Most of my life I've thought about circles and spirals. The kinds that bring you around again to a point in time, or a place in space that seems destined and unavoidable, though perhaps delayed for various reasons. Lately, I've been reminded of forks in my road that may have delayed or changed the point of meeting some people that have become dear to me.
Some circles are fairly easy to identify as they seem to create tighter spirals. In thinking about these tight spirals, I find myself wondering which other circles may be intersecting. A new friend who feels like an old friend and lives and works where we lived when we first moved here. Minor changes in course over the past 20 years, and we easily could have met earlier. The same could be said for a few other people I've met recently who may or may not become good friends, but who are nevertheless important to me at the moment. And I wonder if those multiple circles are meant to intertwine.
An interesting circle that's crossed my mind lately is much bigger. Possibly the biggest circle I've come across, and, therefore, likeliest to be a long-shot. (Although I've come to understand the unlikelihood of mere coincidence.) When Ronald Reagan was elected, I had my first thoughts about a career path. The hostages in Iran were released, and the news was all about what sanctions might be brought, where exactly international waters were, and whether there really was a fear of "cowboy justice." I was completely intrigued by the field of International Law. According to our encyclopedia (which had been published roughly 15 years before I was born), there was no such field, per se. Nevertheless, when I went to high school, I enrolled in French and Spanish. By the time I graduated, I had taken 5 years of each language, and a year of Russian, as well. I would have taken Greek, happily, but the class was held after school, I had a job in the evenings. My goal, having largely forgotten the law aspect, was to be an interpreter at the UN. For various reasons that had less validity than I realized at the time, but as I started getting college catalogs in the mail, one particularly colorful cover caught Dad's eye.
Catholic University had nothing to offer in the Hospitality field I was then considering, but it was the right distance away from home and was near a city Dad traveled to on business. (I didn't realize how important that was to him until I eventually graduated from a school near another city he visited often.) It did have some interesting law majors--including International Law. I was also fascinated by the offerings in Canon law. I seriously considered changing my college goals, but I was talked out of it by my guidance counselor. (Law is no field for a smart young woman like you. And what good would a course in canon law be for a woman at all?) Honestly, it wasn't that hard for me to toss the thought aside: when I was in 8th grade, we went to DC for some reason, went to Mass at the Cathedral, and while there, all our clothes were stolen from our car. I was, interestingly, more upset that my favorite skirt, top and dressy sandals were gone forever than I was about any "violation." I remember Dad saying that anyone who would steal from a car in a church parking lot clearly was more in need of what they took than we were. I was not quite sure I agreed....
Again I was reminded of my early interest when I took my Hospitality Law class. I loved it. I loved the instructor--a crusty older guy with a quirky sense of humor, and a weird way of trying to awe us. (He once told us how to commit the "perfect murder" that would be impossible to be convicted of, even if we were caught, because there would be no evidence. All we would leave would be circumstantial. Odd and creepy.) I loved the way he argued that Connecticut should be outlawed, and there should then be a way to teleport from the end of I-95 in Rhode Island to the beginning in New York. Most of all, I loved the content. I loved everything about tort, proving cases, finding precedents, writing up something like 6 cases per week. (One case study was about the signage in a parking garage. I was in heaven!) At the beginning of class on the first day, he told us the only way to get a good grade in his class was to work. One hour of homework each day, and we could expect a D-C; 2 hours, a solid C. An A would require, at minimum, 4 hours of homework per night. If we managed to do less work and get the grade we wanted, we were to let him know. He'd retire. I accepted the challenge, and pulled off an A--with an hour and a half of work dedicated to Law each morning. Total. Everything about it made sense to me. I wanted to change my major.
Unfortunately, I was stubborn. I had one more trimester of classes left. I had already decided that I was going to take the Associates degree and run. I had already convinced Dad that working for a couple of years and going back to school was the best thing for me. I had already decided that instead of having a career in Recreation and Leisure Management, I was supposed to be an English teacher. But I had fallen in love with Law. When the professor told us that the school had approved a Sports Law class for the following year, and that anyone who had ever had an A in his class would get first shot at it, and that he didn't expect any women to have any interest, I was sooooooo tempted to re-enroll in school, just for that class.
I wonder now if I had followed that pull to law, would I still be at this place at some point in my life. If I would still have the people in my life that support, guide, challenge me on a regular basis. (One of whom teaches law at Catholic. Although I wouldn't have met him while I was in college, had I followed my first instinct, we may have crossed paths professionally.) If it's too late to jump into the legal waters. I'm not a shark. But the types of law I was interested in didn't (seem) to require that type of personality. In no way do I feel unfulfilled. Just a continued curiosity. One that, likely, many would not understand, and insist that if I think about it, I must have regrets. I do not. Not in the least. I see that a circle has come full around, and I feel peace. Curiosity is not, for me, something that gets in the way of peace. Curiosity is something that drives me to continue to grow, to learn, to move forward.
Showing posts with label high school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label high school. Show all posts
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
a great teacher
This morning, I woke to find news that a teacher of mine from High School had been murdered, outside his home. While I was shocked, I continued on with my morning as usual. At work, I told a co-worker, and after finding a news article online, emailed it to her, along with my thoughts at the moment.
I remember, I had space in my schedule, and decided to take some business classes, so I took accounting to fulfill a math requirement, and I took Intro to Marketing as an elective. How hard could it be? I thought, and I figured I would be circulating in a slightly different crowd than usual. Both thoughts were not entirely correct! The marketing information was fascinating to me--none of it was particularly difficult for me, but I ate it up: shrink wrap vs. clam shell packaging; the ratio of soda straw diameter to soda cup as figured by fast food chains; the relative hardness of seating in regard to turnover in a dining room.....all information that ultimately helped me in some of my college classes, though I remember sitting in that back corner of the room whining along with everyone else that it was fairly useless information. (I had a mad desire to fit in when I started that class.) As for the "new crowd," well, some of my friends must have had the same idea, as I don't remember meeting too many I didn't already know there. The teacher was Mr. Poet, and I loved class with him. He was not murdered.
He did, however, encourage any of us that were enjoying his class to join the school's Distributive Education Clubs of America (DECA), which he co-advised with a fairly new teacher, Mr. Keith Reed. Mr. Reed was, I discovered today, reading the news articles, only 6 years older than me. Yet he had the confident professionalism that made him both much older than that and ageless at the same time. And, yes, we all thought he was "cute." I remember even Mr. Poet mentioning it from time to time. I believe he was newly married at the time, and impressively aloof to our admiration. We didn't know anything about DECA, or what we were supposed to do as part of the club, but we would get to spend time with a fun, youthful teacher--and get out of school once in a while! What more could high school seniors ask for? Turns out, there was so much to learn--about business, about competition, and about life.
In DECA competition, Mr. Reed put me in the Supervisory Level competitions, even though I was terrified at the idea of playacting as a Manager. He said he knew that I had more brains than most of the judges, and that all I had to do was be myself and I'd do well. Nothing ever made me feel more confident in high school than his assurance, along with darn good scores at my first attempt at competition! I don't remember how many competitions we went to, although I do remember a hotel stay that was one of the best experiences of my Senior year. Sharing a room with three friends, all nervous about performing well and looking good in our business suits, was good prep for college dorm living! At competition, we would wait in chilly hallways for each other, and at awards, we'd eagerly await each other's scores, and graciously thank "Keith" (or "Keithage," as Jackie referred to him!) for his guidance, to which he would shake his head and say, "You can't call me that, you know." Eventually, it evolved into KEEEEEith! Since graduation, I have always thought of him as "KeithReed;" all one word.
