I've always been a very reflective person. Though I enjoy looking ahead, I admit I often spend just as much time looking back. I don't know if that's always the best way to be, but at 41, I don't think I'm about to change. And, when I really think about it, I know I've been this way most of my life. Even during the 10 years when I worked as a features writer for the Times Leader, some of my favorite stories involved covering local history and examining the past.

This past weekend, I was feeling particularly nostalgic, as my old grade school, St. Aloysius in Wilkes-Barre, prepared to close its doors for the last time. There was a celebratory Mass at the church on Sunday, which recognized the many years the school had been an important part of the community, and afterwards, alumni of the school were invited to stroll its hallways one last time.

I attended St. Al's from kindergarten through third grade, and though, until Sunday, I hadn't walked those hallways since 1976, I have extremely fond memories of the school. My grandparents lived on Division Street in Lee Park, only about two blocks away, and it seemed that little neighborhood was the center of my young universe. Many of my favorite childhood memories are from St. Aloysius, and I can still remember the names and faces of so many of my teachers and classmates. ...

Ms. Martin in kindergarten. Sister Rene in first grade. Sister Shaun in second grade. Sister Eustace and Sister Carmina in third grade. Our principal, Sister Magdalena. I remember them all, and how we prepared and practiced for our sacraments, and how we sang in the schoolyard for what seemed like weeks, preparing for our annual "May Crowning." I remember watching in wonder as the eighth grade students performed the annual "Living Stations" during Lent, and I recall with humor how an old friend and classmate of mine, who was standing right next to me, fell off the podium as we were singing Christmas carols during the annual holiday play. He was unhurt, of course, or it wouldn't have been funny. But, man ... that was funny.

I have lots of fun memories of St. Al's. I remember, as we rehearsed for our First Holy Communion, we did a walk-through in the church a day or two before the ceremony. Our instructors gave us a wafer, just like Communion, though not yet blessed by the priest, so that we'd get a sense of what it was like before the actual ceremony. Later, while still seated in the church pew, my teacher noticed that I wasn't talking, singing, or moving my mouth at all, and that the wafer was still in my mouth. "It's OK," she said. "You're supposed to swallow it." But I was afraid to bite it, or swallow it.

"Sister," I said. "I don't want to hurt God."

In 1976, we presented a big play to celebrate the country's bicentennial. My role was to represent a Northern soldier in a segment on the Civil War. The scene simply called for me to shake hands with a fellow student representing the South, which would signify the end of the war and the preservation of the Union. I recall dressing the part just fine, but when the teachers told us it was OK to carry a toy gun to better look the part, I brought my toy M-16. Now ... if the North actually had those type of machine guns back in the 1860s, that war might not have lasted nearly as long. Surprisingly, they let me keep the historically inappropriate prop.

Lots of nice memories. I recall how Mr. McDermott, a teacher at the school, had a wonderful singing voice and would often lead the school in song during the Mass. I recall how we all looked up to Monsignor Padden, the pastor of the church, who seemed so larger-than-life yet also kind and caring. I recall how we younger students really looked up to the older kids who played on the school basketball team, and how my Mom would always take me to all of the Royals games. And I recall simple little things that mark a childhood, such as how, around 1975, it seemed we all became obsessed with a show called "Happy Days" and a character named "The Fonz," and how one classmate would playfully entertain us with his rendition of "Put One Foot In Front of The Other," from the "Santa Claus is Coming To Town" TV special, whenever he'd get a chance. We all loved watching him sing as he marched across the classroom.

Perhaps most of all, I recall how my grandfather would come to the schoolyard during recess and stand outside the fence to watch me play, and how whenever I'd see him, I'd excuse myself from my friends to run over and say hello. I loved the playground swing set, which went high into the air and had swings shaped like horses, but I guess I loved grandpa even more.

My mother, also an alumni of St. Aloysius, attended the special Mass with me this past Sunday, as did my wife. We walked the hallways of the school, took a few photographs, and shared some stories together. And I must say, the place still looks fabulous and the hallways felt just as warm and welcoming as they did for my Mom in the '50s and myself in the '70s.

