my role model

A few weeks ago, I was asked "Who is your role model? What inspires you about this person?" I was in a bit of a rough place, and feeling let down by a whole lot of people I always thought 'should' be in the position of role modeling. I was set to respond with "It depends on the day" or "I don't have one. I prefer to model myself after attributes rather than people." The truth is, what I wanted to say is that I avoid letting anyone into that position now so they cannot disappoint or hurt me. The question was part of a survey I had to do - it was not optional - and there was no reason to say anything on it that wasn't the absolute truth. But, despite the truth in what I wanted to say, I knew, deep down, that it was temporary; the way that moment in time was shining on me. Or raining on me, I suppose.

I stepped away from my computer and thought about all the people I love, and who love me; my family of the heart, and my kids.Can a role model be a regular person? How could I have forgotten that? How could I have forgotten that the best role models are the ones that are right there, showing themselves - their true selves - in little ways. The people that had hurt me so much hadn't, really. I mean, yes, they did, but in the long run - a year, a decade, even a month down the road - the ways they had disappointed me would be long gone; the hurt healed over into a golden scar, strengthening the once broken parts of my heart. I considered who, really, was a role model to me, and how I could answer the question honestly. Truly honestly. An answer that would hold true in the future (days later, when discussing it, or a decade later, when I reflected on it), as well as the past. Was there anyone? Had I ever really let anyone be a role model? Of course. This is my response:

My dad. He could befriend anyone, in any situation. Along the way, he would find the best in people; everyone was his favorite. And he made that believable. From his example, I have learned that everyone has some gift to share, and I try to remember that, even with unpleasant interactions. His legacy to me is an admiration of the human spirit.

Today is Dad's birthday. Today marks ten years of no Happy Birthday phone calls. No left arm hugs. No coffee in pajamas all morning, until it's time to get dressed so we can have lunch and talk some more. No last glass of wine after lights out. I wish sometimes I had asked him what gift it is that he saw that I had to share. I wish sometimes that I had told him about my hurts, more about my joys, my dreams. I never asked him for real reasons on some things, like why he discouraged me from being a helicopter pilot, or going to the West Coast for college. I know the reasons he told me at the time, but I also know there was more behind it. The truth is, despite all the talking we did, and the love we shared, I didn't want him to know me that well. I was afraid, and I'm only beginning to learn what I was afraid of. The truth is, even as a little girl, I was already broken, and I really didn't want to know, or face, that he was, too, in some way. I didn't want that in common with him. The truth is, he's the reason I stayed. The reason I stayed at home, the reason I stayed in my marriage, the reason I stayed with at least a couple of jobs. I can't (yet) explain how he was, because I don't (yet) have the words. But I now know that to be truth. I love him for it. And I also wish I could talk it out with him, because it only makes so much sense, then it falls off into some realm I don't want to visit alone.

Another one of the questions on that survey was about a desert island:

If you were shipwrecked and stranded on an island without any supplies, fellow humans, etc., what do you do first? Why?
Cry, because I’ve never even considered learning how to build a fire without matches, and I know fire is the best way to protect myself from wild animals, prepare food to eat, and signal for help. Then I would pull myself together and explore. 

At the discussion afterward, we talked about sushi. In another conversation, my therapist said he knew there was something else I would do before I cried, because I am me. He said I would realize and be thankful that I am alive. And it clicked: I'm a survivor. The legacy of admiration for the human spirit is related to being a survivor. Dad taught me to survive. And from that survival, I am learning to thrive.

As I write this, the Morning Doves have returned. Dad used to whistle the Morning Dove's call, and always as a kid, because of the sound, I was convinced they were called Mourning Doves. Hearing them today is a gift from him, from Him. One year they nested in the crook of the tree right outside the window, and the boys and I watched them each day, sitting on eggs and staring at us. I like to think Dad watches over us, but I also hope that's not all he does. I miss him. I love him. And I'm grateful for all he taught me, and even the things he didn't, because they make him all the more real to me. Happy Birthday, Dad. I know you would understand.

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!

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

your turn--yes, you

by special request....

Dear Me (because I don't want to forget),

What you do today will be emulated. Don't think that no one is paying attention. While you sit here typing this blog, someone is thinking they should be like you. They don't always even know that's what they are thinking--or, quite possibly, they are looking at you and telling themselves that they never want to do what you do. They will. They may beat themselves up about it afterwards, or they may praise you for showing you the way--but that is up to you. Now. And always.

You've been telling your kids how you expect them to behave since they were small babies. Making sure they say "Please" and "Thank you" to everyone, and encouraging them to hold doors open for others. Are you sure that's all you've been showing them?

