WHEN I WAS A KID... we lived in Arlington, Va., a few miles outside of D.C. My grandfather was a coal miner and my dad escaped the hills for life in the city. My dad met my mom [a knockout] the summer before her freshman year of college. They got married and bolted for the nation's capital. My dad ran with a pack. He played whatever sport was in season and half the team was typically at our house. He was the life of the party and everybody loved him, which kept life interesting for me, but was probably hard on my mom. They seemed to get along great, though, a young family living next door to a bowling alley, sharing a blue VW Beetle with a rollback sunroof [AC was not an option].

WHEN I WAS A KID... my older brother Mark was great ...at everything. He was the coolest. Period. When it came to basketball, he was the best, with a jump shot and ball handling that rivaled Clyde "The Glide" Frazier's. On a skateboard, Mark was world-class, easily the first kid in town to "ollie" onto a picnic table and pull off. In baseball he was shortstop; in football he was quarterback. He could even spin his serve in tennis. He had the skills to pay the bills. Every kid on the block acknowledged the fact that Mark McKeehan set the standard. I remember the day Mark got a pair of green suede Puma Clydes. I wanted a pair so badly, but they only made them in adult size 1 and up [I was still in a boy's size 10). I had to settle for canvas Converse All Stars. That hurt.

WHEN I WAS A KID... one of my best friends in elementary school was Snookie. Snookie had a straight-up afro, so he was cool. We were the only two kids at Pine Ridge Elementary with yellow Levi cords. They called us Lemon Legs-a tall African American and a short tow-headed Caucasian. We had a field day once a year at school where the grades competed against each other in athletics. It was on this day in fifth grade that Snookie pulled out a red and black pipe and smoked pot. I remember thinking about the pipe being "Atlanta Falcons' colors." The whole scene was intriguing but unattractive because my grandfather used to smoke a pipe filled with a different leaf. Granddaddy had a tall, scary oxygen tank next to his bed that he had to use every night. I attributed his breathing problem to this pipe, though I later learned he had black lung-a miner's disease that took him to his grave. Needless to say, I chose not to partake in Snookie's weed. I don't think he knew to inhale anyway

WHEN I WAS A KID... I had a friend named Joey [and still do]. Joey Elwood and I were about the same age, so we looked forward to family functions for serious "hang time." My friendship with Joey taught me the invaluable art of compromise. While playing Batman and Robin, we'd argue about who would be Batman. In all his machoism, Batman was the obvious attraction, while his frailer sidekick's position was simply settled for. Negotiations ended at trading positions each time we played. The same debate often took place when it came to Joey's plastic Civil War characters. Oddly enough, the trophy position was that of the Confederacy. Since we now make up two thirds of ERACE, I'm not sure at the time he and I were privy to the intricate details of what the Confederacy stood for. At the age of 6, we just dug General Lee's white horse and the word, "rebel." I'm convinced Joey and I were beyond our years when it came to diplomacy. In a very competitive family we chose to be more diplomatic.

WHEN I WAS A KID... my dad let me play every sport, until I turned 12. At the age of 12 my dad sat me down and told me I needed to focus on one sport if I wanted to be a professional. I chose basketball and he informed me that according to the doctor, I would probably be a little too short to compete at that level. My second choice was football and I was given the same advice. Finally, he said, "I think you'd be better off choosing golf or tennis." I perceived these as wimpy, "country club" sports, but this was my dad, so I went with the less wimpy of the two and reluctantly chose tennis. Dad looked away for a second, exhaled and said, "I think it better be golf." So, I took up the game of golf and, with my dad's help on the links, I earned a four-year golf scholarship by age 18 and had fallen in love with the game for life.

WHEN I WAS A KID... Kenny Crovo asked me if I knew how to chew tobacco like the "big leaguers." I said, "Of course I do." Little did I know he had a pouch right there in his back pocket. With Yvette Parsons and Angela Buschanii present, my manhood was on the line. So right there on Red Top Hill I took in a wad. For the first 10 minutes it was "all good," as I intently focused on one thought, Do not swallow. Twelve minutes in, I found some lame, yet see-through excuse to go home. I ran down Red Top and hopped the fence into our backyard as I spit out the chew. When I got to my room, I was feeling rather queasy. I lay down, opened my eyes and the football posters on my ceiling were spinning in circles. A few moments later, I lost it! Chunks everywhere. While cleaning up, Mom asked if I'd chewed tobacco. I told her no, but I think she knew anyway. I guess she figured the price had already been paid.