Though I now live on the West Side,  I recently rejoined St. Aloysius Church. And on Sunday, my newborn son, Alan Joseph, will be baptized there. And though he and my two-year-old daughter, Mary Ann, will never have the chance to attend St. Aloysius School, I hope that, should the church remain open, they both somehow feel a connection to it that goes back in my family for five generations. But if the church should close, which it may, I know I can simply move on to nearby St. Casimir. Father J. Duane Gavitt, who oversees both parishes, has made us feel welcome, and that's what matters most. As he likes to say, walls and buildings do not define your faith. Hopefully, it goes a bit deeper. And of course, he is right.

For now, however, I'm happy to be back at St. Aloysius, where I first learned that very lesson. I'm grateful to have so many fond memories there, and, rather than a family funeral, I'm happy about celebrating something happy and special there this Sunday.

When my wife and I recently met with Father Gavitt to discuss our son's baptism, we ended our meeting with a hug, and he said something that reminded me a bit of the Prodigal Son, and also exemplified exactly how I'm feeling these days.
 
"Welcome home."
 

The new Yankee Stadium officially opens tomorrow, and I can't wait. Though I won't see it in person until May, I'm treating just watching Thursday's game on TV as a major event. Sure, I loved the old Yankee Stadium. Every Yankee fan did. My first trip there was in 1976, the year it reopened after an extensive remodeling, and I don't even know how many times I've been there since. I'd say about 100. Opening Day, Old Timers' Day, double-headers, playoff games, World Series games ... I've been to them all, and I loved them all.

(Funny, but the guy I seemed to bump into whenever I was at The Stadium was Weekender editor Mike Lello. He obviously loved the place, too.)

Tomorrow, the Yanks open up the new joint, and despite plenty of affection and nostalgia and lots of memories at the old place, I am totally embracing the new one. I've already read very article I've seen on it, I've looked at dozens of photos in the New York newspapers, and I've watched a TV special on it. And it looks fabulous. And -- most important -- it's my team's new house. And the first time the Yanks tango with the Red Sox next month, and the place is filled with energy and venom, it will really officially be ours.

Some naysayers have poo-poohed the new stadium, saying it's too big and grandiose, and that it cost too much, and that it's over-the-top in its decadence. Blah-blah-blah. Are you kidding me? It's the Yankees. It's supposed to be big and grandiose. It's supposed to be the best. Personally, I always feel bigger is better. I'm a guy that roots for the New York Yankees and the Dallas Cowboys and loves bands like KISS, Springsteen and U2. My favorite city is NYC, and even in my own life, people that know me know that I don't do too many things in a low-key way. If I'm going to do something, I'm going to try and do it big, and I tend to like people and things that do the same.

The new house of the Yankees opens tomorrow.

It's big, loud and proud.

Haven't even been there yet, but I already feel right at home.

Play ball.

I was recently reminded of one of my biggest peeves in life. It's a wisecrack that people make sometimes. I'm sure you've heard it. And it reeks of snobbery, smugness and just about every quality I dislike in people. You know, the old ... "If you don't wise up, you'll be stuck asking people 'Do you want fries with that?' for the rest of your life."

I really hate that expression. I've even seen one of my favorite musicians use it on a few occasions. He's a big, rich, long-time rock star, and I like his music, but sometimes when talking about the critics that dismissed his band in its early days, he likes to say, "We're still playing arenas. They're now asking people if they want fries with that. "

The first time I heard him say it, all I could think about was how some of his own fans might feel, should they work in such a job. You know, those hard-working people, who also like his music, and probably spend half a week's pay just to buy a ticket to one of his concerts. I think such a comment might hurt their feelings, and I can't believe he doesn't realize that as well.

Anytime anybody makes such a comment, it bothers me. And yes, I know that writers and actors and comedians are simply out to entertain people, but there are plenty of things to laugh about in the world, and I just don't think someone's employment or economic status should be among them. Hell, I find humor in life all the time. I find it particularly funny -- as long as they're not hurt -- when people slip and fall. In fact, whenever both my wife and I see someone go down in a restaurant, or on the ice, we have to cover our mouths to conceal the laughter. But hey, that's fair game to everybody. We don't single people out. I myself took a flip on the ice about a month ago, and I thought it was pretty funny.