When I'd have boyfriend troubles, he'd tell me to behave "professionally" and "with dignity" so that it wouldn't evolve into drama in my life. I learned so many life lessons from him. From him, I learned the value and importance of discretion, transparency, discernment. At the same time, I learned about teamwork in a work setting, and how it differs from, and is similar to, the teamwork necessary in sports. When Tanya and Jackie made it to National Competition, he encouraged us to be supportive of them, rather than jealous, promising to cheer for them on our behalf, which I have no doubt he did. At that same competition, I was being awarded a DEX scholarship from Johnson & Wales, where I would be going to college. Keith, my parents, and I (reluctantly! I wanted to go to NOLA!!) agreed that it made no sense for me to go on the trip just to accept the scholarship. Instead, Keith walked the stage to accept it for me while Jackie and Tanya cheered him on. Before I even knew what one was, he was my mentor.
I lost touch with him after graduation. (I left that September with the intent of never looking back. Another story for another time.) And with Mr. Poet. Though I have thought about the lessons, and the random information about marketing and merchandising floating in my head, and I frequently thank God that they were part of my development. Keith Reed will be missed by the students he was serving as Superintendent, those for whom he had been Principal, and by us, his early students, as well as by his family and friends. My prayers, and my tears, are for you today. I never could say it in the public school setting in which we knew each other: God bless you. Thank you for all you were, and for continuing to utilize the extraordinary gifts you had!
I remember, I had space in my schedule, and decided to take some business classes, so I took accounting to fulfill a math requirement, and I took Intro to Marketing as an elective. How hard could it be? I thought, and I figured I would be circulating in a slightly different crowd than usual. Both thoughts were not entirely correct! The marketing information was fascinating to me--none of it was particularly difficult for me, but I ate it up: shrink wrap vs. clam shell packaging; the ratio of soda straw diameter to soda cup as figured by fast food chains; the relative hardness of seating in regard to turnover in a dining room.....all information that ultimately helped me in some of my college classes, though I remember sitting in that back corner of the room whining along with everyone else that it was fairly useless information. (I had a mad desire to fit in when I started that class.) As for the "new crowd," well, some of my friends must have had the same idea, as I don't remember meeting too many I didn't already know there. The teacher was Mr. Poet, and I loved class with him. He was not murdered.
He did, however, encourage any of us that were enjoying his class to join the school's Distributive Education Clubs of America (DECA), which he co-advised with a fairly new teacher, Mr. Keith Reed. Mr. Reed was, I discovered today, reading the news articles, only 6 years older than me. Yet he had the confident professionalism that made him both much older than that and ageless at the same time. And, yes, we all thought he was "cute." I remember even Mr. Poet mentioning it from time to time. I believe he was newly married at the time, and impressively aloof to our admiration. We didn't know anything about DECA, or what we were supposed to do as part of the club, but we would get to spend time with a fun, youthful teacher--and get out of school once in a while! What more could high school seniors ask for? Turns out, there was so much to learn--about business, about competition, and about life.
In DECA competition, Mr. Reed put me in the Supervisory Level competitions, even though I was terrified at the idea of playacting as a Manager. He said he knew that I had more brains than most of the judges, and that all I had to do was be myself and I'd do well. Nothing ever made me feel more confident in high school than his assurance, along with darn good scores at my first attempt at competition! I don't remember how many competitions we went to, although I do remember a hotel stay that was one of the best experiences of my Senior year. Sharing a room with three friends, all nervous about performing well and looking good in our business suits, was good prep for college dorm living! At competition, we would wait in chilly hallways for each other, and at awards, we'd eagerly await each other's scores, and graciously thank "Keith" (or "Keithage," as Jackie referred to him!) for his guidance, to which he would shake his head and say, "You can't call me that, you know." Eventually, it evolved into KEEEEEith! Since graduation, I have always thought of him as "KeithReed;" all one word.
When I'd have boyfriend troubles, he'd tell me to behave "professionally" and "with dignity" so that it wouldn't evolve into drama in my life. I learned so many life lessons from him. From him, I learned the value and importance of discretion, transparency, discernment. At the same time, I learned about teamwork in a work setting, and how it differs from, and is similar to, the teamwork necessary in sports. When Tanya and Jackie made it to National Competition, he encouraged us to be supportive of them, rather than jealous, promising to cheer for them on our behalf, which I have no doubt he did. At that same competition, I was being awarded a DEX scholarship from Johnson & Wales, where I would be going to college. Keith, my parents, and I (reluctantly! I wanted to go to NOLA!!) agreed that it made no sense for me to go on the trip just to accept the scholarship. Instead, Keith walked the stage to accept it for me while Jackie and Tanya cheered him on. Before I even knew what one was, he was my mentor.
I lost touch with him after graduation. (I left that September with the intent of never looking back. Another story for another time.) And with Mr. Poet. Though I have thought about the lessons, and the random information about marketing and merchandising floating in my head, and I frequently thank God that they were part of my development. Keith Reed will be missed by the students he was serving as Superintendent, those for whom he had been Principal, and by us, his early students, as well as by his family and friends. My prayers, and my tears, are for you today. I never could say it in the public school setting in which we knew each other: God bless you. Thank you for all you were, and for continuing to utilize the extraordinary gifts you had!
Friday, June 8, 2012
beginnings and endings...
Tomorrow is graduation for our oldest son. It's hard to believe it has been long enough since.......well, since ANYTHING for this to be the eve of such a special, wonderful, and, to be honest, emotional day. Although life is busy right now, I have found myself thinking of what this particular graduation means to me and to our family: he will be going off to college, and there will be one less person in the house, but he will always be here in so many ways. I look forward to the changes and challenges more than anything, as I have since the beginning of this adventure called parenthood. I often think of other milestones when a friend or relative experiences one, but graduations evoke a special set of memories....
My brother's college graduation, when we drove all the way to Ohio and met his friends for the first time. And how HUGE the arena at the University seemed to me. I had never seen anything that big in my life!
My own eighth grade graduation--the first time I picked out a "stylish" dress which, along with my sister's high heeled sandals, made me feel like a million bucks! Our class planned the entire ceremony, and learned all the words to The Carpenters' "We've only just begun". Along with my classmates, I felt so grown up, so special, and so very excited to move forward. Somewhere in my drawer, I have the picture Dad took when I got my diploma. That photo, in my mind's eye, is how I picture that night.
Horseheads High School graduation: sitting in the sun, in alphabetical order on the football field, as one of the few white robes (for girls) in my row, and one of even fewer stoles (for honors) and actually wondering if my parents would know which one was me from the back. (Silly me!! At the time I did not know that we, as parents, KNOW our kids when we see them!) I got an award that day that I wasn't expecting--a small scholarship award from the Business Department. I had taken a Marketing class--the only business class I took in high school--and joined DECA Club, where I competed in Manager Level challenges. I loved it! Being selected to receive the award was such a surprise! And after I received my diploma, Dad surprised me by being on the field, where he really wasn't supposed to be, but he was bursting with pride, and gave me one of his one-armed hugs that I loved so much.
My college graduation had a much different feel. I had been sick and out of school for three months, so I had fallen out of the loop with some of my friends. I was able to go through the ceremony, but I still had classes to take. The College had just gotten accreditation as a University, so we were granted University diplomas, which some of us felt were not deserved--we had not studied at the "University." We were young and cocky, and I was somewhat aloof. Most of my friends were going to continue their studies, but I was going to take "a year or two" off after my Associate's degree. I don't remember much of that day because I didn't care as much. That makes me sad.
But then there was my sister's graduation, when Grammy took a whole pineapple from the centerpiece of one of the buffet tables and stuck it in her purse! We tried telling her that it was a decoration, but she proclaimed that it was on the table with the food we were supposed to take, so it was fair game--and besides, if she did not take it, they would only throw it away! To this day, we threaten each other that we want to "pull a Grammy" when we see centerpieces that are not just floral!
And my husband's graduation, which was the first party I planned on my own. His ceremony was beautiful, and hearing his name announced gave me goose bumps. As a gift, I had gotten him a beautiful leather briefcase. For a long time, he used it, and every time I saw him carry it, I thought about him standing in the sunshine in his cap and gown. (I try to forget the stitches he ended up with, causing him to miss the end of his own graduation party, but I remind him that everyone else had a really good time, although they missed him terribly!)
