This season, this changing season

Sometimes the truth is staring right at me and I don't want to see it. I think there are times in everyone's lives when the reality is that the gig is up, so to speak, but we aren't ready to accept it. A leaf turns. It's now fall and winter approaches, but we cling to the fleeting notion that another gorgeous day is around the corner...then we wake up and the frost is so thick you need a shovel to get it off the windshield. In the big picture of things, what I'm really talking about is life and the changing seasons we all travel through. For me, that moment of epiphany came on a recent Saturday in a place where some of life's greatest lessons are learned.

Yes, it was on the Wiffle Ball field. In the first round of the playoffs of the Wiffle Ball World Series at Sabo Field in Courthouse Square, the truth nearly caused me to sprain my neck. At the precise moment I hung a forkball that was supposed to drop off the table to Ethan and he hit it to North Carolina, I first recognized that in jerking my head so hard to watch the ball go over the house I had nearly sprained it, and second that at the ripe old age of 40 my best Wiffle Ball days were very likely well behind me. Somehow I managed to keep the game close by sticking with my game plan of busting Ethan inside with cutters, then throwing the occasional changeup and curveball out of the strike zone. But at the plate I was just flailing. I hit two balls hard all day; one for a long single and another that nearly left Taylor, who was playing shortstop, a eunuch. Somehow Taylor managed to deflect the ball or otherwise he still may be writhing on the ground in pain. Ethan prevailed 2-0 in the three-inning, first-round game. I'm left with the prospect of trying to fight my way through the "loser's bracket" to get another shot at Ethan, but then I'd have to beat him twice to be crowned champ.

I think I can accept this Wiffle Ball mortality. Accept the fact that when I play my teenage sons it will take the supreme effort to keep the game close. Maybe I'll be able to sneak in a win here or there through guile, luck and perhaps a nail file secreted in my back pocket or some lubricant hidden on my cap visor that will make the Wiffle Ball dance in an unhittable trajectory on its way to the plate. It's been a good run. I look back over 15 years or so of playing Wiffle Ball with my older boys and have so many great memories. The "green monster" of elm bushes at our back yard field in Prineville, Ore., and the day that the boys still reminisce about when Julie hit my unhittable rising fastball over the green monster, a veritable moonshot that will live in infamy; or the time Dave Erickson (who's now a missionary in Asia) hit one over our barn in Corvallis, Ore., in a blast that we still marvel over; or the historic day when I threw a no-hitter in a six-inning game against Brenton at our house on Mill Pond Drive here in Gloucester, in a performance that rivaled Don Larsen's perfect game in the World Series ... I'm sure there are plenty of good times to come. They'll just be different times. And to think that down in the minor leagues are four more Sabo boys ...

To see Ethan's home run, captured on video and expertly edited by Taylor, check it out here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oGOP3DAQrfo

South Carolina

Sometimes I get this crazy notion that a vacation would be a good idea. Relaxing, fun, entertaining ... all those things vacations should be. Then about halfway to our destination our lovely little 1-year-old who we'll call "Olivia" starts screaming. And let me tell you, that little girl can holler. Did I mention it's a 6-hour drive to Murrells Inlet, South Carolina? Which leaves sweet Olivia plenty of time to scream. Then Ezra starts saying over and over again, "I want to go home. I want to go home." Ahhhh, vacation. We had plenty of good times, though. We went to the beach one day when it was near 80 degrees. This was the middle of October and the kids were playing in the water ... just like back in Oregon in the middle of October, right? (Editor's note: Um, you don't go in the water in Oregon in the middle of the summer. Author's reply: Untrue! Say you've been running and twist your ankle. Instead of using ice, just go in the ocean! It's no different!)

We went to Georgetown, S.C., which is a gorgeous little town on the water. It's the third-oldest city in South Carolina (The Palmetto State) and named after a guy who went by the handle of "George." I knew you would appreciate that tidbit. Anyway, we hit an ice cream shop in Georgetown and pritnear cleaned them out. And remember, as the sign says on the boardwalk in Georgetown, "Don't feed the alligators." Those signs are all over Oregon as well. (Editor's note: Dear, no. There's no such signs in Oregon. Author's reply: I meant "Don't feed the ducks." You know, ducks ... alligators ... it's all the same.)