Not so when elitist people make fun of other people's jobs, or the cars they drive, or what they think might be their salary. It's odd that these morons that do this are usually the same ones that have been given the most opportunity. Maybe they had parents that steered them towards college and are too dumb to realize that not everybody is so fortunate. Maybe that man or woman asking "Do you want fries with that?" is a single parent, working two jobs, doing their best to support their children. Or maybe it's some high school kid whose parents don't have the money for a $100-a-week allowance, so they work after school and on the weekends to make a few extra dollars to try and have some fun in their life. Or maybe it's just somebody working there full-time, simply because it's the best they can do.

There's nothing worthy of insult in any of those scenarios. And if you think there is, well ... I guess maybe you've lived a charmed life, or you simply lack any human empathy or sensitivity. Whatever your deal is, I don't want to hear your smug nonsense.  If someone asks me if I want fries with that, I usually just say, "Yes, thank you," and never feel the need to try and elevate myself at their expense.

I wish everyone would do the same.
 

Thankfully, the college football season is finally over. Now, when I open the sports page, or I put on a sports-talk radio station, and they're talking about football, they'll only be talking about the NFL.

I don't like college football. Well, let me rephrase that: I don't like the way college football chooses a "champion." In fact, many might say that it doesn't really have a champion at all. Last week, after the so-called "National Championship Game," people everywhere were still arguing over who was the best college football team. It's ridiculous. And it happens almost every year. A couple of teams go undefeated, or maybe lose one tough game, and at the end of the season, three or four teams are all claiming to be No. 1. And frankly, I don't blame them. If you win all of your games, why shouldn't you feel that way? It's not the fault of the colleges, or the players, or the coaches that the season is a joke. It's the system's fault. And that's why I can't invest any time or interest in it. I don't watch sports for the joy of the game. I watch sports to see somebody win, and at the end of the season, to see somebody to be crowned the champion. And whoever that is should be determined on the field, or the ice, or the court. That's how it is in every sport.

Except college football.

At the end of the 1994-95 season, I went to State College to see the Nittany Lions play the last game of the regular season. Though I didn't go to PSU and could never understand how people could get so revved up rooting for a school they didn't actually attend, I'm a big admirer of Joe Paterno, and being born and raised in Pennsylvania, I was, of course, rooting for Penn State. It was a great day, as the team won the game and finished the season undefeated. But walking out the Beaver Stadium, there was an almost empty feeling. It was as if everybody knew the Lions would likely go on to win the Rose Bowl -- which they did -- but that it wouldn't really matter -- which it didn't. I don't even remember who it was -- maybe Nebraska or Miami -- but some other team won the Orange Bowl and were named "National Champions." Penn State's marvelous undefeated season meant zilch.

Why not just play a game and see who's better? That was it for me. Now, I don't even watch college football.

Frankly, I couldn't even imagine playing a sport that didn't have a true champion at the end of the season. I couldn't imagine going to all of those double-session practices, lifting all of those weights and putting in that type of commitment to something, and then go undefeated, and then have some "poll" tell me that my team was not the best. I couldn't imagine wasting my time playing a sport where the champion wasn't crowned on the field.

Perhaps no sport does this better than the NFL. The playoffs are a tournament. The quality of your season is rewarded by things such as a first-round bye and home field advantage. Yet at the same time, if you hit a bump in the road during the season, you can still make the playoffs, and if you raise your game, you can still advance. And the real beauty of it all is that it all ends with the Super Bowl. The two survivors of the long and hard season and the brutal playoff rounds meet on the field. The winner is the World Champion. Period. No discussion or debate afterward. No "poll." It's over. Fair and square. Baseball is pretty much the same. Long, hard season. Intense playoff tournament. World Series. Champion crowned. You say it wouldn't work at the college level? What would you call the College World Series? What would you call  March Madness and the Final Four?

Only college football can't seem to get it right.