When I earned my Bachelor's degree, I had to miss the ceremony because it was hours away, and was the same day as our son's Confirmation. That was quite an emotional time, as these were the first such events that Dad was not here for, and that leads me to tomorrow....
At odd times this past week, I've found myself remembering that Dad loved life events: big birthdays, weddings, reunions, graduations, and he would have had just the right thing to say to Jonathan to make him laugh and know that Grampa was so very proud of him. I hope that I can find the words tomorrow. I hope that he will listen with his heart, and with his eyes, because I don't know if the words will come to his ears from my lips.
But with all my heart, I pray that he knows that I love him, I am proud of him, and I am so excited for his future.
My brother's college graduation, when we drove all the way to Ohio and met his friends for the first time. And how HUGE the arena at the University seemed to me. I had never seen anything that big in my life!
My own eighth grade graduation--the first time I picked out a "stylish" dress which, along with my sister's high heeled sandals, made me feel like a million bucks! Our class planned the entire ceremony, and learned all the words to The Carpenters' "We've only just begun". Along with my classmates, I felt so grown up, so special, and so very excited to move forward. Somewhere in my drawer, I have the picture Dad took when I got my diploma. That photo, in my mind's eye, is how I picture that night.
Horseheads High School graduation: sitting in the sun, in alphabetical order on the football field, as one of the few white robes (for girls) in my row, and one of even fewer stoles (for honors) and actually wondering if my parents would know which one was me from the back. (Silly me!! At the time I did not know that we, as parents, KNOW our kids when we see them!) I got an award that day that I wasn't expecting--a small scholarship award from the Business Department. I had taken a Marketing class--the only business class I took in high school--and joined DECA Club, where I competed in Manager Level challenges. I loved it! Being selected to receive the award was such a surprise! And after I received my diploma, Dad surprised me by being on the field, where he really wasn't supposed to be, but he was bursting with pride, and gave me one of his one-armed hugs that I loved so much.
My college graduation had a much different feel. I had been sick and out of school for three months, so I had fallen out of the loop with some of my friends. I was able to go through the ceremony, but I still had classes to take. The College had just gotten accreditation as a University, so we were granted University diplomas, which some of us felt were not deserved--we had not studied at the "University." We were young and cocky, and I was somewhat aloof. Most of my friends were going to continue their studies, but I was going to take "a year or two" off after my Associate's degree. I don't remember much of that day because I didn't care as much. That makes me sad.
But then there was my sister's graduation, when Grammy took a whole pineapple from the centerpiece of one of the buffet tables and stuck it in her purse! We tried telling her that it was a decoration, but she proclaimed that it was on the table with the food we were supposed to take, so it was fair game--and besides, if she did not take it, they would only throw it away! To this day, we threaten each other that we want to "pull a Grammy" when we see centerpieces that are not just floral!
And my husband's graduation, which was the first party I planned on my own. His ceremony was beautiful, and hearing his name announced gave me goose bumps. As a gift, I had gotten him a beautiful leather briefcase. For a long time, he used it, and every time I saw him carry it, I thought about him standing in the sunshine in his cap and gown. (I try to forget the stitches he ended up with, causing him to miss the end of his own graduation party, but I remind him that everyone else had a really good time, although they missed him terribly!)
When I earned my Bachelor's degree, I had to miss the ceremony because it was hours away, and was the same day as our son's Confirmation. That was quite an emotional time, as these were the first such events that Dad was not here for, and that leads me to tomorrow....
At odd times this past week, I've found myself remembering that Dad loved life events: big birthdays, weddings, reunions, graduations, and he would have had just the right thing to say to Jonathan to make him laugh and know that Grampa was so very proud of him. I hope that I can find the words tomorrow. I hope that he will listen with his heart, and with his eyes, because I don't know if the words will come to his ears from my lips.
But with all my heart, I pray that he knows that I love him, I am proud of him, and I am so excited for his future.
Monday, January 30, 2012
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 5th 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.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
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.....
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.....
Thursday, November 17, 2011
thanks, coach
Dear Coach~
You are quite a motivational speaker. The first time I met you, you had been working with my son and the team for a short time. They had been lifting weights a bit, nothing really serious, as I recall, but you had taken the time to get to know them a little. A couple of the assistant coaches from the previous years had remained on your staff, and I was impressed that they shared so much information about the boys' talents, strengths and weaknesses with you. And also impressed that you had listened, but said that you were committed to making your own judgements.
In fact, there were many things you told us you were committed to that evening. You talked about so many different ways you wanted to change things with this team, and you promised to be accessible to us, as well as to the boys. Some things didn't materialize (this year. I have every confidence that this will grow and continue to develop.), but other things took off. That first evening, though, what most amazed me is still that I left the meeting excited about the football season.
Coach, you promised that you would take our boys and help them to become men. You promised that they would, by the end of the season, be a team, a family. You even were so bold as to promise that they would have a winning season, probably even a playoff season. I hope you understood how difficult that was to swallow. I, for one, had seen my son's team lose far more than win, and I'd never expected to meet an approachable football coach. But, somehow, you convinced me.
With your guidance, these boys have changed. You told them, in the early weight room sessions, that they can't give up in the third quarter; that the game isn't over until the clock winds down. When I run now, I break the route down into rough quarters, and tell myself the same thing. And I've watched as the team has played--really played--until the very end of the game; they just don't give up. It's great to see.
One thing you have held fast to is their position as role models in the community. At first, it didn't seem they realized, or cared, that community members recognized them. They wore their jerseys the same as they always had. Now, just three months later, they carry themselves differently in their jerseys. It's difficult to explain, but they have a new bearing. They care. All those weeks of reading that the upperclassmen did really got through to them: these kids know them. The questions the kids ask are real, and make the boys think on their feet. They've seen the support that comes from admiration, and they began to understand the responsibility associated with wearing any uniform. They then passed that self-respect on to the underclassmen. The end result is an entire team that looks forward to being able to read to kids.
Your view of pregame meals and Senior dinners has been simple genius. Sitting down to a meal is different from grabbing some food on the run. Despite the buffet style so necessary or efficient in feeding so many at one time, the team sits together and talks. Decompresses. Relaxes a little. Calms those nerves.
Coach, I would like to thank you for coming to our team. I believe in what you have started here: the new traditions, the ideas you have, the dreams you see coming true. Most of all, I would like to say that I appreciate the mutual respect you have fostered. These guys, as you promised, look out for each other. I've heard them extend credit to other team members when paid a compliment. I've heard them say that they have learned from mistakes made in practice or in games, and that the next one will be even better. And I've heard you commend the team, rather than take compliments for yourself. More than once, you have thanked us, as parents, for the sons we have raised. We--the parents, and you--the coaches, have become a good team, too. Thank you.
Thank you for believing. Thank you for pushing. Thank you for your faith in a bunch of people who you'd never met. Thank you for being honest--with us and with our children. Thank you for being the type of coach who really does do this job for the love of the kids first, and the game second. Thank you for an unforgettable season. The winning, I'd like to say, is just icing on the cake, but I'd be lying. Without the winning, the rest would still have been there, but it might have been harder to see. So thanks for that, too.
Warmly,
a converted Football Mom
You are quite a motivational speaker. The first time I met you, you had been working with my son and the team for a short time. They had been lifting weights a bit, nothing really serious, as I recall, but you had taken the time to get to know them a little. A couple of the assistant coaches from the previous years had remained on your staff, and I was impressed that they shared so much information about the boys' talents, strengths and weaknesses with you. And also impressed that you had listened, but said that you were committed to making your own judgements.
In fact, there were many things you told us you were committed to that evening. You talked about so many different ways you wanted to change things with this team, and you promised to be accessible to us, as well as to the boys. Some things didn't materialize (this year. I have every confidence that this will grow and continue to develop.), but other things took off. That first evening, though, what most amazed me is still that I left the meeting excited about the football season.
Coach, you promised that you would take our boys and help them to become men. You promised that they would, by the end of the season, be a team, a family. You even were so bold as to promise that they would have a winning season, probably even a playoff season. I hope you understood how difficult that was to swallow. I, for one, had seen my son's team lose far more than win, and I'd never expected to meet an approachable football coach. But, somehow, you convinced me.
