the roar--an element

My comments at the recent CHHS Football Banquet.....

Once upon a time, Coach Gay mentioned a program that he called Reading with the LIONS. The aim of the program, in which Junior and Senior players give up their lunches or study halls to read to elementary students on game day, was intended to help demonstrate to the players that they are role models to their young fans, even when they are not on the field. Additionally, in introducing themselves, posing and answering questions, and generally being the center of attention in the classroom, they would hone their public speaking skills.

I volunteered to organize this program for Coach Gay mostly because I knew teachers in the District, and he did not. What I saw and heard amazed and impressed me more than I expected.

The teachers were so accommodating and grateful for the player visits, and for seeing their former students so grown up. The elementary students were thrilled to have a change of pace. This much I expected. What blew me away were the football players…

They transformed from a nervous gang of semi-coerced kids, asking for books with “lots of pictures” or “only 3 words,” to an eager team who also played in 5^th grade gym class and sounded out words like “philanthropic”—cold.

As if that wasn’t enough, I received emails from teachers and parents who were impressed at the transformation in their kids: reluctant readers were now asking for books; math-shy kids were looking for LION stats in Saturday’s paper; even kids who were planning their weekly wardrobe so they could wear blue and white or a football jersey on Friday. The nurse said a student told her the worst thing about going home sick was missing the LION Reader. A high school teacher observed a delighted elementary student pointing out that week’s reader, and the huge smiles on all three faces: Player, Mom and Child.

Making an impact is something that more often happens on a smaller scale than we realize. I read in a picture book once that meteorites that make big craters are sometimes just tiny rocks, no bigger than a fist. The LION Readers have been a meteorite. Their impact truly did go beyond any classroom. When I met our Superintendant, Dr. Reeder, he said two things to me that I’ll never forget. He said, “Oh! You’re the LION Reader Lady!” And then he said, more seriously, “Their visits to Eisenhower and Hoover have been key in how well the team is playing. It gets their minds off the game a little so they can focus when they get to the field.”

Parents, thank you for raising boys willing to give of themselves, even when it seems to be a small thing: those small things are the BIG things. And thank you for your willingness to pitch in when I needed drivers and chaperones. Juniors and Seniors, thank you for opening up to your fans, and answering questions ranging from “What’s your favorite dinner?” to “What’s your favorite play?” And for being such good company in our travels. Freshmen and Sophomores, your day will come—I hope you’re looking forward to it.

Coach Gay, thank you for setting Reading with the LIONS in motion. The initiative, in every way, was a success. You said to me once that it is exciting to catch glimpses of the men these players will become. Through Reading with the LIONS, the classroom teachers and I were blessed with a preview of the teachers, uncles, fathers, coaches, these Camp Hill LIONS will one day become.

coach kim jones

Dear Kim,
When I began running, I hated it. Somehow it had occurred to me and a friend that we were not getting as much aerobic benefit from our dance classes as we would like, and around the same time, I started racing Jonathan to the car, to a tree, across that field. I decided that it might be a good idea to try running. It would give me something to do while the boys were at swim practice, and, clearly, would benefit me. Still, I hated it.

But I tried to be determined about mastering it, and forced myself to get on the treadmill for 30 minutes those three days a week. At least half the time I walked--I walked fast, but it still really wasn't running. It was boring, and I found excuses for slowing down. But, I was exercising, I was sweating.

Then came your diagnosis. For a relatively long time, I was terrified to talk to you--afraid I would cry, or say the wrong thing, or that you would cry. I was scared of your breast cancer, your treatment, and yet I was so very pleased to see you walk into the Y every day. If you could do that, I could run. If you could continue to go out on that pool deck, and guide those kids with all the gusto you could muster, I could run. If you could keep smiling, laughing, hugging, high-fiving, I could run.

I bought a Swim for Kim shirt, and wore it on the treadmill. At first I got funny looks, because all the other Swim for Kim shirts went into the pool area, not the exercise rooms. I didn't care--I knew that you were getting sidelong glances because you lost your hair. If you could handle that, I could handle this. Every single time I started that treadmill, I told myself I was doing it for you. And I did.

There were oh, so many times when I wanted to quit running; to walk or stop completely. I chastised myself--"Kim can't quit." Or, "Kim had chemo today. Is this really so rough?" And sometimes, "What would Kim think if she knew you'd stopped?" For every mile I ran, I put a dollar in a box at home. I didn't know what I would do with it, but I knew that something would present itself. At Christmas, I bought three more Swim for Kim shirts, and gave them as gifts to my sister, my brother, and my sister-in-love. I kept running for you, through chemo, radiation, the swim season. Just as you were telling the kids in the pool, with practice and perseverance, I got more efficient, faster, more comfortable.

