Dream a little dream

A slightly belated Merry Christmas, if that's your thing!

Maybe you remember a few days ago, I mentioned the vivid dreams I have sometimes. Well, last night/this morning, I think I had a first: I dreamed about blogging.

Well, actually, I dreamed about dreaming, then writing a blog about the dream.

Unfortunately for all of us, I suspect my dream-blog was much better and more interesting than this post. I'll try to re-create in shortened form, but in many ways, it was an experience not just surreal and bittersweet, but ideal in the sense of finding links and information, and so forth.

THE DREAM WITHIN THE DREAM

The dream itself was, as I said, bittersweet. It mostly took place during the pregame wait for some kind of youth soccer game, and involved two of my best friends and regular soccer teammates from childhood, Turbo and Chris. We were like the Three Musketeers (read the link, I don't mean the candy bar) in elementary school, but over the years, drifted apart in many ways.

One of the nice aspects of the dream was that some of it centered on the coaching of Chris' father, Craig, who was a perpetual assistant coach on teams we played for, and in many ways one of the finest and most honorable men I've known.

Aside, I know the dream was realistic because, as usual, even though Chris - who I think might have played in college - and Turbo were starters and stars, I was a backup. At least I was slated for my usual half-game of playing time. Maybe it was an AYSO game.

Anyway, we never actually played the game. The whole dream was just a bunch of kids pal-ing around and getting psyched up to play. It was a different time in my life (as anybody who's seen me play any sports lately can attest). And even though my life is certainly a good one now, I suppose in some ways, this dream made me miss the way it was. Innocent. No pressures, except to play my best, play the game the right way for Chris' dad. No remorse, no regrets and the whole future ahead of me.

THE BLOG WITHIN THE DREAM

My blog post in the second part of the dream was something like an extended version of the above, in more detail, with a nice little paean to Chris' dad, including his full name - which I wouldn't post here - a full transcript of his pregame speech and links to what Chris and Turbo and others are doing now.

Not to mention some small details, some stories from my soccer days, mostly involving us, that I am going to save, to paraphrase Capt. Miller in "Saving Pvt. Ryan", just for me.

You get none of that. Mostly because some of it doesn't exist or I can't find it, and partly because, well, as usual, in my dreams I'm far more eloquent... and I promptly forget all the words I used when I wake up.

AND BACK TO REALITY

In any event, it was an interesting, slightly strange experience. And like I said, bittersweet. I have a happy life now, and I had a good holiday with Marisa and my family and hers.

Yet there's something nostalgic about my youth, at least for me, and not in a mid-life crisis kind of way. Just something about innocence, a time before jobs and bills and worrying about money and the mortgage. A time when life was simple, and praise measured for how hard and well you played a game. No politics, no backstabbing at work, no ridiculous b.s. Just friends and the joy of a game, and the knowledge that you could measure yourself by time on the field and the final score.

And be comfortable in the knowledge that there are good men out there, like Chris' dad, looking out for you and looking out for their son. Teaching you the right way to play, the right way to live.

I guess maybe, as I approach my wedding and begin to think about a subsequent fatherhood, it's a reminder of certain things my subconscious doesn't want me to forget. Things to teach my kids, God willing, when they come.

Who's to say? It was a blog within a dream about a dream.