With your guidance, these boys have changed. You told them, in the early weight room sessions, that they can't give up in the third quarter; that the game isn't over until the clock winds down. When I run now, I break the route down into rough quarters, and tell myself the same thing. And I've watched as the team has played--really played--until the very end of the game; they just don't give up. It's great to see.
One thing you have held fast to is their position as role models in the community. At first, it didn't seem they realized, or cared, that community members recognized them. They wore their jerseys the same as they always had. Now, just three months later, they carry themselves differently in their jerseys. It's difficult to explain, but they have a new bearing. They care. All those weeks of reading that the upperclassmen did really got through to them: these kids know them. The questions the kids ask are real, and make the boys think on their feet. They've seen the support that comes from admiration, and they began to understand the responsibility associated with wearing any uniform. They then passed that self-respect on to the underclassmen. The end result is an entire team that looks forward to being able to read to kids.
Your view of pregame meals and Senior dinners has been simple genius. Sitting down to a meal is different from grabbing some food on the run. Despite the buffet style so necessary or efficient in feeding so many at one time, the team sits together and talks. Decompresses. Relaxes a little. Calms those nerves.
Coach, I would like to thank you for coming to our team. I believe in what you have started here: the new traditions, the ideas you have, the dreams you see coming true. Most of all, I would like to say that I appreciate the mutual respect you have fostered. These guys, as you promised, look out for each other. I've heard them extend credit to other team members when paid a compliment. I've heard them say that they have learned from mistakes made in practice or in games, and that the next one will be even better. And I've heard you commend the team, rather than take compliments for yourself. More than once, you have thanked us, as parents, for the sons we have raised. We--the parents, and you--the coaches, have become a good team, too. Thank you.
Thank you for believing. Thank you for pushing. Thank you for your faith in a bunch of people who you'd never met. Thank you for being honest--with us and with our children. Thank you for being the type of coach who really does do this job for the love of the kids first, and the game second. Thank you for an unforgettable season. The winning, I'd like to say, is just icing on the cake, but I'd be lying. Without the winning, the rest would still have been there, but it might have been harder to see. So thanks for that, too.
Warmly,
a converted Football Mom
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
lion pride :)
Texting with a friend today, I had to admit that "I'm going to spend the entire day/night [Friday] crying, what with all this 'proud of them' I have in my heart." Friday night is a playoff game. A game that, back in the spring, Coach seemed sure we could see, even though many of us parents had our doubts. So much has happened since then.....
At the time, our boys had been coming off not just one, but 3 or more losing seasons. They had never really played as a united team. Watching them, and listening to my son talk about the team, it really sounded like three disparate groups trying to come together for just two hours each week. We didn't know how anyone could overcome that. I remember distinctly one dad saying, "Coach, what you have here is a team of smart kids, but not necessarily gifted athletes." He went on to say that they all had their athletic abilities, and they all had heart, but, when all is said and done, they are more brainy than brawny. We all hoped, to some degree, that the boys' hearts would not be broken.....
Since that day, I've watched and listened, as a mom, as a school employee, and as a fan, and what I've seen has amazed and impressed me. Looking back at that first meeting in the spring, when I left thinking, "I like him. I really like him!" I realize that as he spoke to us parents, he reminded me of Debbie Allen at the beginning of the "Fame" episodes: "You've got big dreams...right here's where you start paying--in sweat." Coach assured us that the boys were ready for the challenge, that they could make it to playoffs, that they were going to be a team. A real, honest-to-goodness team. All the parents I talked to seemed to agree--we liked what he had to say, but wondered if he was being realistic.
All summer, the boys worked out together in the weight room. As they got stronger, they also got to know each other, as well as the coaching staff. By the time practice started for the season, the boys were beginning to 'team up,' to know that they needed each other to get through the tough stuff. Coach made minor changes to the day-to-day stuff, too: no soda, zero tolerance for trouble or fading grades, insistence on knowing the playbook, and not just faking it. Coach insisted they be "real;" that they be honest with him, with each other, with themselves.
The transformation I've witnessed goes far beyond the field, where they have shone like stars. As a whole, they boys have learned some unexpected lessons. Coach asked that they read to the elementary students--their youngest fans--and through that, the boys have learned that facing something new, anything new, can be equally intimidating as facing a defensive line. Coach told them back in those weight room days not to give up in the third quarter, and the boys discovered that they could outplay their opponents by tiring them out. Coach asked that we feed the team a "nice, sit-down meal" before the home games. As the season has progressed, I've come to realize that the intent has been to feed their souls and psyches as much as their bodies, and the result is that they have become family. As for those brains, Coach has guided them to a point of understanding the game; these boys out-think many of their opponents, adapting their game to counter the other teams'.
In an interview, Coach cited a pivotal 4th quarter win mid-season as the point at which "they" started to trust him. Ostensibly, he was referring to the boys on the team. In reality, I suspect he was including the parents and other fans, as well. Prior to that game, there was some appreciation for his methods, but I think there was still a feeling that not much had changed with this new coach. I recall being asked more than once if I thought this new guy would stay if the season continued as it was. I did think so, but I also found myself wondering if he was more disappointed than he was admitting to.
Heading into playoffs....In a later text today, I added that "I've never felt so wrapped up in anything that I can remember. just might explode!" It's true. I've watched. I've learned. I've even become a fan--something I never imagined. Just like playoffs. I told another friend today that I am impressed with how the boys are handling this success, too. They are being "real:" far from modest--they know they have done something amazing--they are, however, being a team. They give credit where it's due, they admit to their own shortcomings on the field (if not necessarily other places--they are just kids, after all!), and they are getting excited about the game. Even I am getting excited about the game. I might manage not to cry, but I doubt it. I really have never been so excited about a football game. Thanks, Coach. Good luck, boys!
At the time, our boys had been coming off not just one, but 3 or more losing seasons. They had never really played as a united team. Watching them, and listening to my son talk about the team, it really sounded like three disparate groups trying to come together for just two hours each week. We didn't know how anyone could overcome that. I remember distinctly one dad saying, "Coach, what you have here is a team of smart kids, but not necessarily gifted athletes." He went on to say that they all had their athletic abilities, and they all had heart, but, when all is said and done, they are more brainy than brawny. We all hoped, to some degree, that the boys' hearts would not be broken.....
Since that day, I've watched and listened, as a mom, as a school employee, and as a fan, and what I've seen has amazed and impressed me. Looking back at that first meeting in the spring, when I left thinking, "I like him. I really like him!" I realize that as he spoke to us parents, he reminded me of Debbie Allen at the beginning of the "Fame" episodes: "You've got big dreams...right here's where you start paying--in sweat." Coach assured us that the boys were ready for the challenge, that they could make it to playoffs, that they were going to be a team. A real, honest-to-goodness team. All the parents I talked to seemed to agree--we liked what he had to say, but wondered if he was being realistic.
All summer, the boys worked out together in the weight room. As they got stronger, they also got to know each other, as well as the coaching staff. By the time practice started for the season, the boys were beginning to 'team up,' to know that they needed each other to get through the tough stuff. Coach made minor changes to the day-to-day stuff, too: no soda, zero tolerance for trouble or fading grades, insistence on knowing the playbook, and not just faking it. Coach insisted they be "real;" that they be honest with him, with each other, with themselves.
The transformation I've witnessed goes far beyond the field, where they have shone like stars. As a whole, they boys have learned some unexpected lessons. Coach asked that they read to the elementary students--their youngest fans--and through that, the boys have learned that facing something new, anything new, can be equally intimidating as facing a defensive line. Coach told them back in those weight room days not to give up in the third quarter, and the boys discovered that they could outplay their opponents by tiring them out. Coach asked that we feed the team a "nice, sit-down meal" before the home games. As the season has progressed, I've come to realize that the intent has been to feed their souls and psyches as much as their bodies, and the result is that they have become family. As for those brains, Coach has guided them to a point of understanding the game; these boys out-think many of their opponents, adapting their game to counter the other teams'.
