Pete Plus Too Damned Many

You think you know haw many kids I have?  Wrong.  I have 16.  Two that I love and 14 that I have volunteered (silly, silly, Peter) to coach several times a week.  I actually enjoy coaching my son's soccer team, but I do NOT enjoy having other parents failing thrust upon me for 3 hours at a time 2-3 days a week.

I'd like to propose a whacky idea.  Make sure your child is at least house broken before sending him off to the care of his coach.  I pride myself on the fact that both my boys are very well behaved young men.  More than that, they are socially conscious of whatever situation they find themselves.  Before a game, I will not find them tossing dirt at another player.  I will not find them sitting on their mothers lap having a drink of water.  I will not find them rolling down the grassy hill behind the goal.  I will find them, along with several other players with even the slightest iota of motivation, maturity and (let's face it) brains, warming up by dribbling and juggling a ball and trying to get their teammates to join in.

It's a harder task than it should be to get a group of eleven year old's to grasp some of the concepts of playing a game like soccer.  Striker, halfback, defense, left, right, center.  Seems pretty simple, but to learn it as part of a big squad takes some teaching.  Doing it while simultaneously having to expend energy making up for the failings of many parents just makes me want to start clunking heads together...both kids and parents.

Taking a look a little Johnny and seeing that he isn't ready to be part of a team game takes a bit of soul searching, but it's a necessary evil.  I realize that part of the reason we have our kids play sports is to develop the very part of them that I'm railing against, but only to a certain degree.  I can equate it to having a player on my team that is just physically dreadful at whatever sport.  As long as he is at least putting in the effort, listening to my coaching and doing his best to implement my Lombardi-esque teachings, I'm OK.  But when a kid is more interested in the size of the bug that just flew past WHILE I'M TALKING TO HIM BETWEEN QUARTERS, then I have not time for that person.

I once published an article (link below) about being a a good volunteer, about time not being enough, that there needs to be at least a little effort for the good of the team and the kids.  This is the other half of that.  Please make sure  your little cherub knows what is to be expected as part of a team, and how that he may need to focus just a bit more than expected at home.  Because just as it's not fair to be a slacker coach just putting in your time, it's just as unfair to expect to be part of a group but then not hold up your small slice of the pie.  Not fair to the team, the game, and most of all, me

RALSTON HAS SPOKEN

http://ralstonhasspoken.blogspot.com/2011/08/dont-suck-its-not-fair-to-kids.html

A Calmer Head Prevailed

On one hand, I love when my kids surprise me.  On the other hand, I think that my boys are well centered enough that I should expect whatever behavior that might surprise me.  How’s that for an opening?

Let me tell you a quick tale.  In a fit of what some might call irresponsible parenting, I recently found myself traveling about 50 mph on a jet ski.  The possibly irresponsible part is that at the time I had my 11 year old some clinging to me on the back of the jet ski.  We were zipping along in the bay, following my dad and older son who were on a second jet ski.

The sea was a little rough, but nothing about which to be really concerned.  We rounded a corner near some marshes where the water flattened out enticingly.  My son yelled into my ear, “Catch them, dad. Drown them in water and foam!”  Now that’s quite a statement.  Drown them in water and foam.  I swear sometimes that kid is meant to be a pirate.

Taking his cue, I punched it and blasted by our partner skiers; drenching them, of course, in water and foam.  My memory is a little foggy after that.  I think we turned too hard, maybe I slowed too fast, maybe a wave hit us broadside.  Regardless, the jet ski went right and we went left.

I’ve never fallen into the water going so fast.  It hurt.  I can only equate it to being hit in the chest with a bat.  The only thoughts I remember having as I hurdled through the air are, “Oh, god” and “Holy Shit, my son!”  Thankfully I popped up right next to him.  As I grabbed his life jacket to pull him toward me, he asked in a completely calm voice, “Dad, are you OK.”  My pain was immediately forgotten.  My eleven year old son, who just hit the bay at fifty miles per hour, was so composed that he was able to be concerned about me instead of the pain he must have felt.

