Dreams, career hopes. The topic here is dear to anyone who became embedded, loyal to a craft and career in anything. Certainly anyone determined and faithful to the pursuit for many years, instead of a fleeting span of time. As a kid I was a very good baseball player. Diminutive in size, I rose to be a perennial all-star in my leagues from age 10 through 15. At 16, my body was growing and getting stronger, developing toward a real baseball-sized body. The high school team I played on was grades 10-12. As a sophomore (10th grader) I began the season on the bench, with all playing ahead of me being 11 and 12 graders. However, the third baseman had a season-ending injury in an early game and the coach placed me at the position. I had never played third base, mostly being a shortstop. It was my chance to start and I would be the only sophomore to start for the varsity team that year. I led the team in hitting, logging a .481 average. This is all to show that I was good at the sport and, possibly, had a future in it past high school. My parents would have delighted in my getting a scholarship to play college ball, allowing them to not have to fund the education. However, I had been playing in my father’s bar band every weekend and music was rapidly surpassing my love for baseball. My music “career” had begun at the dawn of turning age 15, some 15 months earlier. There was a struggle, as the high school coach was unbending toward allowing me to miss games due to a professional music engagement. This had been a problem during the season a few times. So, during the early stage of my 11th grade season, age 17, I made the decision to walk away from the game I had loved to dash toward the music field In which I was in love. The coach was indifferent to his best hitter leaving the team, something that always stayed with me. I never looked back, never playing in a formal baseball game again. Years later, at age 37, my brother-in-law took some family members to an early showing of a movie , “The Rookie “. He had written a song that was used in the movie and was given a unique opportunity to see the film before it was in the theaters for general public. As I sat down with a small group of viewers, an acquaintance from the music industry sat next to us. The musician was Duane Jarvis, a fantastic guitarist and artist. He, too, had a song in the film. He and my brother-in-law, Steve Earle, chatted about the honor of having songs they wrote being included. The film was loosely based on Jim Morris, a man who had given up on the dream of making it to the top level of baseball, the Major Leagues. At 35, due to certain circumstances, he was pulled away from his new career as a school teacher and thrust back into a lower tier of pro baseball. It was unthinkable for him to make his first emergence into the big leagues at age 35,but he did. The zenith of the film was Morris (played by Dennis Quaid) calling his wife and kids to inform them of being “called up” to pitch for the major league parent team. Instead of riding around on a bus, playing at minor league venues with limited attendance, and making not-so-great money, he would “climb Everest” and be on a major league field with the best of everything. His uniform and glove, all his tools of the trade, would be provided by professional handlers. His name would not be mis-spelled on a uniform or the scoreboard. Upon Jim being called to pitch in his first game, an aged 35 year old rookie, I felt tremendous emotion from my theater seat. I felt my eyes tear up and trickle down my face. No one in the family gathering around me knew I had cried. I mentioned it to Steve later, as we walked to the car, and he asked me how I liked the movie. See, I was 37 and touring all over the world, driving a vehicle to most of the shows. I changed my own strings, loaded the gear in and out of the venues. I played for small attendance and got “minor league” treatment night after night. I knew, at that time of my life, I was not going to get a major record deal, to play in the major leagues. I would not get to be Jim Morris, even for a fleeting moment. The Grammies? Mainstream radio airplay? Having a full band and tour bus on my concert schedule, all backed by a major label? None of those things were going to happen. And, that is from where the cry came. I had a moment in the theater seat where I could feel Morris’ joy, all felt for him, but knowing how it WOULD FEEL FOR ME. I would not even get to feel the joy of TAKING MY FAMILY TO A MOVIE because my song was in a film. Duane and Steve got to do that and I am happy for them. But, today I am 57. I am probably going to drive into a town near you and perform at a small venue, with small attendance. I will play and sing my heart out for whoever does attend. The love for baseball is still in there somewhere, though I will not swing a bat again. The love for music performing is still in there, and I do it every year of my life. I do not cry over what I missed, but the passion for doing it is the same now as it was at 15 and 16 and 37.