In an interview, Coach cited a pivotal 4th quarter win mid-season as the point at which "they" started to trust him. Ostensibly, he was referring to the boys on the team. In reality, I suspect he was including the parents and other fans, as well. Prior to that game, there was some appreciation for his methods, but I think there was still a feeling that not much had changed with this new coach. I recall being asked more than once if I thought this new guy would stay if the season continued as it was. I did think so, but I also found myself wondering if he was more disappointed than he was admitting to.
Heading into playoffs....In a later text today, I added that "I've never felt so wrapped up in anything that I can remember. just might explode!" It's true. I've watched. I've learned. I've even become a fan--something I never imagined. Just like playoffs. I told another friend today that I am impressed with how the boys are handling this success, too. They are being "real:" far from modest--they know they have done something amazing--they are, however, being a team. They give credit where it's due, they admit to their own shortcomings on the field (if not necessarily other places--they are just kids, after all!), and they are getting excited about the game. Even I am getting excited about the game. I might manage not to cry, but I doubt it. I really have never been so excited about a football game. Thanks, Coach. Good luck, boys!
Monday, October 31, 2011
quit kidding yourself
an open letter to.....
Dear Parent of "Not My Kid,"
I would say that it's nice to meet you, but, honestly, you just make me shake my head after we part company. There are too many of you out there for me to truly believe that your kid exists. If every single one of you has that kid, why are there so many teenagers who die in alcohol-related accidents each year? According to the MADD website, one in five teens binge drinks. That's 1 in 5. In my son's graduating class of 112 students, about 22 kids; and in my sophomore son's class of 123, about 25. In the entire high school, 85 kids, statistically speaking, are binge drinking. From the numbers, you can see that is almost an entire grade level at our little school in our small, "close-knit" community. MADD also points out that only one in 100 parents believes that their child binge drinks. From my experience with you and your adamant "Not MY Kid" attitude, I would have to say that sounds about right. Is there anyone in our town who thinks their kid might be drinking at all, let alone excessively? I suspect my kid, and after the stories I've heard lately, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be making some changes.
Recently, I heard a mom talking about how she checked up on her kid. He had a cell phone, but she always instructed him to call her the old fashioned way, from a land line, when he got where he was going, and when he protested that some of his friends didn't have a land line at their house, she told him to call from the parent's cell phone. Ingenious! Foolproof? No. When, for whatever reason, it wasn't feasible, she would stop by on her way somewhere else, just to say she was passing by--but not every time. And, on occasion, she would call a parent out of the blue to thank them for their hospitality, generosity, etc. There were times when backpedalling was necessary for any of the parties involved. Not every friend, obviously, lives on the way to somewhere reasonable, but just how much arguing can a kid do? Did her kid stay out of trouble? Not completely, but she sure did reduce the amount. She parented.
Ah, but you say your son or daughter will not trust you if you don't let them go and do whatever it is that teens do?? Do you really not remember what it was like to be a teen? Do you not remember at all that feeling that you were invincible; that you were young and alive, and always would be? I do. I remember the risky behavior I participated in, and that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized--not once, but twice--that I may have totally screwed up the rest of my life this time. Not my reputation, or my college opportunities, but seriously my entire future. All for a little bit of fun. Maybe 3 or 4 hours at a time.
Teenagers are stupid and reckless. They are designed that way. They are also designed, in theory, with a fail safe switch called "parents." Not friends. Friends are the people who encourage teens to do things that may or may not be good choices. Friends are there for fun, for listening when teens complain about their parents, teachers and grades, for reflecting, or rather, mirroring. Teenage years are the second set of Monkey See, Monkey Do years. Parenting requires that you guide your children to adulthood, not to mostly adulthood. Teenagers are not adults. I really don't care how "intelligent" they are, or how "responsible" and "trustworthy," there are times when they will falter. Remember those binge drinkers? They started somewhere, sometime. Where were you?
Sure, it's easy to look at your kids' friends and pick out the ones you think are the troublemakers, the partiers, the ringleaders, but who are those kids' parents picking out for each category? Are you being realistic? Objective? Do you want to be? Heck, no, I don't! I want to believe that my kid will always stick to his guns, always do what I expect from him, and will always make me proud. Unfortunately for me (and for my kids) I'm a bit more of a realist than that. So, I'm following another route. Beginning today, I'm checking on my kids more. Yes, that's right, I may show up at your house if any of my kids told me he would be there, or I might call your land line and expect to speak to him. They already know that they're supposed to call me when they goes somewhere, change locations or plans, or if they need assistance of any kind. Unfortunately, when push comes to shove, my kid is not likely to call unless he's alone.
It seems you, in your delusion of your kid being so trustworthy and responsible, do not require these calls from your kid. You believe, or kid yourself, that because your kid has a cell phone, you know where he or she is at all times. That a text is just as good as a phone call--or even better, because then friends don't know it's you! Did you never lie to your parents? Ever?? Don't you think, isn't it possible, that a cell phone might just make it a little bit easier to lie, or at the very least, hide the truth a little? Especially through text.
Don't get me wrong: a cell phone is a great tool in the fight against teenage stupidity, but it is an extra-sharp double-edged sword. And can only be used properly with training and practice. And I also know from my own experience that there is a delicate balance between too much and too little. But I also know that in the end, a little more is appreciated far more than a little less. One of my friends recently told me about taking her son's car. He was out an hour past curfew, with no call (from his cell phone or any other phone), so she and her husband went and got his car. Not him, just his car. Half an hour later, he called, frantic at first, and later angry, and didn't speak to them for two whole days, but he has since told them that "nothing good happens after 11." Pure genius.
I know what you are thinking now, "You don't trust your own kids!" Damn straight. I'm working on giving them opportunities to earn trust. I'm not just giving it away. Are you kidding? It's worth too much! Until it actually happens that my kid calls me from a party and says, "Come get me" instead of telling me afterward that he probably should have, or thought about it, there's no reason to give him a blank check of trust. I love them all too much for that. And I respect them all too much for that, too. Bottom line, I'm not here to befriend them. I enjoy their company, their stories, their friends (even the ones I really think are not the best ones to be hanging around with), and I like them at least as much as I love them, but I have a job to do.
Realizing that my kids will make stupid decisions does not mean that they are excused when they do--or when I find out because they've been caught. It just keeps me from being blindsided. It's much easier to come out standing that way. Take your head out of the sand, stop being so naive, and get on top of your kid so I can stay on mine. That whole "takes a village" concept goes way beyond pre-school carpools.
Sincerely,
Maybe My Kid
Dear Parent of "Not My Kid,"
I would say that it's nice to meet you, but, honestly, you just make me shake my head after we part company. There are too many of you out there for me to truly believe that your kid exists. If every single one of you has that kid, why are there so many teenagers who die in alcohol-related accidents each year? According to the MADD website, one in five teens binge drinks. That's 1 in 5. In my son's graduating class of 112 students, about 22 kids; and in my sophomore son's class of 123, about 25. In the entire high school, 85 kids, statistically speaking, are binge drinking. From the numbers, you can see that is almost an entire grade level at our little school in our small, "close-knit" community. MADD also points out that only one in 100 parents believes that their child binge drinks. From my experience with you and your adamant "Not MY Kid" attitude, I would have to say that sounds about right. Is there anyone in our town who thinks their kid might be drinking at all, let alone excessively? I suspect my kid, and after the stories I've heard lately, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be making some changes.
Recently, I heard a mom talking about how she checked up on her kid. He had a cell phone, but she always instructed him to call her the old fashioned way, from a land line, when he got where he was going, and when he protested that some of his friends didn't have a land line at their house, she told him to call from the parent's cell phone. Ingenious! Foolproof? No. When, for whatever reason, it wasn't feasible, she would stop by on her way somewhere else, just to say she was passing by--but not every time. And, on occasion, she would call a parent out of the blue to thank them for their hospitality, generosity, etc. There were times when backpedalling was necessary for any of the parties involved. Not every friend, obviously, lives on the way to somewhere reasonable, but just how much arguing can a kid do? Did her kid stay out of trouble? Not completely, but she sure did reduce the amount. She parented.
