You Poor Thing

You poor thing.




That’s what someone recently replied after I had shared a small piece of something that I have been dealing with personally. You poor thing.



Naturally I was taken aback. It was somewhat of a struggle for me to remain quiet and not give life to the thoughts that immediately began to roil about in my head. I am probably the least of the poor things you would ever come across in this life. An understatement if there ever was.



My mother had very definite ideas about what things impressionable young ladies should see and hear. Her agenda in raising me was directed toward shaping me into a serious person. She did not glorify screen actresses. She downplayed beauty as an asset citing common sense as a more desirable attribute. She didn’t exactly tell me how to think but she made it perfectly clear as to how I shouldn’t.



I suppose as a result, growing up, I didn’t like the weak women I saw depicted in film or on TV. I was attracted to heroines. I liked the women who figuratively “kick ass”. Once I saw Wrangler Jane on the TV series, F Troop I immediately fell in love. A woman who could shoot a rifle, ride a horse and look good? My kind of woman! I also wanted to be Lt. Uhura on the TV series Star Trek. It didn’t matter that Captain James T. Kirk went around kissing every other female on the show… Uhura was on the bridge and helped run the Enterprise! She didn’t need to kiss the captain to get there either.



It’s not that I was a tomboy but I never much cared for super feminine women who needed rescuing…. by a man. I became annoyed observing women on TV and film who always seemed to fall down helplessly, generally while getting chased by an attacker, appearing as if suddenly they forgot how to stay upright. Wide-eyed and blinking, chest heaving and ready to meet peril, waiting for a man to come along and save the day. They got on my nerves. Of course there are the ones who had to drape themselves over a man while they dissolved into tears, helpless and needy, fearfully expecting salvation. Pathetic. The worst of the lot, to me, were those hapless fools seemingly looking for a rescue, basically tripping over any man in the vicinity who might provide one. Horrid stereotypes, I know, but they were common in the late 1960s. Sadly, some still remain.



It’s not that I don’t like men or like to be assisted or helped out by a man when help is needed. I rather enjoy men. I adore chivalry and appreciate masculine gestures of respect and the kindnesses a man can extend to a woman. I just need them to be sincere gestures born from humanity and not superiority. There needs to be a certain symmetry in the gesture without the slightest suggestion of an expectation other than my thanks.



Nothing more, nothing less.

Indeed

One Hundred Ways

One Hundred Ways is a song written by Benjamin Wright, Anthony Tryrone Coleman and Kathleen Wakefield and recorded by Quincy Jones. Most people are familiar with the recording by James Ingram but I prefer the arrangement by Mr Jones. It's a song about the lengths a man should go to show the woman he loves what she means to him.



One hundred ways is also the subject of a thread I came across in an online group this week. The thread was a repost of a list of One Hundred Ways to Make Your Marriage Rock that can be found on the website, We Are THAT Family.


http://wearethatfamily.com/2012/02/100-ways-to-make-your-marriage-rock


The thread got me thinking. It got me thinking about marriage and about how to sustain one over the long haul. It got me thinking about the many ways I have tried to sustain mine. Many, many ways. More than one hundred, certainly.


Because I am a self admitted, wise ass know-it-all, I set out to poke holes in the logic supporting the list. I meant no disrespect to the person who posted the thread. I thought many of the suggestions were worthy of a try. Some were downright lovely ( # 24 Renew your vows privately with whispers and memories). That's not to say I wasn't doubtful of the validity of such a list. So many of the items on it made me shake my head. It's not so much that I am a pessimist, I'm far from it, but rather I am a realist and I saw lots of room to debunk what I thought wasn't exactly solid advice. My reason boils down to one simple fact. It takes two.


It takes two to tango, it takes two to strike a bargain, it takes two to play catch, it takes two to make a quarrel. It takes two to make a marriage work.


It takes two to make a marriage work ... but just one to make it fail. It doesn't matter how many date nights you plan, how many love notes you hide in his pocket and how many little tricks you pull out of your sleeve to try and infuse love and romance back into a relationship. There is just one trick really. One simple trick that works. One that is tried and true and stands the test of time. The trick is finding that person who is just as willing, just as committed and just as emotionally invested in keeping the marriage strong and alive and fulfilling as the other is in order to make it work. It takes two.


While no marriage is fool-proof, while human nature is what it is, there are likely to be lean patches and troubled waters in most marriages. Life is hard, raising a family is challenging, and sometimes things are just plain overwhelming. Mistakes are made, lines are blurred and strain rules. Couples check out and close off as they try and cope. Often it is the more committed of the two, the stronger of the two who keeps the marriage alive and intact and holds it all together. It is also the more loving of the two who can set aside personal wants and needs in order to try and redirect the relationship. That person can read all of the lists in the world, they can do one hundred things, try one hundred ways .... they can try one thousand ways ... to make things better... but in the end it will always take two to make it work.


It takes two.
Indeed

The One More I Had In Me

After I had written the blog entitled, Days of Torches Passed, a friend remarked that it was a nice cap on my commentary surrounding my son's high school football career these past few years. In fact he said, "I knew you had one more in you".




While I didn't respond, I knew I had still one more left to write. Just one more.



My son's football banquet last week, hosted by the team booster club, is an event that closes each season out on a high note. The coaches commemorate both team and individual accomplishments, awards are distributed, players are recognized, seniors are honored, and underclassmen are challenged to step into and fill the cleats the seniors leave behind. The boosters host a nice meal and it's an all around feel-good time for everyone involved.