One of the highlights for me was shopping for groceries at the local Piggly Wiggly. I've always wanted to shop in a Piggly Wiggly. Why? Well, I don't know exactly. It just sounds like a cool place to shop. I mean, who wouldn't want to shop at a Piggly Wiggly? I was not disappointed. They had a killer ice cream selection, a great selection of pickled pig's feet and okra like you wouldn't believe. One thing, though. I was shopping in the Piggly Wiggly and was going through the checkout line when the clerk called me, "Honey." No big deal. But then she said to me, "That's $50.43, Sweet Pea." Ahem. `Sweet pea?' Some things I'm not sure I'll ever get used to. Even in a Piggly Wiggly.

The biggest highlight of our trip to South Carolina, undoubtedly, was seeing real-life alligators. For reals. The first day we were in South Carolina we heard some golfer was fetching his golf ball out of the drink when he reached in and an alligator latched onto his arm. Tragically, the dude lost his arm. This was 2 hours away from us and since the place where we were staying was on a golf course FULL OF PONDS, naturally I made some inquiries of the groundskeeper about the local 'gator population. It turns out he didn't think there were any alligators around at the moment. I emphasize `he didn't think there were any around.' Though one was living in the pond right over there, he said, pointing at the end of the parking lot, mere yards from our room. Super. Needless to say, the rule on our vacation was no going near the water unless it was a swimming pool. One afternoon we went to a nearby state park and there's a bike path there that runs through some freshwater swamps/ponds and you can walk down there, like we did, and peer through the brush and see alligators. I mean, they were right there, just sunning themselves in the, well, sun. "Kids, stay close," I said. Ezra promptly took off running down the path. The kid just likes to run. Needless to say, I went running after him. I'm sure he looked like a tasty vittle to those 'gators and I was not about to get him eaten. I'm happy to report that a count of the children who returned home with us revealed that all made it back. No 'gator bait in our crew.

I'm A ... Democrat?

The other night I was attending a meeting for a local political candidate who is seeking re-election. I'm not real popular with her crowd due to articles I've written about some actions she and others on the county Board of Supervisors took over the past two years. I counted about 70 people who were there and when she was done with her hour long talk she got a standing ovation from most of her supporters. One older gentleman went up to her and told her how brave she was to get up there and talk. Then the fun began.

Within a few moments about a half-dozen or so of my "fans" were looking for the Daily Press guy. "That would be me," I said. "I'm the Daily Press guy." One fellow got uncomfortably close to me and asked me point-blank if I was going to get up there and apologize. "I've got nothing to apologize for," I said. He asked me again and I gave him the same answer. I stand by the articles I've written. (As a disclaimer, Gloucester has many, many people who are highly appreciative of the articles I've written for the newspaper; just on this particular night there weren't a whole lot of those folks in attendance.)

"You must be a Democrat!" the old codger said. I couldn't help myself and laughed. Apparently all newspaper reporters are Democrats. And I guess that's a bad thing. I just told him I'm no Democrat, but I am a registered Republican. He got this real puzzled look on his face; he was totally stumped. That didn't cool my other critics, though. I took some heat for a while and stood my ground, but that's expected in this line of work. It's funny how people form opinions about me and my character without knowing a thing about me other than what I write. A couple of weeks ago Julie was working on getting Ethan registered for school and was talking to one of the employees of the high school. In the interest of protecting the person's identity, that's as close of a description of the person you'll get. But this person asked Julie if she was related to Matt Sabo from the Daily Press. Julie paused. I know what was going through her head: "Should I answer this?" She said yes and the person said, "You tell Matt we love him." So you see, not everyone thinks I'm a Democrat.