Ah, but you say your son or daughter will not trust you if you don't let them go and do whatever it is that teens do?? Do you really not remember what it was like to be a teen? Do you not remember at all that feeling that you were invincible; that you were young and alive, and always would be? I do. I remember the risky behavior I participated in, and that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized--not once, but twice--that I may have totally screwed up the rest of my life this time. Not my reputation, or my college opportunities, but seriously my entire future. All for a little bit of fun. Maybe 3 or 4 hours at a time.
Teenagers are stupid and reckless. They are designed that way. They are also designed, in theory, with a fail safe switch called "parents." Not friends. Friends are the people who encourage teens to do things that may or may not be good choices. Friends are there for fun, for listening when teens complain about their parents, teachers and grades, for reflecting, or rather, mirroring. Teenage years are the second set of Monkey See, Monkey Do years. Parenting requires that you guide your children to adulthood, not to mostly adulthood. Teenagers are not adults. I really don't care how "intelligent" they are, or how "responsible" and "trustworthy," there are times when they will falter. Remember those binge drinkers? They started somewhere, sometime. Where were you?
Sure, it's easy to look at your kids' friends and pick out the ones you think are the troublemakers, the partiers, the ringleaders, but who are those kids' parents picking out for each category? Are you being realistic? Objective? Do you want to be? Heck, no, I don't! I want to believe that my kid will always stick to his guns, always do what I expect from him, and will always make me proud. Unfortunately for me (and for my kids) I'm a bit more of a realist than that. So, I'm following another route. Beginning today, I'm checking on my kids more. Yes, that's right, I may show up at your house if any of my kids told me he would be there, or I might call your land line and expect to speak to him. They already know that they're supposed to call me when they goes somewhere, change locations or plans, or if they need assistance of any kind. Unfortunately, when push comes to shove, my kid is not likely to call unless he's alone.
It seems you, in your delusion of your kid being so trustworthy and responsible, do not require these calls from your kid. You believe, or kid yourself, that because your kid has a cell phone, you know where he or she is at all times. That a text is just as good as a phone call--or even better, because then friends don't know it's you! Did you never lie to your parents? Ever?? Don't you think, isn't it possible, that a cell phone might just make it a little bit easier to lie, or at the very least, hide the truth a little? Especially through text.
Don't get me wrong: a cell phone is a great tool in the fight against teenage stupidity, but it is an extra-sharp double-edged sword. And can only be used properly with training and practice. And I also know from my own experience that there is a delicate balance between too much and too little. But I also know that in the end, a little more is appreciated far more than a little less. One of my friends recently told me about taking her son's car. He was out an hour past curfew, with no call (from his cell phone or any other phone), so she and her husband went and got his car. Not him, just his car. Half an hour later, he called, frantic at first, and later angry, and didn't speak to them for two whole days, but he has since told them that "nothing good happens after 11." Pure genius.
I know what you are thinking now, "You don't trust your own kids!" Damn straight. I'm working on giving them opportunities to earn trust. I'm not just giving it away. Are you kidding? It's worth too much! Until it actually happens that my kid calls me from a party and says, "Come get me" instead of telling me afterward that he probably should have, or thought about it, there's no reason to give him a blank check of trust. I love them all too much for that. And I respect them all too much for that, too. Bottom line, I'm not here to befriend them. I enjoy their company, their stories, their friends (even the ones I really think are not the best ones to be hanging around with), and I like them at least as much as I love them, but I have a job to do.
Realizing that my kids will make stupid decisions does not mean that they are excused when they do--or when I find out because they've been caught. It just keeps me from being blindsided. It's much easier to come out standing that way. Take your head out of the sand, stop being so naive, and get on top of your kid so I can stay on mine. That whole "takes a village" concept goes way beyond pre-school carpools.
Sincerely,
Maybe My Kid
Sunday, October 30, 2011
what you've heard really is true
I have very few regrets in my life, and, fortunately, the ones I do have are more related to opportunities I've passed up rather than things I have done that I shouldn't have. Still, there are lessons I've learned, and truths that have been revealed along the way. Nobody wants to hear anyone say, "some day you'll understand," but if I could write a letter to my younger self....
Dear Teenage Me,
There are so many things you need to know about yourself--far more than you think you already know. You will change. Your life will change, and life will change you, and there is no way to know which is affecting which more, or what the end result will be. That much you know, although the extent is unknown to all but the Spirit you most believe in.
For now, be true to yourself. I know you think "fitting in" is all-important, but I've come to realize that everyone else in the room has the same goal. None of your friends has cornered the market on what is "cool" or "fresh" or "legit" or whatever it is you and your friends call it. Neither has the media. Your parents may seem old-fashioned--and in some ways they are, to be sure!--but they did live through the same pressures that you did. Really, they did. Absolutely, "things were different then," but that doesn't change the fact that every adolescent has had to deal with severe and difficult peer pressure. Not many people make it through High School without some kind of story to tell, and even fewer would say that they would do it all exactly the same way, given the choice. Or that they would want the same experience for the children in their lives. Unfortunately, in an effort to forget the pain and difficulties of being a teenager, far too many adults say, "You don't know how easy you have it." But instead of tuning them out, or getting annoyed with them, ask questions. And drop the attitude when you ask; listen for a real answer, and if you don't get one, ask again.
As adults, we don't really like to be questioned. We'll try to brush off the questions; to give you easy answers that don't really tell you anything. Ask anyway.
Don't ask questions that you don't really want the answers to. Ask what will help you. Ask how we dealt with peer pressure, with bullying, with breakups and first love. Ask if the risks were worth it; how they might have changed our lives, our ideas about ourselves, our parenting now. And listen carefully to how we feel about reputations back then--whether it still matters what those friends thought of us at the time.
Be true to yourself. You may think that you are, because you are doing what you want to do instead of what your parents want you to do, but are you really? How important is it, really, to do what someone else is doing? To wear what someone else is, to act like someone else? Does it really make that person your friend? As a little kid, the game of Follow the Leader is fun and silly, but as a teenager, it can become confusing, frightening, and downright dangerous. Don't always follow. I've learned that wearing and doing what I like has led to people saying that I have "a great sense of style," even on the days when I am just wearing sweats and a t-shirt. Dressing like the fashion magazines, pop stars, or the popular kids at school just adds up to a uniform. Trust me on that.Yes, it's fun to have new clothes and to be fashionable, but only if it is both flattering and comfortable to do so, otherwise, you might as well be a lemming.
And don't risk your own self for the sake of what someone will think of you. If he breaks up with you because you won't have sex, he'd just have broken your heart some other way, but at least he won't have taken a piece of your being with you. If she teases you for being a sentimental boy, she may not be comfortable enough with her own feelings to allow you yours. Is that worth your heart? If others' behavior is risky, obscene, or just plain idiotic, they are not strong enough themselves to be someone to emulate. Those who respect themselves are the ones who people remember and respect the most in the long run.
You will be told, "Everyone is...." You will tell your parents, "Everyone is....." When you say it to your parents, you know it's a lie; therefore, you should probably consider that when you hear it, too. That's the hard part. I mean it, that is the hardest part.
The things you do to try to fit in, and that can only be explained with that reason, are usually the things that will get you into trouble. End of story. Those who are at the top of that food chain don't even really want to get to know the real you. Spend more time worrying about how you want to be remembered later than about what will be said tonight. Remember that no matter how big or small your school/neighborhood/town might be, it really is tiny, and news about regrettable acts travels far faster than that of strength and character.
Strive to be YOU. And remember that your kids will ask you questions, too. Live the way you want to answer them. Yes, you will make mistakes, and you will do things that don't fit your own view of yourself. Best to admit them, face them, and allow the people who truly have your best interests at heart to help you sort through them. That's not likely to be anyone in that crowd who was with you at the time. No, it's more likely to be your parents, a teacher, an adult you trust--someone who's been there and has had time to reflect.