The awards can seem to be predictable at times. The coaches bestow the honors on players who they feel are deserving but the team also knows who the best are and who will invariably will win each award. There are few surprises. Season MVP, Lineman of the Year, Best Offensive Player, Best Defensive Player generally follow the players that were All Star selections at their positions. The Ironman, Unsung Hero and Most Improved Player can be predictable as well as they are likely often the coach's favorite players. The introduction to each award recipient, by the head coach, begins with a list of qualities and accomplishments attributed to the recipient and his performance during the season. The coach takes care in providing a complete picture of the player, with his words, to those in attendance. This year was no exception.



Or so I thought.



The coach began the introduction to the first award of the event, Most Improved Player. He talked about commitment to the team, to putting the team ahead of personal feelings and aspirations. He talked about attendance during voluntary off season conditioning and about a player who never missed a practice, a player who spends extra time in the gym, he talked about a player never complaining and simply doing what was asked without question. He talked about attitude. He talked about setting an example in the weight room, about work ethic and self pride. He said, "Heads up you underclassmen....this is the guy you want to be. This is the guy to pattern your work ethic after. This is the guy who becomes a success on and off the field".



And then he called my son's name.



To say I was proud would be an understatement. My breath caught in my chest and my eyes filled. Watching my son walk to the stage in an auditorium filled with applause, teammates calling out, to receive his award and shake his coach's hand was so sweet a satisfaction for me following more than a few bitter feelings I'd had accumulated from past seasons. Talk about being caught by the unexpected. I was still beaming through each of the remaining presentations.



Every other player who won an award at the event will be going on to play at the collegiate level next season. They've enjoyed the heady experience of the recruiting season, college visits and the attention that goes with being a high school football recruit. My son has not, nor will he, receive a single letter from a coach to play football anywhere next year. At 6' 190" he's just too small for the position he plays. So it is for that reason that I am most especially proud of him. I know how far he's come, how hard he worked, how he hung in through defeat and disappointment. I know how he struggled, how injured his pride was and how many feelings he choked back and just kept on going. I know all that he accomplished and I also know that his pride in himself as a young man had already been realized and the award was just the icing on the cake. It was an affirmation, certainly, but he knew deep down what he had accomplished long before this day.



My son was the starting center his senior season as well as an all star and team captain. Other than his lack of size, he's no different than any other young man that put on a helmet this season and will be playing at the collegiate level next year. He worked just as hard, sweat just as much, hurt as just much and bled just as much as any other player during three-a days. He gave up just as much of his personal life to make the commitment to the team. He missed just as many good times for early morning weight training all last summer and focused on one solitary pursuit. He did as much, he gave as much, and he sacrificed as much as every other award winner who was also bestowed a football scholarship for next year. Maybe more.



And so did every other young man sitting in the audience, who was given a uniform, and was on that team. I'm proud of them all. Every single one of them.



I had a chance to get to know the entire team, each individually, as one of the parents to volunteer and cook a team dinner each Thursday after practice during the season. The coach asked parents to put on these team meals to promote a sense of community and fellowship within the team as well as to feed some kids who did not always go home to a warm, cooked meal after a long day at school and a run-through practice on the practice field the day before a game. We were happy to do it and quite honestly I think I got far more out of the experience than those players did. Those Thursday meals will remain in my memory, for the rest of my life, for what I took away from them myself. These young men became more than a number on a jersey, a name in a program book and more than a player standing on a sideline. We talked, we laughed, we listened to stories. We watched their antics and excitement as they ran (yes ran) to the school cafeteria from the practice field to see what we had cooked for them that week. Not a single player went through that buffet line without thanking each one of us personally for dinner. As they ate we all sat around together and talked. We talked.



I heard about sick grandparents and lost pets, I heard about difficult tests and homework projects. I heard about girl trouble and semi formal dates. I heard about that weeks' opponent and what our chances were of winning were. Relationships were built, trust developed and the number of kids who hugged me as they left the cafeteria grew in number each week. It did for all of us. Most importantly I was honored with the trust of one special young man who faced a dilemma as we approached the Senior Night Ceremony. Fearing that his estranged father would be a no show after having been invited to the ceremony, he was afraid his mother would be embarrassed when they announced his name and she walked out on the field alone. He asked me for help in what to do and asked that I not say anything about the situation to anyone. His father never did show up that night but no one was the wiser. I took care of it.



Only eleven players are on the field on each side of the ball during a game, but there are dozens more dressed and standing on the sidelines waiting and hoping for a chance to get in a game. Waiting for recognition. They all may not be stars, may not be the best at their position, but they all made the cut. They've committed to something that is intense and difficult and at a time when young adults like them are easily labeled self-centered, spoiled and lazy. These guys give it all to be part of the team. They sacrifice for not much more than pride in themselves and a uniform representing their school. They are great kids, they are special young men and they deserve our praise and support and need to be cheered on whether they step out on a field to play or not.



So it will be these guys that I will be thinking about most during the hype surrounding National Signing Day this week. While I will wish each of the top recruits the very best for a healthy and successful college career, as they sign their letters of intent for their respective colleges, I will be thinking of the athletes who will not. The ones who worked so hard and showed up each week, ready to play, with no expectation of a prize at the end of it all. The ones who made a commitment and stuck with it. The ones who distinguished themselves through their hard work. These are the players who will stay in my heart and be remembered as the fine young men I've watched them become. The ones who I got to know and have so much affection for. The ones I care deeply about and the ones I hope will have the very best, happy, healthy, and successful life they possibly can.



Go Spartans!

Indeed.