It took time for me to work up the nerve to talk to you as we had before. To feel that if you laughed--no, when you laughed, for you always seemed to have one ready--I could, too. I was so fortunate that you never questioned my distance. It would have hurt us both if you'd noticed. You helped me with my HR class; we talked and laughed over hiring practices and promotion standards. When I finished my paper, I sent it to you for editing before submitting it.

And when the doctor told you that the cancer was gone, but would lurk around, and eventually return, we hugged, and cried together in the chapel at the Y. You showed me the radiation burns, and told me how they hurt, but you were so tired of always trying to hide them. I told you how beautiful you always were, always would be; that your presence is what mattered most.

Kim, you never knew what a coach you were to me, too. Your support of my sons, and my husband, in and around the pool was a gift I never was able to--could never--thank you for enough. If all of us are here for a reason, to learn something and to teach something, you were an extra special blessing. You taught me how to encourage my son without going overboard. You taught me to face life with joy, no matter the difficulties. You taught me to love what I'm doing with my whole heart, even if it's not what I wanted to be doing. You encouraged me to see through to the end, no matter what. I remember your frustration with yourself at not making my graduation party, and Henry's confirmation party, because you were too tired from a breast cancer event. Did you know that I was so proud of you? Did you know I wished I was more like you? I am so very grateful to you--for being you, for all to see.

And for coaching me to run.

I love you, Kim, and I always will. I know that you must be on that great pool deck in heaven, calling out encouragement to all those who love the water; cheering and smiling that amazing smile that lit up every bit of your being. I know that your light will continue to shine on us all, because our love for you was always rivaled only by your love for us.

Take your mark.....

Love,
Stephanie

silver and gold

"Twelve months ago, I was told I was no good...."

So began the words spoken to the parents gathered after early morning practice on Thanksgiving morning. I don't think Coach intended to get emotional saying his words of thanks to us. From what I have seen of him in front of us, he tends more towards matter-of-fact when talking to parents. With the team, I hear he is pretty controlled, but does, on occasion, show some strong emotions.

Either which way, the words gave me chills when I heard them, and have been echoing through my mind ever since...

After all, a year ago, that's pretty much what the former coach had said about this very team of boys.

Last year, the team record was 1 and 9. The year before, 2 and 8. That coach's 'intensity' was something I personally found to be painful to watch. I expect coaches to be, shall we say, "excited," on the sideline, but he always seemed angry, irritable and frustrated. By the end of last season, I was keeping my own stats: counting how many times he had thrown something, screamed or waved his clipboard in someone's face, and judging what my son's mood would be on Saturday morning by how red the coach's face was. Around mid-season every year, there would be a rumor that it would be his last; he would retire at the end of the season. Among my friends in the stands, there was a certain hopefulness that went along with the rumor, but also a general, "I'll believe it when I see it" attitude.

The season ended last year with his retirement--and him saying that he had no desire to attend a football banquet. He went on to say that he wasn't even sure the boys deserved a banquet, after the season they had. He implied that we would be lucky to get a second-rate coach; that no one would want to work with these kids.

We pushed on. We had the banquet, and he did attend. None of us who knew what he'd said were happy about it, and would have loved to 'forget' his invitation, but we wanted--needed--to do the right thing for the players. As parents and fans, we had to stand behind our boys, no matter what. And we hoped for the future....

Our prayers were answered with a match made in heaven, it seems. A Coach who wasn't wanted and a team that was thrown away managed to finish the season with a more than respectable 7 and 5 record. More than that, they learned more from their new Coach than they had ever learned from the previous one. They learned that what they need is inside them. They learned to trust each other; to support each other. To take credit modestly, and to own up to mistakes with dignity.

They learned to be a team.

They learned, along with their new Coach, that their worth is not counted only in wins and losses, but in who they are--to each other, to the community, to themselves. They may have lost their championship final game, and brought home silver medals, but I still say that they are all, without a doubt, worth their weight in GOLD.