You probably stopped reading a long time ago. I remember feeling preached to, and zoning out and ignoring any advice from adults. I hope, if that's the case, with all my heart, that you make better choices than your peers. That you become a leader, or even a lone wolf, because you believe in yourself.
Because I believe in you.
I really do.
And I'm here for you.
Warmly,
Me
Dear Teenage Me,
There are so many things you need to know about yourself--far more than you think you already know. You will change. Your life will change, and life will change you, and there is no way to know which is affecting which more, or what the end result will be. That much you know, although the extent is unknown to all but the Spirit you most believe in.
For now, be true to yourself. I know you think "fitting in" is all-important, but I've come to realize that everyone else in the room has the same goal. None of your friends has cornered the market on what is "cool" or "fresh" or "legit" or whatever it is you and your friends call it. Neither has the media. Your parents may seem old-fashioned--and in some ways they are, to be sure!--but they did live through the same pressures that you did. Really, they did. Absolutely, "things were different then," but that doesn't change the fact that every adolescent has had to deal with severe and difficult peer pressure. Not many people make it through High School without some kind of story to tell, and even fewer would say that they would do it all exactly the same way, given the choice. Or that they would want the same experience for the children in their lives. Unfortunately, in an effort to forget the pain and difficulties of being a teenager, far too many adults say, "You don't know how easy you have it." But instead of tuning them out, or getting annoyed with them, ask questions. And drop the attitude when you ask; listen for a real answer, and if you don't get one, ask again.
As adults, we don't really like to be questioned. We'll try to brush off the questions; to give you easy answers that don't really tell you anything. Ask anyway.
Don't ask questions that you don't really want the answers to. Ask what will help you. Ask how we dealt with peer pressure, with bullying, with breakups and first love. Ask if the risks were worth it; how they might have changed our lives, our ideas about ourselves, our parenting now. And listen carefully to how we feel about reputations back then--whether it still matters what those friends thought of us at the time.
Be true to yourself. You may think that you are, because you are doing what you want to do instead of what your parents want you to do, but are you really? How important is it, really, to do what someone else is doing? To wear what someone else is, to act like someone else? Does it really make that person your friend? As a little kid, the game of Follow the Leader is fun and silly, but as a teenager, it can become confusing, frightening, and downright dangerous. Don't always follow. I've learned that wearing and doing what I like has led to people saying that I have "a great sense of style," even on the days when I am just wearing sweats and a t-shirt. Dressing like the fashion magazines, pop stars, or the popular kids at school just adds up to a uniform. Trust me on that.Yes, it's fun to have new clothes and to be fashionable, but only if it is both flattering and comfortable to do so, otherwise, you might as well be a lemming.
And don't risk your own self for the sake of what someone will think of you. If he breaks up with you because you won't have sex, he'd just have broken your heart some other way, but at least he won't have taken a piece of your being with you. If she teases you for being a sentimental boy, she may not be comfortable enough with her own feelings to allow you yours. Is that worth your heart? If others' behavior is risky, obscene, or just plain idiotic, they are not strong enough themselves to be someone to emulate. Those who respect themselves are the ones who people remember and respect the most in the long run.
You will be told, "Everyone is...." You will tell your parents, "Everyone is....." When you say it to your parents, you know it's a lie; therefore, you should probably consider that when you hear it, too. That's the hard part. I mean it, that is the hardest part.
The things you do to try to fit in, and that can only be explained with that reason, are usually the things that will get you into trouble. End of story. Those who are at the top of that food chain don't even really want to get to know the real you. Spend more time worrying about how you want to be remembered later than about what will be said tonight. Remember that no matter how big or small your school/neighborhood/town might be, it really is tiny, and news about regrettable acts travels far faster than that of strength and character.
Strive to be YOU. And remember that your kids will ask you questions, too. Live the way you want to answer them. Yes, you will make mistakes, and you will do things that don't fit your own view of yourself. Best to admit them, face them, and allow the people who truly have your best interests at heart to help you sort through them. That's not likely to be anyone in that crowd who was with you at the time. No, it's more likely to be your parents, a teacher, an adult you trust--someone who's been there and has had time to reflect.
You probably stopped reading a long time ago. I remember feeling preached to, and zoning out and ignoring any advice from adults. I hope, if that's the case, with all my heart, that you make better choices than your peers. That you become a leader, or even a lone wolf, because you believe in yourself.
Because I believe in you.
I really do.
And I'm here for you.
Warmly,
Me
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
it all comes back
Watching my boys (which includes Guy) as they participate in their various activities is one of the joys of my life. The sidelines are a great place for me to be: I can see what's going on, gauge my own level of participation to my a) understanding of the event, and b) to my desire to be noticed or not. I can choose whether to cheer out loud, or just within myself, and oftentimes I do both at the same event. It matters little whether the event is sports- or school-related, team or individual; I like to see my boys doing what they do, and the associated reactions and interactions.
There are times, however, when watching brings back memories that I hope my children never have. Yesterday, at Drew's soccer game, I was suddenly struck with the realization of why I didn't do team sports. Sure, there are the "reasons" that I was given when I would ask about playing softball, but in all honesty, when I was told the schedule didn't fit the family's schedule, or Mom was 'against' team sports, I was secretly relieved.
You see, I was on a kickball team when I was a kid, and it was one of the worst experiences of my life. Oh, I tried to love it! I packed my shorts, shirt and sneakers in my bag every week for practice, and I walked with the team from our school over to the public school where we would practice, and I would run the laps for warm-up, but inside, I was terrified. First of all, my bag for my gear was a plastic shopping bag from Izard's department store--a very cool bag, to be sure, as it was covered with this patchwork of 'newspaper' clippings and ads, and it was in the days when it was pretty unusual to have a plastic shopping bag, but it was really not the best device for carrying gym clothes. It didn't take long for the bag, my shoes and my kickball clothes to permanently develop the scent of Frito's. No one ever said a thing, so I have no idea if anyone ever even noticed, but I sure did.
Truly, that was the least of my worries. I was a dancer. A dancer dances. A dancer does not stand behind home base in a "ready position" and catch a kickball, all the while saying, "Come on, come on, we can do this." And a dancer certainly doesn't stand at first base and get hit in the stomach and chest by a line drive kick, and actually hold on to the ball! (The latter fact one that our coach picked up on rather quickly.) Oddly enough, a dancer can quite easily manage to kick the ball backwards, on the floor, toward the opposing team's catcher. Pretty consistently, too, I might add. I worried that our uniform shirts, which came from the Champion outlet, were not as nifty as the other teams' shirts, and that my shorts, which came from the irregular bin in the same outlet (the tag was missing), might not match everyone else's--or worse, were backwards (remember, no tag!) and would not stay up where they were supposed to. And we had to wear tube socks. I have never been a fan of the tube sock, and I think that is probably also related to kickball.
Anyway, back to Drew's game. As I watched, I could see how they have improved over the course of the season. They were communicating with each other quite a bit--telling each other to cover this side, take it to the corner, get away from the center--and passing to each other in the mid-field. Just as I was thinking that they were showing some nice teamwork, one of the boys clearly started to hog the ball. And that's when it hit me. Some kids are just going to take the spotlight, no matter what. This kid reminds me, in so very many ways, of one of the players on my kickball team. She was also in my class. I think she might have been the pitcher--and she was, still is, in some ways, my tormentor.
She was bigger than me, and she was meaner than me, and it turns out, when I talk to our classmates, she left everyone with memories somewhere between uncomfortable and downright painful. She took my friends from time to time, but really took my self-image. Before I started dancing in second grade, I was a chubby little thing ("little"--HA! I was not little at all. As tall as most of the boys...), but for years--until 5th grade? 6th?--she would taunt me about being fat. I wore hand-me-downs (except for what I got at Champion), and I heard about that all the time. I was from a family of 6 kids, and so she told me I must be poor, and that's why we lived in the country. And when I didn't kick the home run I was so obviously big enough to kick, I never lived it down.