The Life And Times

It's officially Fall, in case you haven't noticed. Today it was hard to notice Fall, or Autumn as the hoity-toities might say, has arrived here for a couple of reasons. First of all, upper 80s with killer humidity doth not a fall day make. Secondly, we only had one child involved in a practice, game or other sort of extracurricular activity. This fall we have 3 kids in soccer and one playing baseball. There's Team Sabo kids being run all over this county. Last Saturday we had 3 soccer games spread 2 1/2 hours apart all at the same field 10 miles away. Not to mention a baseball practice for Ethan. It was crazy, in a good sort of way. Abram and Madeline are in their first year of soccer and having a blast and Evie is back on the pitch, cast and all. There are few things I enjoy in life as much as watching the kids play sports. It's just one of those special pleasures, even topping a bowl of ice cream at night after everyone is in the sack.

Last year at this time we had just arrived in Corvallis and none of the kids were in any sports. Shoot, we were still trying to recover from a 3,200-mile cross country trip, moving into a house with another family, a climate change, a culture change and I was adjusting to being jobless and in school. But a few weeks after we arrived we managed to get Ethan and Taylor on the cross country team for Philomath High School and it was my distinct pleasure to be able to help on a few occasions shuttle the team to practices at parks and trails many miles from the school. (The coach saw my 15-passenger van one time and a smile broke out on his face. And boy he tried to convince us many times it was in our best interest to stay another year and let the boys run for him.) Taylor is a talented runner and ended up making varsity after a week or two of running. He was the 4th man on the team and helped the Warriors to a 5th-place finish at state. He has a long stride, endurance and a toughness that runners need to truly be competitive. Ethan never considered himself a runner -- it didn't involve a ball -- but by the time the season ended he was rounding into pretty decent shape. He loved the competition of cross country. One of the beauties of the sport is that no matter where you are in the race, there's always competition -- unless you're way out in front. Someone is chasing you, so you have to keep the pedal down. Someone is ahead of you, so you have to go get him. Ethan liked that competition. He would probably be running cross country for Gloucester High School right now if he didn't love baseball so much and it wasn't offered in the fall as more or less a club sport. But he's learning a new position -- catcher -- and catching on quick. So to speak.

You know what's so cool? I'll be going to games and practices for years. And it will be a seamless transition from my kids to grandkids. I reckon I'll have to take an early retirement just to watch the kids and grandkids.

Where Did She Come From?

Julie and I have 12 children. That still comes as a shock to some people. The other day I was in the doctor's office for treatment of a persistent, irritating, awful, nasty skin rash type leprosy on my hands. I'm fortunate I don't live in Old Testament days, or they would have me holed up underneath a big ol' gum tree down in the woods near Fox Mill swamp rasslin squirrels for acorns and pine seeds and trying to choke one of 'em to make some varmint stew. As it stands, the ol' doc got me on some drugs and the issue seems to be getting resolved. He said I had an allergic reaction to latex. As I was signing forms the lady behind the desk started chatting and subject of "children" came up as she noticed a lad or lass or three or four of mine in the computer system. One thing leads to another and she finds out I have 12 and she just stands there and shakes her head and says, "No you don't." Over and over she kept saying she can't imagine what it must be like in my house.

Well, let me help her out. Let's just take one of our children. Namely Olivia. Just 17 months old, but a terror in the Team Sabo house. We start out at around 7 o'clock in the morning when I find her on the kitchen table eating someone's raisin bran. It's more on her clothes, face and hair than in her belly. I get her cleaned up and a short time later I find her back on the table with someone else's raisin bran. She's just getting warmed up. Over the course of the day I might find her with an ink pen tattooing various of her appendages and cheeks -- with a permanent marker. This morning Julie was relieved that Olivia was doing this with an ink pen that wasn't a permanent marker. Does that make it right?

This afternoon I looked over to find her standing on the piano bench playing the piano -- buck naked from the waist down. She had removed her shorts and her diaper, for reasons that remain unknown to me; perhaps it had something to do with the freedom it presented her to really "feel" the music. Either that or she was grooving so hard to her tune her britches just dropped off. This evening she discovered "Chapstik" and decided it went in her hair. Two nights ago she found one of those soft candle type things and decided to lube up her do. Let's just say the candle wax doesn't exactly come out of hair easily. But then, have you ever tried to get candle wax and Chapstik out of your hair? Didn't think so.


