brothers wake him up and then passes out smiles like candy. He wants to talk so badly. You can tell in every ba-ba and coo and sigh. To hold him is to hold the best parts of life close to you.

To protect them is the definition of the preservation of innocence.

Dear God, please please watch over them.

…
We played our third soccer game on Wednesday. We played a mostly American team that was somewhat skilled and their endurance and speed lacked a bit. But it was enough to draw with us. 2-2. On the first game of the year we played a mostly French team but with a hodge podge other tall European players sprinkled in. I can honestly say that I’ve worked hard almost every day since last August trying to eat right and run and lift so that I can make a positive contribution to my team and not just be a defensive liability. The results of that work are almost indecipherable on the field if you were to watch me. True the steps I’ve taken forward have been small. But they are significant steps forward to me.

I’ve learned a few things.
I’ve learned that my ideal game shape is probably somewhere between 153 and 160 pounds. A lean, muscular 158 will probably put me in the best position to contribute.
153 is pushed off the ball easily. 163 is too slow.
I’ve learned that 6th gear is where you want to be. I can get mesmerized so easily with the ebb & flow of the game, that I forget to push at every stage. I even forget to will myself into 6th gear when I’m battling to create separation. 4th gear will make for a good showing and goals are so sparse in this game anyway that no one would think less if I didn’t put this ball away. Unacceptable. Keep that up and you’ll be in fourth gear your whole life. The model of mental mediocrity.

The answer to the question of whether or not you can get hunger back: Choice.

You choose to be hungry. Hungry at every stage in every facet.

People don’t say, “I choose to lose the close ones.” They say the same thing by saying, “I choose to have this 3rd cheeseburger.”

They don’t say, “I choose to play with less intensity.” They say the same thing by saying, “I choose to spend time doing yard work rather than going on a tempo run.”

Is it mediocre of you to choose training for a sport over spending time with family? Depends on the hat you’re choosing to wear. With the kids you’re Super Dad, on the field you’re Mr. Can’t Make the Run. On the field you’re a game breaker, but at home your kid’s flunking math.

Choose.

Against the French/European team in the first game, we were tied 0-0 halfway through the second half. My team consists of stand out soccer players and phenoms. I am by far one of the worst players on the team. But I know that few on the team hungered to contribute as I did the past 10 months. Before I went back in, I totally prayed to God. Please God, I want so bad to score. I know I can do it, and they need me to. I’ve run so many miles. Please.
There was a scrum in the middle just outside the box, to create space for the phenoms, I’m a little wide on the right side. The ball comes loose, me and Carlo make eye contact, he splits the D… I one time it lower left just outside of reach of the keeper.

Just after the ball goes an inch past his glove, I turn and clench my fist, small air punch, eyes squeezed tight for half a second, something low and guttural escapes my mouth. Yes.

1-0. Small numbers, big for me. It was heaven to see the relief on the faces of the guys after finally putting one in the back on a team that we were dominating. First goal of the year. We ended up winning 2-0 and my only regret is that I didn’t do the little dance that Mark was doing when he scored. That would’ve been awesome. Would’ve bought me so much cred with the squad.

We lost the next game 5-0. At the end, one of the better players on the team, I think he’s 19 years old got mad at the ref, called him an effing retard. When the ref gave him the red, he took the red from the refs hand and flinged it across the field, all the while dropping F bombs directed at the ref. I was standing right there. Never seen anything like it in my life.

Tied last game 2-2. Couldn’t hold the lead. Kept getting up and they kept answering.

We’re 1-1-1 now. I love soccer the way I love all my old friends. I’m intensely loyal.