I remember standing at the door, waiting for the bus, and telling Mom I never wanted to go to school again. That this girl was making me miserable, and that she was probably right about all the things she'd said about me. Mom's response was, "She's just jealous." (Her standard response, along with, "If you miss the bus, you're walking to school.") When I asked what she could possibly be jealous of (remember: fat, clumsy, friendless, poor, and therefore stupid), she simply repeated herself. Oddly, she did not tell me none of it was true. I went to school. I survived. I found a friend or two who would not be swayed--or would no longer be swayed--and I started to write poetry and a book. Boys started to think I was funny and fun to be around, but since we'd spent every day together from the time we were in first grade, they didn't "like" me, so even though the actual comments stopped, in my head, I still heard them all.
In 7th and 8th grades, I began to have some confidence in my intelligence, mostly due to my writing style, and because I had both boys and girls as friends, I also began to feel less alone (although not necessarily less lonely--I still struggle with that at times) and less concerned about Champion shirts, since I only wore them for gym class anyway. But it took years for me to understand that I was anywhere near healthy. I clearly remember the day in high school, walking to the library from school, and having to walk past her house in town to get there, when I realized that all that time, she was fatter than me by a long shot. (She also was from a rather large family--at least 6 kids.) Yet, I still struggle with my self-image.
Not all ball hogs are like that. Some hog the ball because they don't know any better, and some just look like they are hogging it, but in reality, everyone is giving it to them; probably because they have a real talent or knack. Some sports require one or two members of the team to handle the ball more than anyone else, and in those cases, there may be either showboating or a graceful generosity that sets a player apart. I have trouble watching team sports when true teamwork is not apparent. I get uncomfortable, solely due to my own experiences. Myopic, I know, since it was one team, a very long time ago, but it was an experience that stunted a part of me, I now understand.
In the soccer game of life, I am one of the ball boys, but only if it's my turn. I have little desire to be in the middle of the field. I want to see what's going on, help out where I can, but hide my insecurities, my inabilities, my fears about belonging and fitting in. Inside, I am both strong and fragile, and not always wise enough to protect myself. Seeing my boys with their respective teammates fills me with hope that their experiences are better than mine; that they are being built up, rather than torn apart. And that through their experience, there will be strength of mind, body and spirit.
And I hope they know that as I watch them from the sidelines, my sometimes silence is due to my respect and admiration for who they are, what they have accomplished, and where they are headed.
Go Team Tanguay!
There are times, however, when watching brings back memories that I hope my children never have. Yesterday, at Drew's soccer game, I was suddenly struck with the realization of why I didn't do team sports. Sure, there are the "reasons" that I was given when I would ask about playing softball, but in all honesty, when I was told the schedule didn't fit the family's schedule, or Mom was 'against' team sports, I was secretly relieved.
You see, I was on a kickball team when I was a kid, and it was one of the worst experiences of my life. Oh, I tried to love it! I packed my shorts, shirt and sneakers in my bag every week for practice, and I walked with the team from our school over to the public school where we would practice, and I would run the laps for warm-up, but inside, I was terrified. First of all, my bag for my gear was a plastic shopping bag from Izard's department store--a very cool bag, to be sure, as it was covered with this patchwork of 'newspaper' clippings and ads, and it was in the days when it was pretty unusual to have a plastic shopping bag, but it was really not the best device for carrying gym clothes. It didn't take long for the bag, my shoes and my kickball clothes to permanently develop the scent of Frito's. No one ever said a thing, so I have no idea if anyone ever even noticed, but I sure did.
Truly, that was the least of my worries. I was a dancer. A dancer dances. A dancer does not stand behind home base in a "ready position" and catch a kickball, all the while saying, "Come on, come on, we can do this." And a dancer certainly doesn't stand at first base and get hit in the stomach and chest by a line drive kick, and actually hold on to the ball! (The latter fact one that our coach picked up on rather quickly.) Oddly enough, a dancer can quite easily manage to kick the ball backwards, on the floor, toward the opposing team's catcher. Pretty consistently, too, I might add. I worried that our uniform shirts, which came from the Champion outlet, were not as nifty as the other teams' shirts, and that my shorts, which came from the irregular bin in the same outlet (the tag was missing), might not match everyone else's--or worse, were backwards (remember, no tag!) and would not stay up where they were supposed to. And we had to wear tube socks. I have never been a fan of the tube sock, and I think that is probably also related to kickball.
Anyway, back to Drew's game. As I watched, I could see how they have improved over the course of the season. They were communicating with each other quite a bit--telling each other to cover this side, take it to the corner, get away from the center--and passing to each other in the mid-field. Just as I was thinking that they were showing some nice teamwork, one of the boys clearly started to hog the ball. And that's when it hit me. Some kids are just going to take the spotlight, no matter what. This kid reminds me, in so very many ways, of one of the players on my kickball team. She was also in my class. I think she might have been the pitcher--and she was, still is, in some ways, my tormentor.
She was bigger than me, and she was meaner than me, and it turns out, when I talk to our classmates, she left everyone with memories somewhere between uncomfortable and downright painful. She took my friends from time to time, but really took my self-image. Before I started dancing in second grade, I was a chubby little thing ("little"--HA! I was not little at all. As tall as most of the boys...), but for years--until 5th grade? 6th?--she would taunt me about being fat. I wore hand-me-downs (except for what I got at Champion), and I heard about that all the time. I was from a family of 6 kids, and so she told me I must be poor, and that's why we lived in the country. And when I didn't kick the home run I was so obviously big enough to kick, I never lived it down.
I remember standing at the door, waiting for the bus, and telling Mom I never wanted to go to school again. That this girl was making me miserable, and that she was probably right about all the things she'd said about me. Mom's response was, "She's just jealous." (Her standard response, along with, "If you miss the bus, you're walking to school.") When I asked what she could possibly be jealous of (remember: fat, clumsy, friendless, poor, and therefore stupid), she simply repeated herself. Oddly, she did not tell me none of it was true. I went to school. I survived. I found a friend or two who would not be swayed--or would no longer be swayed--and I started to write poetry and a book. Boys started to think I was funny and fun to be around, but since we'd spent every day together from the time we were in first grade, they didn't "like" me, so even though the actual comments stopped, in my head, I still heard them all.
In 7th and 8th grades, I began to have some confidence in my intelligence, mostly due to my writing style, and because I had both boys and girls as friends, I also began to feel less alone (although not necessarily less lonely--I still struggle with that at times) and less concerned about Champion shirts, since I only wore them for gym class anyway. But it took years for me to understand that I was anywhere near healthy. I clearly remember the day in high school, walking to the library from school, and having to walk past her house in town to get there, when I realized that all that time, she was fatter than me by a long shot. (She also was from a rather large family--at least 6 kids.) Yet, I still struggle with my self-image.
Not all ball hogs are like that. Some hog the ball because they don't know any better, and some just look like they are hogging it, but in reality, everyone is giving it to them; probably because they have a real talent or knack. Some sports require one or two members of the team to handle the ball more than anyone else, and in those cases, there may be either showboating or a graceful generosity that sets a player apart. I have trouble watching team sports when true teamwork is not apparent. I get uncomfortable, solely due to my own experiences. Myopic, I know, since it was one team, a very long time ago, but it was an experience that stunted a part of me, I now understand.
In the soccer game of life, I am one of the ball boys, but only if it's my turn. I have little desire to be in the middle of the field. I want to see what's going on, help out where I can, but hide my insecurities, my inabilities, my fears about belonging and fitting in. Inside, I am both strong and fragile, and not always wise enough to protect myself. Seeing my boys with their respective teammates fills me with hope that their experiences are better than mine; that they are being built up, rather than torn apart. And that through their experience, there will be strength of mind, body and spirit.
And I hope they know that as I watch them from the sidelines, my sometimes silence is due to my respect and admiration for who they are, what they have accomplished, and where they are headed.
Go Team Tanguay!
Sunday, October 2, 2011
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.
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.
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