So - it's hard to find time to blog, dealing with everybodies wants & needs. I did get rather mad at 17yr old son, so before I really let him have it, I wrote down some thoughts just to get them organized. But jotting down thoughts turns into story telling, story telling requires someone to read it (proofread, give feedback, decide if it's suitable for public consumption, etc..), feedback sends me down another path. Just for kicks maybe I'll tag the original thoughts at the end (but you must remember I was pretty T.O.ed and had the uncontrolable urge to give him a really good jab at the end). HerMajesty advised I should cut the last paragraph. 22 yr old daughter noted she hadn't heard some of the info I included about MY dad. This led me to think I should be kinder and more productive and just tell some stories about him. It would be a nice way for me to remember him and for my kids to have a feel of who he was (he passed away before they were old enough to develope any blasting memory of him). Now I hope I can find a few moments and an available computer at a time when I can actually remember ANYTHING!
Anyway - here is a start for some "Dad" stories - in it's entirety - 17yr old son is actually pretty good about understanding my sarcasm and my occasional frustration with him - he gets over it pretty easily most the time - and what I say about him shouldn't bug him half as much as what he said bugged me.
*****
I don’t usually "miss" my Dad (he passed away around fifteen years ago ) although I do occasionally think about him and contemplate comparisons to him. Mostly it’s the "when Dad was this (my) age, he….." comparisons. OK – at 51 he had seven kids, was 10 years divorced, remarried, worked maintenance at Ocean Spray and saw us kids on most major holidays if we drove to his house. I stopped to think of him today.
Corey at seventeen has decided his life is pretty bad, never gets a break, his parents are mostly unsupportive of his choices in life and love, can never afford to supply him with life’s necessities, and his father never plays with him.
So - I’m a bad Dad. Am I following in my own father’s footsteps, repeating the same mistakes he made? Even though we were always poor and rural, I always thought he was a pretty OK Dad? Maybe I’m worse. I’ll have to see where I went wrong.
When I was little he took me with him on summer Saturday mornings as he delivered Peaceful Meadows milk to Camp Squanto (that’s when I learned about Savery Lane in Carver – nations first "divided" hiway!). I took Corey backpacking a couple of times, but he never wanted to go to the rink like Timmy did or the dump or hardware store like Jamie does - so I never made him.
Even though he never played baseball, Dad came to quite a few of my baseball games and would beep the horn at good plays when I was nine (the one year they signed me up to play). Corey had AT LEAST one parent at every game he played up until Babe Ruth League. I coached him in the minors, and Corey was the child most willing to go into the yard and practice with me - baseball spring and summer (and fall when "Fall Ball" was invented), basketball and football in the fall, street hockey on occasion. I can’t count the number of times when I had to console him after he had been short-changed by a coach, and often would have discussions with the coach (but only if Corey thought it would help). We did discourage football, but allowed him to sign up freshman year and we were very consoling when he decided he should quit. When he decided that anyone could make the Carver High Hockey team and that would become his new sport, I helped him get equipment and gave him permission – one of the few times I openly defied Sue’s wishes and sided with a child. I always tried to be honest with him regarding his athletic strengths and weaknesses and what the likely outcome would be in pursuing certain courses of action (be it a sport or a problem with a team-mate or coach) but I suppose people don’t really want honesty from a parent. They just want you to make them feel better. Even though he is no longer on any team, we still throw, pass, and shoot in the side yard at least once a week.
Dad loved playing games and taught us "Kick The Can". We learned all of the sneaky tricks of the trade from him. I in tribute taught the game to my children. Sue would be humored and appalled as I would re-explain ALL of the rules, argue when one of the kids said they "Caught" me when they hadn’t, helped the littlest ones find the best hiding places, and gloated when I was "It" and caught EVERYBODY (without cheating thank you!)
Dad was a talented woodworker and showed me how to use many of his tools. I now have and use some of Dad’s tools, but Jamie is the one who always wants to help me when I ask (or even when I don’t ask). Video games don’t hold the same importance to Jamie as they do for Corey. Dad could build or fix most anything (nothing was "disposable" back then). Corey is more than happy to have me buy things and replace them after they’ve been neglected, not maintained properly, and don’t work right anymore. Fixing things takes time and effort and leaves him with a not-so-cool used item. When his bike chain breaks he would prefer a new bike over having me waste his time teaching him how to fix it.
Dad worked nights, cleaning Ocean Spray offices across the street from our house. I used to go there after supper and I learned to use a buffing machine to polish the floors. Dad knew the head janitor at the school and helped me get my work permit and first paid job buffing floors at the school one summer. Sue and I always felt getting good grades in school and babysitting siblings was our kids jobs so we never made Mary or Tim or Corey work.