I love sports. I've seen my favorite teams win the World Series and Super Bowl in exhilarating fashion, and  I've seen them lose the World Series and Super Bowl in heartbreaking fashion. It's what keeps me coming back as a fan. That's the thrill. And even if my team isn't in the playoffs, I can still watch and enjoy the NFL and MLB and know that I'm on my way to finding out which team is really the best.

Utah? USC? Florida? Texas? You college football fans can still dicker over who's the real champ. I didn't watch any of it. I will, however, be in front of my TV on Sunday watching the NFL. And on Feb. 1, I'll know which team is the best. There will be a Super Bowl Champion. Fair and square.

Decided on the field.

About two weeks ago, there was some talk in our office about having our annual "Secret Santa." I'm sure you're familiar with these workplace traditions. Everybody agrees on a price  -- usually somewhere between $10 and $25 -- and you then draw names out of a hat to learn who in the office you'll be buying for. Then, sometime during Christmas week, usually during lunchtime, people bring in some goodies and you exchange gifts. It's a nice American holiday tradition, and I've been a part of many of them over the years, just as I'm sure many of you have been.

This year, however, the folks in The Times Leader's circulation department, where my office is located and where I also serve as the paper's Newspapers In Education Manager, won't be holding a "Secret Santa." And it's not because we don't like each other. We do. It's a great group of people. And it's not because we're not all doing a little penny-pinching during these tough economic times. We are. We're not holding a "Secret Santa" in our office simply because we've decided to not to exchange gifts among ourselves but rather take the same money we would have spent on office gifts and give them to someone that is more in need.

This idea came from Joe Farrell, a 24-year old member of our customer service team. It was Joe, when we first started talking about our "Secret Santa" a few weeks ago, who suggested that we take the money we all would have spent on gifts for one another, chip it into one fund, and help out a local family that is having a hard time during this holiday season.

"Really," Joe said, "what are we all going to do with a $10 gift that we get from somebody? We can take that same money, put it all together from everybody in the office, and help somebody else. We're all very fortunate. We all have jobs, and we're all going to have a nice Christmas. Not everybody will."

We all quickly agreed that this was a wonderful idea. We also learned, quite by coincidence, of a local single mother who was working hard at a new job, had two young children, and wasn't going to be able to provide them with gifts this year. Her words were selfless and heartfelt, and they touched us. Soon, Joe and another coworker, Valerie Andres, were out shopping with our collected  money, which totaled more than $150, and they were able to buy a very nice selection of toys for the kids.

I'm not telling you this story to toot our own horn, though I will toot Joe's, since it was all his idea, and I was quite impressed that such a kind gesture would come from such a young man. Young people, in every generation, sometimes get a bad rap as being self-centered or egocentric, but more often than not, it's proved to be untrue. Joe is the youngest member of our office team, and in a simple way he reminded us all of the reason for the season. And that's why I've decided to share this story with you -- to do for you what Joe did for us. And, by sharing our story, maybe your office will decide to do the same. Maybe you, too, by simply passing on the little office gift for yourself, can bring some Christmas magic to a child in need. I know that come Christmas morning, we'll all be thinking about those two kids and that big bunch of toys waiting for them.

"Secret Santa," for our office, is truly "Santa" this year. And we're all very happy about that.

Merry Christmas!

About the Author

Alan K. Stout is the music columnist at The Weekender and has been covering rock and pop music in NEPA for more than 15 years. His column, "Music on The Menu" appears every week in The Weekender.

Alan has won a Keystone Press Award for Excellence in Journalism for his music coverage and has been voted Northeast Pennsylvania's "Favorite Newspaper Columnist" seven times.

Alan's interviews include conversations with Billy Joel, Steven Tyler, Eddie Van Halen, David Bowie and Ray Charles. He also wrote the liner-notes to the entire Motley Crue catalog, he is the host of the monthly "Weekender/Mountaingrown Original Music Series" and is the founder of NEPA's annual "Concert For A Cause." He also hosts a weekly radio show, "Music On The Menu Live," which can be heard every Sunday night at 8 p.m. on 102.3-FM, The Mountain.

In addition to his work with The Weekender, Alan also serves as the Newspapers In Education Manager at The Times Leader.

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