We don't know what to do with this child. Where did we go wrong? Are we bad parents? After 11 kids do we suddenly not know what we're doing anymore? It seems with each child there's something new and unforeseen that we've never experienced before. Eli can throw some raging fits. I mean raging. Ezra has some quirks to his personality that leave me shaking my head. Now Olivia. And that's just for starters. Don't get me started on some of the older ones. Maybe it's just God keeping us sharp. On top of our parenting game, so to speak. Yeah, maybe that's it. Because how else are we going to be prepared for 60 grandchildren -- or more?

A Year Ago

On this date a year ago we woke up in Brentwood, Tenn., where we stayed the night on our trek to Oregon. After we had the Team Sabo Executive Board meeting and some of the kids seemed reluctant to go, the Lord changed their hearts over the course of the following week. Each of them came and told Julie and me that in the course of their Bible reading they had felt the Lord giving them a peace about going. I remember trying to see if there was a way I could keep my job with the Daily Press on a part-time basis -- with a phone and a computer that's about all you need these days -- but that wasn't possible. When we decided to go, it was about three weeks before we had to leave. We had all sorts of little details to wrap up here before we left, but some of the details out in Oregon were a little fuzzy.

It wasn't until we were on the road in southwest Virginia, battling crazed Hokies fans who were trying to get to a football game in Blacksburg, when I understood that our living accommodations had been taken care of. I was talking on the cell phone with a friend in Corvallis with a big house who wanted us to stay with his family and he was talking about all these bunk beds he was tracking down people in the church were giving them. I remember getting off the phone with him and telling Julie, "I think they want us to stay with them the whole time." It turned out to be a huge blessing. I remember a buddy of mine in Oregon asking me before we left what we were going to do about a place to live. I told him I didn't know, but that the Lord would have to take care of that. Then he asked about beds; he seemed to think we would need lots of beds. I didn't have an answer for that, either. The Lord would take care of that, I said. Then he said, what about furniture and pots and pans ... These were all pretty good questions. I didn't have an answer for him. I told him we were going out in faith and that the Lord made it clear that's what He had for us. And God took care of all those details. I think faith is one of those things that God wants us to exercise. How else does our faith grow unless we stretch it?

Birthday Announcements

A typical morning for me involves waking up and asking myself, "Does one of my kids have a birthday today?" It's a good way for me to stretch my brain first thing in the day and try to remember 12 dates that occur throughout the year. Throw in my birthday, Julie's birthday, our anniversary, birthdays for my kin ... not to mention first names and middle names of all the kids, plus other essential facts such as pin numbers, the last time the Angels won the World Series (2002), how many times UCLA has won NCAA hoops championships (11, by far a record) and where in the Bible some young punks were eaten by a bear after they insulted the prophet Elisha by calling him "baldhead" (that would be II Kings 2:23-24; there's a lesson there!)...whew! You can see why I used to tell my fellow students in Cornerstone School of Ministry why it was so much more challenging for me to remember verses and other memorization tasks. I just have so much information in that computer between my ears that there's hardly any more memory space available. I'm going to have to clear some space out, probably by getting rid of some useless information. Julie says I can start by erasing sports-related information...she just doesn't understand.


We've had a run of birthdays this summer that have been neglected to be properly memorialized on the Team Sabo blog. MerriGrace turned 11, Eli turned 5 and Abram turned 10. Claire made and decorated the cakes for MerriGrace and Eli, which you can see turned out to be amazing and very edible creations. Thanks to grandmas and grandpas and Aunt Judy for sending along some dough for them to pick out presents. If I'm not mistaken, we have a break in birthday type events until December. I'd say December 27th to be exact, when Gabe turns 7. Yesterday he asked me how many days until his birthday. He's ready already.