On July 13th, the VFW golf tournament was held at Windber Country Club. If I signed up for every golf tournament flyer that landed in front of me, I would be driving a cart more than my car; thus, it is important for this working Dad to pick and choose wisely when it comes to golf sign-ups. Scramble formats will forever be the most alluring due to the team concept and not having to calculate my personal score. At this year's VFW scramble, my team was my family.
Golfing with the wife, brother-in-law, and father-in-law sounds like a sitcom episode. Our 18-holes together definitely could classify as comedy and our scorecard was tragic. There was a ceremonial raising of the American flag before we made our first bogey. In their 2nd annual scramble, the VFW did a commendable job and Mother Nature deserves some recognition as well. The forecast looked ugly, but only a few isolated rain drops fell to the earth. If only more of our putts fell into those ugly, round holes in the ground...
On Saturday, I prepared myself for a drastically different athletic endeavor. Since 1994, Barnball has combined barn, basketball, and blood. It is a 2 on 2 tournament that basically goes from sunrise to sunset and has been passed on from fathers to sons. When I made my debut, I was a giddy high schooler ill-prepared for the madness of the barn where grown men battle between hay bales. In this year's edition, I was more like the elder, and I was eventually eliminated by the much younger and much bigger.
The uncle of a high school friend is the reason why Barnball exists. He transforms his property into the showcase that is Barnball - the barn court, live bands all day long, tents, hula-hoops, hammocks, kids running through the grass, a Hall of Fame, a barn couch for past champions... I overheard a rookie standing at the foot of the barn state, "I've played basketball all over the world, but I have never seen anything like this". Welcome to Coon Ridge Road's summer classic.
Ultimately, this day is not about the basketball. It is about a family tradition that evolved into a community event. I've battled my younger brother and I've watched dozens of family members go sneaker-to-sneaker in the barn. In this year's version of the double elimination saga, my teammate and I had the strength to win our first 2 games. We did not have the same strength for Game 3 and Game 4. Satisfied and sore, we headed for the barn yard.
I couldn't stay for the championship because I had children to put to bed. I thanked Uncle Bill for another Barnball. He said he wished he could have those days back - putting the kids to bed. It all goes by too fast. A lot has changed since my first Barnball, but the tournament has endured because the same families get together. Some Dads retire and some sons step into the barn. It is something to look forward to each Johnstown July.
The Sunday after Barnball is not something I physically look forward to. Walking into church with battered bones and bruising is an expectation. This year, our family of four attended the Saint Clement Parish Festival and a polka mass served as physical therapy for my Barnball body. My 2-year-old responds well to the combination of polka and mass. She's sees how everyone in attendance seems a little more lively and loud. If she had the Pope in her clubhouse, there is no doubt in my mind she would ask for polka mass to be the one and only.
After the mass, this annual spectacular has food, games galore, and the family favorite - a bouncy house. The bouncy house can be delightful, it can be dangerous, and it sure is bouncy. It unifies brave children and scares the parents who created them. Being on holy ground, I felt better about my daughter's rampage to bouncing freedom.
The final installment in our week's event calendar was something new. Maybe, a tradition in the making. The Dillweed Bed and Breakfast and Trailside Shop sits on Route 403 and offers rest and refreshments for bikers on the Ghost Town Trail. The shop is an Americana escape with pizza by the slice downstairs and Christmas decorations on the second floor. But, the real reason we were in Dilltown was for the outdoor music in the garden behind the shop. And who better to play than a duo called The Evergreens.
Sitting on a blanket with my wife and daughters, we were flanked by family to the left and right. Our oldest daughter did not maintain a singular position while the girls played. She eventually made her way behind the drum set during an intermission. From the moment she met Animal, she has aspired to drum. In our numerous run-ins with The Evergreens, we have built a friendship. If ever the drummer goes down, our Animal is the drummer-in-waiting.
From course to barn to church to garden, Johnstown traditions are well-established or well on their way. August will be here before we know it. By then, the bruises should be gone and the memories will be a blessing.
The Sunday after Barnball is not something I physically look forward to. Walking into church with battered bones and bruising is an expectation. This year, our family of four attended the Saint Clement Parish Festival and a polka mass served as physical therapy for my Barnball body. My 2-year-old responds well to the combination of polka and mass. She's sees how everyone in attendance seems a little more lively and loud. If she had the Pope in her clubhouse, there is no doubt in my mind she would ask for polka mass to be the one and only.
After the mass, this annual spectacular has food, games galore, and the family favorite - a bouncy house. The bouncy house can be delightful, it can be dangerous, and it sure is bouncy. It unifies brave children and scares the parents who created them. Being on holy ground, I felt better about my daughter's rampage to bouncing freedom.
The final installment in our week's event calendar was something new. Maybe, a tradition in the making. The Dillweed Bed and Breakfast and Trailside Shop sits on Route 403 and offers rest and refreshments for bikers on the Ghost Town Trail. The shop is an Americana escape with pizza by the slice downstairs and Christmas decorations on the second floor. But, the real reason we were in Dilltown was for the outdoor music in the garden behind the shop. And who better to play than a duo called The Evergreens.
Sitting on a blanket with my wife and daughters, we were flanked by family to the left and right. Our oldest daughter did not maintain a singular position while the girls played. She eventually made her way behind the drum set during an intermission. From the moment she met Animal, she has aspired to drum. In our numerous run-ins with The Evergreens, we have built a friendship. If ever the drummer goes down, our Animal is the drummer-in-waiting.
From course to barn to church to garden, Johnstown traditions are well-established or well on their way. August will be here before we know it. By then, the bruises should be gone and the memories will be a blessing.
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