The season reads like a movie script, and I heard someone say before the last game that must mean they need a happy ending, a win, to finish it out. I almost agreed; I wanted a win, too. But, in reality, the happy ending for these guys is just beginning. The lessons they've learned are going to change their lives, and the lives of an entire community--just you wait.....

reading, writing and running around

Sometimes we know the impact we have on another person, and sometimes we don't. Frequently, we hope that we might have an impact, or that we might even be remembered.

I am blessed to be able to facilitate a reading program at school wherein the Junior and Senior football players visit elementary classrooms to read, answer questions, and generally visit with the younger students. There are many intentions of the program, ranging from public speaking experience and team building, to mentoring and volunteerism. As I watch these huge guys sit in rocking chairs and on stools to read rhyming stories and other picture books, I am impressed and amazed at their natural air with the kids. Some reluctant readers have been the best presenters--they practice reading their stories, and even practice their reactions to the pictures or the words. All the players remember the basics of making eye contact and projecting, some of which they learned from the very teachers whose classrooms they are now visiting.

But what I didn't quite expect is the wondrous reaction of the youngsters. Their eyes get wide when they see the size of the boys walking in the door, and their excitement sometimes keeps them from sitting still and waiting their turn to ask questions. At first, the players and I were amused by the questions, ranging from "What's your favorite color?" to "How heavy are the pads you have to wear?" Now, we know what to expect, to a certain extent--first and second graders will probably ask about colors, food, and "Do you know my brother/sister/neighbor/babysitter?" while third through fifth graders start to ask about scoring, positions, and "Do you know my brother/sister/neighbor/babysitter?" What I really didn't expect is how dramatically the kids have all changed.

The big kids are clearly more sure of themselves with kids than they were at the beginning, or at least more comfortable in a classroom setting. They are leading more, anticipating some of the questions and answering in a way that makes the younger kids feel important in asking, and even analyzing the experience afterwards--though I'm not positive they realize that's what they are doing. The little kids are, interestingly, becoming more awestruck each week. I had thought that by the end of the season, they would feel like the visits would be old hat, just one more thing to expect each week, like art, library and gym; but the opposite has happened.

Usually, we head out during study halls and lunch on Friday afternoon; the players in their jerseys, and thinking about the game that night. This week, however, there is no school on game day, so the boys have been reading all week. In and out of the schools, I've heard many comments about the program, mostly involving an excited kid talking about the football player who visited his or her classroom. Today, though, I had to work, and two other football moms accompanied our two readers to their classrooms. And that's how I came to realize just how deep this whole thing goes.

In one classroom, the book was about a little old lady who decides she is not too old to play in the football game, so she gets herself to the field, gets suited up, and plays. After the story was over, as is typical, the players ask the class if they have any questions, about the story or anything else. A little girl, an immigrant from Egypt, asked what a football is. After some difficulty in understanding the question, and some assistance in answering in terms she could understand, he managed to help her learn not only what a football is, but what a "granny" is, too. The little girl proceeded to ask the reader to sign her bookmark. I was moved to tears when I heard.

And that's not all: the school nurse had to send a boy home sick yesterday. As he left, she told us he said, "I have to go home sick, and we're having a famous football player come read to us." A high school teacher emailed me one day to relate what she saw after a reading day: a little girl being picked up from school saw her reader walking down the sidewalk and ran up to him to give him a hug and meet her mommy--three huge grins! And impromptu autograph session after reading one day--kids asking their teacher if they can get their shirts signed, and having to be required to stick to paper products! At the Homecoming pep rally at the elementary school, nearly all the kids calling players by name to come sit by them. The Superintendent stopping in and saying that he thinks the team's good season could really be attributed in part to the boys' reading: "focusing on what's important before every game." Teachers telling me that the kids have been asking for an autograph session with the team, and asking first thing Monday morning to see the pictures they know I have sent over the weekend. The class that wrote thank you notes to their reader, bringing the lesson full circle.

When I first heard Coach talk about this reading program, it brought tears to my eyes and tugged at my heart. Everything he said about it was something I could get behind, something I truly believed in. I volunteered to help with it since he works in another District, and, being new to the team, didn't have the contacts to make it fly. I struggled with it a bit at the beginning, but now I know for sure that I will miss it terribly when the games, and therefore the reading days, are over. The teachers and the winter sports teams are interested in keeping it going, and I'll be happy to pass the torch, although I do plan on working with the football team again next year.