My dad drove over to us and drug us through the water to our now idle machine.  I climbed aboard and yanked my son up behind me.  It was only then that he let himself feel some nerves.  He asked that we head in, and so I obliged.  We made our way through the choppy seas back to the house.  Only after we docked the small craft did he let himself cry.  I thought it was the adrenaline finally wearing off, but as it happened he had broken a toe on his left foot.

We went to the ER and found his toe was badly broken and displaced, having to be set twice.  Poor kid.  Throughout it all, I could only think about how calm and cool he was through it all; about how his concern was for me after the crash; about my pride in what a great young man he is becoming.  This has added yet another filter through which I look, judge, experience.  It is a filter I am all too happy to apply.  It lets me know that my boys have gained yet another plateau in their maturity.  Lets me feel good about how they will handle situations when I may not be there with them.  Feels pretty darn good.

RALSTON HAS SPOKEN

William Blake Said It Best?

What goal is lofty enough?  Is being part of a team, sharing in the successes and failures, reveling as part of the group what is best, even though the contribution may be limited?  Or is it to be an integral part, being the focus of the squad and knowing that you are held to the higher standard and expectations?

In general, we all know what is best in life.  It is to crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and hear....sorry, I couldn't resist.

But to the point at hand.  The answer, even for me, is really not clear.  We all must choose our own level of satisfaction and come to grips with the memory of what that created.  I was a decent athlete in my youth, teetering on being something better.  Whether through lack of drive, complacency or just well developed sense of self, I found my self always in the upper middle class of sports teams.  I excelled, but never really took the next step to the higher level of whatever sport in which I was involved.  I wonder sometimes if I could have been good enough to get to the upper echelons of my sporting endeavors.  But I also know that I always had a tremendous amount of satisfaction from any that I tried.

I always found myself a counted on member of the team.  Someone that may not be the absolute best, but always to be turned to in a tough spot in order to push the team ahead.  I thrived in that role.  I enjoy that position in life in general.  So that is what my perspective is as I watch my sons develop on their athletic careers.  Win, lose or draw; good or bad; you're part of a team and you need to do what's best for the whole.  There's a Star Trek reference in there, but I don't want to upstage Conan above.

I see both in my boys.  One is happily climbing the ladder, getting better and having coaches take note.  The other is a good play, but lacks the instinct (or desire, I think) to really go for it.  They are both very happy to be a member of a team, but their approach to get what each want out of it differs significantly.  And that is what makes me wonder sometimes if there is a better path.

We all know there really is no better way.  We all know that as long as they are happy and thriving young adults in general, what they accomplish in youth sports is all but worthless.  It's the approach to it that I wonder about.  Will the lack of drive carry over into other/all areas of life?  Will the focus to succeed leave one without a well rounded outlook?  Not sure either way.  Perhaps I had a little too much of one and not enough of the other as I grew up.  Maybe this is one of the many things we see in our kids that we want to correct in ourselves.  Maybe this is one of the times where I need to step back just a little and watch what I can learn from how my kids handle something even though my memory of the same situation still leaves a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.  With any luck an old dog can learn a new trick.

RALSTON HAS SPOKEN

Two Paths Diverge In My Head

Guilt and responsibility.  That is the tug of war du jour.  Have you ever found yourself stranded between two ways to approach a situation?  I have.  And currently I am torn between guilt and responsibility.  

There is a line from the movie Parenthood that Steve Martin delivers after he is confronted with something he can’t get away from.  “My whole life is ‘have to’.”  Way back in 1989 it seemed a pithy little line.  It seems to have genuine meaning these days.  I don’t want to sound like I’m swirling in an emotional morass; torn and dejected, having only two options to rudder me through.  No, dear readers.  It’s not quite that bad yet.  But I’d be less than honest if I told you that this hasn’t been in the foreground of my mind lately.

As a parent, husband, son and brother, I tend to feel a certain path is dictated depending on which of those hats I’m wearing at a given time.  No sense in going into the specifics of each path, because I assume you get the idea.  Whether it is by expectations of those around me or some internal mechanism, there is a clear avenue to me when choosing how to navigate any situation as it pertains to my kids, wife, dad or sister.  Thankfully, the way is generally similar for each.  True is true.  If my reactions come honestly from inside, then I believe they can’t be too wrong.  Please don’t call me on this…we both know I’ve gotten some horrifically incorrect.  But you know what I mean.