I remember how amazed and touched I was when my eldest son and my niece both said that going back to college to finish my degree was "so cool!" There was a part of me that worked even harder because I knew they were now depending on me to show them how important college is, and how they would want to know how I was going to prioritize school and life, and if anything would change in regard to how I felt about them. Through some classes, that is what sustained me and kept me from giving up. I need to remember to thank them for that.

I remember, too, the day that my son said to me, "I'm glad you've made some new friends. I've noticed you drink more now, and have fun." That was a blow. Actually, more than that--it made me wonder which made more of an impression on him: my earning a college degree, or the fact that I was consuming more wine than he had ever seen me drink. It wasn't terribly excessive--just a glass or two a couple of times a week, but considering that he had only ever seen me drink wine on holidays, the change was huge. I was shocked. More that it was noticeable enough for him to notice and comment on than because of anything else.

Honestly, I've made changes since that day not long ago. I'd like you to help me make good choices. Just like you expect from the kids. And since you are me, we can work together. There is medical evidence that some alcohol consumption may be beneficial, but that doesn't mean finishing up a bottle of wine just so it "won't go to waste" or because "there's only a little bit left." You know full well that if the wine "skunks" from sitting in the fridge too long, or doesn't taste as good the next day, it will be a perfect flavoring for that stew, risotto, or other fabulous dinner you like to make. We can let it go, and even plan the dinner to put it in.

That glass of wine, or even two, if you're not going anywhere, is something altogether different from a bottle or two. Very different. Keep that in mind. Anything beyond the first few sips, and your kids are watching to see how you are behaving. I've seen it. Shoot, we've even joked about it! So far, I've stopped long before I got stupid, but they are looking for any change in behavior, reaction time, anything. One of the teens, I fear, is watching so he can figure out how to hide it when/if he drinks; the other is just willing to use it as fodder if he ever needs it. The others are not as sure about what they are watching for, but they are training hawk eyes on us just the same.

And for God's sake--every one of those things you have told those kids to do or not do--FOLLOW YOUR OWN ADVICE!! If you ever expect your kid to actually call you when someone has had too much to drink, or is high, or is even just too tired to drive, you had better call them if you find yourself in the same situation. Or call a cab. Or stay put. Or walk home, if there is no body of water or highway along the way. They will do what you do, no matter what you say. No matter what you say.

Remember that time you lost your temper about something really nonsensical, and hoped it would be forgotten (even though you couldn't forget it)? Yeah, that's what showed up in that argument between two of your kids the other day. Did you hear yourself? Thought so. How'd that make you feel? Much different than how they felt when you blew up? It hurt again when you told them to knock it off, too, didn't it? No? That's right, it made you feel guilty.....

And that was not the worst thing you've shown them, was it? But now, do you see what I mean? What you do, how you behave, how you live, that's what makes an impression. Every day. Yeah, it's hard work, and sometimes it's not fun, but they are your kids, your friends' kids, your kids' friends, and they are all watching.

I've always believed that I have as much to learn from my kids as I have to teach them. Why else would God have sent us four boys?? I'm a tough case, and have a heck of a lot to learn!! (I'm only half serious there. I am completely aware that our activities had at least as to do with them being here--and there being four of them!--as any grand plan!)  One of the most important things we need to remember at this point is that decisions need to be made with a clear mind, and a clear conscience. We've spent years and so much energy trying to make sure our kids understand that impairment begins with the first drink. Do we? Because we are going to ask our teens if drinking together is really necessary to socialize, we need to ask ourselves the same question. Perhaps there is a problem in the presentation.....

For me, a glass of wine now, as a 42-year-old, self-confident woman, means something very different than the glass I had as a 21-year-old newlywed with my in-laws. Then, admittedly, I had a glass of wine for reasons in addition to liking the wine. I wanted to fit in, and I still felt uncomfortable in this family that I was only beginning to blend into. When I hear kids say they drink to fit in, to be like "everyone else," I honestly do understand. I also know that it didn't work. Instead, I still felt not quite comfortable, and worried that I might have a little too much and do or say something I would regret. Or worse, would embarrass my new husband. I was lucky. None of those things happened. I was LUCKY: any of those things could have happened, or worse. Part of that luck came from the fact that my husband just plain didn't drink. And, although I was a bit insecure then, I was still willing to hold myself accountable. Now when I have a glass of wine or two, the flavor and the experience associated with it are thought out. I am aware of, and take notice of, the taste (a minor thing, really) as well as the physical effects. I am aware. And I purposely stop while I am still aware.

They are watching. Be someone you want them to see.
Sincerely,
Me.

reading, writing and running around

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

heartaches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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