The year that was: Baseball, needles, hearing aids, and an old red truck

My year began as it always does … with a helping of black-eyed peas. They are supposed to bring good luck on New Year’s Day, and there are no disclaimers on Southern menus.

But 2021 picked up where 2020 left off — at the short end of the supply chain. Luck must have been stuck on a cargo ship off the port of Savannah, like the rest of what we ordered.

The nightcap came 12 months later with a small invasion of ladybugs. Until the cold weather settled in, they seemed to be ubiquitous, like gnats and mosquitoes in the summertime.

Of course, we hope they were ladybugs and not the Asian Lady Beetle imposters. Ladybugs also are carriers of good luck. And we could use a surplus when we put the black-eyed peas back on the stove next week.

The year came and went with the usual arrivals and departures. It was a seesaw of highs and lows, happiness and grief, joy and frustration, serendipity and disappointment.

Does it balance out at the end of every 365-day cycle? Maybe. We figure if we keep swinging for the fences eventually we will knock one over the wall.

The 2021 Atlanta Braves sure did, and were rewarded with a ticker-tape parade. It may have been the single-most satisfying sports season I have followed as a fan. From April until July, the Braves could not hold their heads above water, then watched the pieces fall into place down the stretch. They became poster boys for patience, resilience and grit.

My travelogue took me to the beach, the mountains, backyard gardens, ballet recitals, Little League baseball games, church homecomings, landfills and antique stores. I also stopped by the new Buc-ees on I-75 to buy a bag of beaver nuggets and scratch the cleanest restrooms in America off my bucket list.

There were milestones — like the 20th remembrance of Sept. 11 and the 25th anniversary of the Summer Olympics in Atlanta, which I covered as a sports journalist. I attended a homecoming celebration in Sandy Springs at the church that built me. I was blessed to be around people I hadn’t seen since high school and thank them for being a part of my life.

The calendar was filled with the usual birthdays and, sadly, too many funerals. Friends left the world in the clutch of illness (including COVID), from accidents and the march of old age. At the school where I teach, two of the best and brightest young men in this year’s senior class are gone. We look around, expecting them, but their seats are empty. And those left behind are fragile.

In March, I was in line for the COVID vaccine on the second day it was made available to teachers. I cried, not because it hurt but because it gave me a measure of assurance — a thin coat of armor, so to speak — as I tiptoed through the minefield.

I bought a neighbor’s old red truck in the spring. In a few months, it will turn 30 years old. It shakes, rattles and rolls, and takes a while to get moving, like I do. When the odometer rolled over 226,000 miles a few weeks ago, I changed to a thicker oil. Being a vintage truck owner has elevated me to a new level of coolness. Have you noticed how red truck merchandise has become popular in gift shops? My wife even decorated a small Christmas tree with red truck ornaments.

I reintroduced myself to my youngest grandchild, Bennett, and he became my lap baby … at least until he started walking. He was born in July 2020, so I missed out on some of his early life because of COVID. But we bonded this past summer, and it was extra special. He is my little buddy.

A student wanted to know what I looked like when I was in college, so I found a black-and-white photograph of me and Uga III when I was a senior at the University of Georgia. Uga was the last to win a national championship. (Now, we are up to Uga X and wonder if we are running out of Roman numerals.)

It was the year I finally broke down and started wearing hearing aids. I now notice every creak, flush, giggle, wiggle, burp, buzz and beep. It made me realize there is an awful lot of noise in the world, and sometimes being hard of hearing can have its advantages. (I also discovered wearing masks are the Public Enemy No. 1 of hearing aids.)

I went out and wrote stories about school bus drivers, high school reunions, old soldiers, gourmet cooks, first-time authors, centenarians, ghostbusters, legendary coaches, medical miracles, lighthouse enthusiasts, food ministries and family adventures.

My year is wrapping up and winding down — auld lang syne — with the affirmation there are plenty of great stories out there but, alas, not enough storytellers.

My resolution for the new year is to do something about it.