Where the above mentioned tug of war rears its head is when I want to react differently but my sense of responsibility dictates to shut the hell up and do what’s needed.  I’m not saying I would deceive in my advice or empathy.  But when all you want to do is rail against the world or retreat completely from it, it feels somehow wrong to put on a different face.   Therein lays the quandary.  Is it better to be what those close to you need or serve yourself in times of stress?  I choose the former.  However, that does not mean it doesn’t leave something incomplete.

I suppose there’s a lesson in this.  There’s at least one, but they don’t seem to go hand in hand.  I truly believe that the more selfless act is better in times of crisis.  It furthers the good of the many over the good of the one (hehe), but at a cost.  There is always that nagging in the back of my head...”You’re doing a good job, but you don’t feel right.”  Or, “You realize this will catch up to you at some point and your head will explode when it does.”  I try to dismiss that second one, since I think it’s just my brain being hyperbolic, but you never know.

I really hope I’m doing the responsible thing for those that (whether real or imagined) lean on me.  I like to think I’m rather good at stowing all the crap away in my brain, sticking next to the lonely mouse gnawing on his cheese.  I have to believe that because the guilt of not feeling the way I want to feel, not feeling the way I think I’m supposed to feel, is weighty to say the least.  Not sure if writing that makes me cavalier, humble, arrogant or just plain melodramatic.  Maybe all of it.  I’ll let you judge.

Guilt and Responsibility.

RALSTON HAS SPOKEN

There Are No Words...

It's been a long time away from your favorite blog.  Hope I haven't lost too many of you.  It's been a hell of a Winter so far...it can only get better....

So, now that I’ve experienced the full gambit that stage four cancer has to offer (short of actually contracting the disease) I think I have the familiarity to say that it pretty much sucks.  No crap, you’re thinking.  But it’s been a while since I’ve written anything….been able to write anything….and thought it would be nice to start off with something easy.

I contend that no one who has gone through this can say with any honesty that some good can come of it.  There is nothing on the planet good enough to make me think that.  Anyone who tells you that is about to try to sell you something.  But I have learned a thing or two, mostly about myself.

One lesson learned is that when you lose someone close, you almost never react the way you think you will, or think you should.  We all have a sense of ourselves and can normally predict what reaction a given situation will elicit.  However, I was surprised to find that, at least in this instance, the circumstances are so profound that my internal order was (is) in chaos.  Those of you out there that are lucky enough to know me well will agree that I’m not exactly an enigma.  I’m almost proud to be an open book.  I have no need to keep too much hidden and am happy to allow friends access to my true feelings.  Last week has shown me that I can be mysterious even to myself.

There are a myriad of ways we are taught or ways we glean from all manner of influences.  They shape how we respond to nearly anything.  They always seem reasonable because we’ve seen others show us the way.  Then something happens that no imagining can truly prepare you for.  There is a reigning philosophy that with enough time and knowledge you can prepare yourself for anything.  Guess what.  You can’t.  Well, I couldn’t.  And since I consider myself on the far high end of any bell curve, I assume it’s the same for darn near anyone else.

You can tell yourself a thousand times that you know what’s coming.  You know it will be sad.  You know it will hurt.  You know, you know, you know.  You just don’t know.  The psychological wallop is too much to process.  It’s so big you’re left wondering, “Hmm, I guess that’s, that.”  All the while your insides are turned to jelly but your brain is running so far behind the chasm won’t allow what you expect is a normal reaction.

I don’t know how long this will last.  Part of me actually hopes it will linger for a very long time, not wanting to forget.  I suspect the ebb and flow will be pretty tumultuous for some time before settling back to “normal”.

So, dear readers, I apologize if this is a bit more maudlin than you are used to getting from me, but every once in a while the exercise needs doing.  I hope it made sense.  See you again soon.

RALSTON HAS SPOKEN