WHEN I WAS A KID... my dad used to throw huge parties. I had to be in bed, of course. He always protected me in front of his friends. Whether at one of his softball games or just hanging out, when his buddies would begin to talk dirty or curse he would always ask them to stop. I remember lying in bed during these parties with music pounding down the walls. I was very young so I didn't even know what band was playing until a few years ago when I picked up a CCR (Credence Clearwater Revival) CD and realized I knew every word to every song based on those long nights trying to fall asleep over Doo ... doo ... doo ... Looking out my back door. The next morning we [the kids] had to clean up. Memories of bodies asleep on the sofa and floor and cigarette butts floating in funky-smelling drinks probably kept me from a few nasty habits in life.

WHEN I WAS A KID... my sister Kristen, who's three or four years younger than me, was a cutie. Guys chased Kris throughout her teenage years and she knew it. With management skills that Lee Iaccoca would appreciate, she typically held down two to three boyfriends at a time. She was the consummate perfectionist and even as a child she had maternal insincts. Kris used to play "house" constantly and I was the guinea pig who had to eat the Betty Crocker Easy-Bake Oven cookies. (How baked could they actually be with a 30-watt household bulb as the heat source?) After years on the "easy-bake" tour, she turned her efforts to the real McCoy. She seemed to make cookies and brownies daily, with which I could indulge at will if I would adhere to her single rule: The cookies could not be touched until the entire bunch was neatly stacked on a plate. This meant waiting through the minimal 25 minutes of tempting cookie fragrance and then through the completion of the second batch. We couldn't understand why we couldn't enjoy the first batch right out of the oven. "Patience is a virtue," she would say (as Mark and I devised plans to steal a hot, fresh cookie).

WHEN I WAS A KID... my youngest sister Kerri was a cheerleader throughout my pee-wee football career of seven years. Teammates would often ask me who the cute blonde was; I would shrug my shoulders and say, "Come on man, that's my little sister." As the years progressed and golf replaced football I began spending two weeks a summer at a camp called "Pine Needles Youth Golfari" in North Carolma. My second year attendmg I won the prizecd "Camper of the Year Award," which was basically a congeniality award given to the best politicians uh ... I mean camper. The award had nothing to do with golf, but the following year I won the camp championship, firing 75 to 76 on two consecutive days at the ripe age of 15, The next year my dad suggested Kerri come to camp with me and I thought it would be cool since we got along pretty well and it was sorta ... "my domain." Needless to say, on the second day of my fourth year at camp, the defending camp champion was quickly reduced to "Kerri's brother." Her cute little smile and perfectly compact golf swing took the entire camp by storm. In 1989, I moved to Nashville, Tenn. and invited Kerri to come live with Amanda (my wife) and me a few years later. She married a friend of mine (Mark Stuart) in 1995 and they now happily reside in Nashville. It took a little longer this time, but in most places around the city, I'm simply ... "Kerri's older brother." Oh, well ...humbled again.

WHEN I WAS A KID... I remember eating breakfast on Sunday mornings, typically waffles or pancakes (prepared by Kristen, of course). Mom used to drag us to church every Sunday. But Dad never went. Conscience has always been the rudder in my life-like it or not-so when presented with the "right thing to do," it was basically a no-choice situation. Mom always chose me to go wake my father and ask if he would like to go to church with us. The long walk down the short hallway to their bedroom was gut-wrenching. I remember turning the door knob, scared to death and whispering, "Dad. Dad, do you want to come to church with us? Typically, he said, "No honey, that's alright. Maybe next week." A few years later while we were all still kids, my dad went to a revival at our church and became a Christian. He has been a dedicated believer since that time, almost immediately giving up all the things that were questionable in his life.

WHEN I WAS A KID... I got invited to a so-called "basketball camp." A guy from our church, Harold Woodard, invited me and told me I could bring some friends. "Sports everyday," he claimed, which was true. Eight hours of preaching and two hours of sports. I had a healthy head of hair at the time and I remember during an alter call this guy walked up to me and asked me if I wanted to go to up and pray ... about my hair! Each night after the "preachfest," Harold Woodard, my friends and I would sit on the floor of the cabin and talk. On Thursday night of that week, during one of these talks, I remember feeling something inside I'd never experienced. The desire to talk to God was overwhealming, but I decided to push it off and we all hit the sleepmg bags. I lay there until I thought everyone was asleep. Then I slipped out of the bag and tiptoed into the small room next door where Harold was sleeping. I asked him to pray with me, so he went first. I remember the bedspread I sat on, the creaknig floors, the dust on the bottom of my feet, and the lump in the back of my throat. I prayed and asked God to forgive me. My whole body was shaking. I confessed that I was born a sinner and needed Christ to save me. I wanted to run into the other room and tell all the guys, but instead, I smiled as I sneaked back into my bag and rested in the comforting arms of sweet forgiveness. Amazingly enough, as I rested, three of my friends--one at a time--also sneaked into Harold's room. That night when we were kids, we chose to put our trust in God and our future in His hands.

By: Toby McKeehan