Because I once was taller than all the team, I will always see them as the boys they were in addition to the men they are becoming, but I see something else now, too. There is, in the physical act of looking up to see someone, a natural admiration when there is an age difference. Now, when I look up into the faces of these players, these gentle giants, these tough guys, I see the heroes they are to a few hundred kids who want to follow in their footsteps--in the classroom, on the field, and in life.

heartaches

Friday nights, I go to the field to watch our football team. Every week, I arrive with great anticipation for a joyous victory. The boys have been playing hard, and have tremendous spunk; yet points have been elusive. It's been rough, and each game ends with waves of emotion flowing from the team to the fans and back again. The ripples of emotion last all week; I feel them at home and in the hallways at school.

On Friday afternoons, I take some of the football players to read at our elementary schools. My heart swells with pride as I watch these soon-to-be men of the world sitting in rocking chairs, on stools, in easy chairs or on the floor with 20 or so awestruck children. The introductions are simple--"My name is so-and-so, and I play fullback." Or cornerback. Center. Wide receiver. Quarterback. Tackle. No matter what position they mention, I know they have others they play as well on our small team. The children ooh and aah, and then listen intently to the story. Afterwards, I am always impressed at how well the players answer questions from their little fans. What's your favorite color? Who's your favorite team? Do you like hockey? Do you know my neighbor? Each question is answered honestly, and without batting an eye--even when the question is silly. "Isn't the quarterback the guy who runs backwards and then throws the ball to the 'retreiver'?" My heart and my spirit soar at the simplicity, the easy manner in which these two age groups are able to banter. We leave with a heartfelt "Thank you" in both directions, and instructions to "Cheer for me when you go to the game!" or "Look for my number on the field!" The teachers tell me that on Mondays, the kids come in talking about the game, seeing their reader play, hearing his name and number announced, or seeing his stats in the paper. The connection to the community makes my heart sing.

As a result, I now know more of the players on the field. I used to know their names; maybe recognize their faces. But now, I've heard a little about their hopes, their wishes, their views on football, school, classes. I've spoken with them about colleges, majors, what they like for lunch. When I see them on the field, my heart opens up; flowering at the joy I know they feel because they play, because they are a team.

As a result of knowing more of the players, my heart jumps at the start of every play, every whistle, every huddle and time out. I understand a little more of the game than I did, and I still have so many questions, but I know enough to have my heart break a little each time a pass is incomplete, or deflected. My heart stops with each tackle, particularly when we can't clearly see who has possession of the ball. Cramps, calls for water, and injuries cause my heart to squeeze tightly into a little ball, so tight I can hardly breathe; and when I saw two players from the sideline go to an injured player on the field to help him off, half my heart cried with concern for the injured, while the other half cried with joy at the tenderness of his friends and teammates.

Every game is a roller coaster of emotion, not just for me, but for all the parents, the families, the fans. I know the players feel it, too, but I also know that they are so keenly focused on the action, and executing as they've been taught, that their energy plays with their emotion as well. I hope, with all my heart, that the players know just how emotionally invested we, as parents and fans, truly are. I hope they can understand that we want to share in their feelings, we want to hear their feedback about the game, too. More than anything, I know that my perspective is going to be different than my player/son's, and I just want to share in his joys, his pains and sorrows, his laughter and his stories from the game, and from his life.

With each goal the opposing team scores, my heart sinks to depths I didn't even know I had within me. Likewise, with each point our team scores, my heart soars to the top of the goalposts, and I feel as though I could fly. At the end of every game, I feel as though I've been wrung out, twisted, shaken, torn apart and put back together again. All that's missing from the workout I've had is the sweat. After each game, the parents go to the edge of the track to wait for the team to come back from their post-game huddle. There is a silence borne, I'm sure, of that mutual emotional exhaustion we all feel, but are loathe to talk about for fear of seeming too sentimental, invested, dramatic, or being judged as one who is living vicariously through our sons.

As they walk towards us on the sidelines, there is always applause, cheering, and, most importantly, a mass of open arms. The first time, my son told me he was too sweaty to hug me. My heart broke clean in half--and fell right out of my chest when I saw another player's mom walk right up to my son and hug him. A former me would have kept this inside, and gone home with half her heart lying in pieces on the field. This incarnation of me turned him right around and hugged him, hard. He smelled terrible, and really was far sweatier even than he looked, but nothing else on God's green earth could possibly have repaired my heart.

I hope, with all my heart, that those boys, those soon-to-be men of the world, my own son especially, understand how much they touch my heart. I hope they understand that when I say they will be forever in my heart, I mean it. Truly I do.