the roar--an element

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.....

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

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!

precious and few

My two favorite pictures of the entire season. That joy, pride, admiration, and, yes, relief, that we all felt after the last regular season win, is more than just evident in these pictures. It's palpable. The game ended, and Jon walked toward us with tears in his eyes and his face all screwed up with the effort of not crying out loud, and hugged me, holding me tight and swaying while my heart exploded with a mixture of pride for him, his teammates, and his coaches, and relief that he made it through the regular season injury-free, though he played hard. As he hugged me, I had so many thoughts going through my head, but there were no words for the moment. There really aren't in moments like this. He released me and turned to Guy. Like all the post-game pictures I take, I snapped the picture without even looking at the viewfinder, hoping against hope that I would even capture them in the frame. I'm not one for taking posed pictures; my preference is taking pictures that capture something. When I opened this picture of Guy and Jon, my heart skipped a beat. What I saw was my husband and our firstborn son in a moment that said everything (I thought) that could ever be said about the final steps in a journey from a 1-9 season to a 6-4 season. Everything that could possibly be said about looking forward to playoffs, while keeping in mind the first steps our son ever took. What else could express the joy and awe at turning, now, toward the post-season, and a first playoff game on the team's home field? Then I opened this other picture...

 

As brothers, Henry and Jon have had their inseparable moments. Football, however, has been Jon's thing. Henry went to most of the games, and cheered on his brother and, of course, his other friends on the team. But after that win--the one that so many said wouldn't happen--the first thing Henry wanted to do was hug his brother. This is one of those moments I feel blessed to have captured!! Happy, proud, joyful, excited--any emotion possible is displayed in Henry's face, and I'm left with the memory of how long they stood that way--long enough for me to get two shots, and to stand in awe of that mystery to me of Brother Love.

And after my heart started beating normally, and I could settle in and focus on downloading the photos into the appropriate file folders on the computer, it hit me. I'm not in any such pictures. And I doubt that I ever will be. I know there is a chance, because I do have one picture of Dad giving me one of my favorite one-armed hugs, from my high school graduation. He loved those unposed, unplanned, one-of-a-kind snapshots, too, so I have lots and lots of them--without him.

When Jon's kids look back at these pictures, how will they see the absence of my face, my emotions? How will he? Will he remember the hug that I gave him, too, or will it be lost without 'proof'? As I got older, I began taking pictures of Dad when he wasn't looking, but those moments didn't include me. When I think about them, or see pictures of amazing moments, I do still feel that arm of his over my shoulder. Will Jon? Will any of my boys? I hope so.

In the meantime, I will gaze at these two pictures and be warmed by the tide of memories from the whole season that wash over me. From a whole lifetime.

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.