Dad played some guitar, like his father before him, and taught us kids to play some basic chords. He knew all the fresh-word versions of songs and drove Mom nuts when he sang them in front of (to) us. Now all my kids know the words to "A Peanut Was Sitting" but Mary secretly taught herself to play guitar and still doesn’t play publicly too willingly, Tim never took to music, but Corey happily picked up the guitar would show me what he could do and asked how to do other chords. We often sit face-to-face, guitars on laps and try songs and techniques and discuss general music knowledge.
Dad loved to dance. Dad smoked and drank a lot. He didn’t pass any of that on to me. Corey likes to dance but so far has avoided the other habits.
Dad was remarried and living in Hanover long before I started dating so I didn’t get much advise regarding dealing with girls other than "keep it in your sneaker". I’m no expert now but at least I try to be aware of what the state of his love life is and offer advice or comfort even after his mother has given him good advice.
My dad never graduated from highschool and worked two or three jobs most of his life. I graduated from highschool without missing too many naps and only work one job (although my hobbies/interests of playing guitar and hockey have turned into flexible part-time money as gigs and refereeing. Maybe I should work more hours and make more money). It never occurred to me to debate if I was smarter than my father. Corey will graduate this year with a higher grade average to show for the same amount of effort – and fully plans on going to college (even if only to get out of this dump). He is well aware of how much smarter than me he is.
I liked and loved my father, as did most everybody. He was a good guy, funny, worked hard, and taught us some things when he had the time. Then he left - but we were always welcome to stop and visit. Evidently, if I use Corey’s criteria, he must have been as bad of a father as I am.
I’m still here, but it’s true we have little discretionary income to divide between ten peoples wants, and the additional free time I have to spend giving individual attention to my wife and children is also divided to the same degree. So – I guess Corey’s lot in life is no better than mine was at his age. Unfortunately for him, he knows it sucks where I apparently wasn’t observant enough to notice. Thankfully Corey is smart enough to know that he will need to work harder and be more loving and be much more interactive than I have been with him, so he will succeed in raising much happier teenaged boys than I was able to do. Should be easy for someone who’s so honestly introspective.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Youth sports and sportsmanship
I had the good fortune to see a recent copy of the Hanson Express. Having lived in Carver for the past 14 years it is fun to read about my old home town and see who is still around doing what. Sadly what caught my eye was the letter from a teenage softball umpire who was announcing that he was quitting and why. I started coaching in 1973 when I was 18 – WH Youth Hockey in the winter and Hanson Girls 13-17 softball in the summer. Since then I have also been at various times President of the Hanson Girls Softball League, President of the North River Girls Fast Pitch Softball League, coached in East Bridgewater and Carver, Baseball, Softball, Basketball, been a USAHockey certified referee for 25 years and have umpired many youth softball games in my time. My 17 year old son has been umpiring Carver Girls Softball for three years. I certainly do not know the state of Hanson’s softball program or the people who run it but I am well aware of some universal truths about youth sports. This young man hit the nail right on the head with a couple of observations he made in his letter.
1) Officials are not paid enough to take the verbal abuse they too often get. Every league – no matter what the sport – needs to adopt zero tolerance policies against spectator misbehavior, assure that every parent gets a copy, and the game officials need to have full confidence that abusive spectators will be removed.
2) winning/losing isn’t as important to the kids as it is to the parents. Children are taught by adults what is important or not. Learning how to handle losing well is possibly more important than learning to win well. If your child is overly sensitive about losing, you probably are responsible for that. Every decent youth sport coach starts the season with a talk about how winning and losing is not important. Participation, fair playing time, learning skills and having fun are the team goals. We coaches and parents need to remember these words while the game is in progress.
Hours before reading the Express, I discovered that the mother of one of the players on my youngest son’s Little League team happened to be a girl I coached in Hanson many years ago. As she and I and Coach Costa (also a former Hansonite) discussed the team and how good the kids did and how much fun everybody had, she commented that she only wished they had won the championship. I asked if she had enjoyed playing way back when. Without hesitation she said “Absolutely”. I asked her if we had won any championships while she played. She was pretty certain we had a good team, and thought maybe we had – but couldn’t say for certain (PS: we didn’t, we were OK – some years better than others). But to prove what the teenaged umpire had stated – we seldom remember the wins or losses. I remember being 9 years old on the Robinson Street lower field and hitting a double over Charlie Hatches head in left field – then getting spoken to by Mr. Ruxton because the pitch had bounced two feet in front of the plate and I shouldn’t have swung (but I’m so glad I did). I remember catching Nick Gardner in a rundown between 2nd & 3rd and bluffing him into turning around then tagging him out. Most importantly I remember looking up to discover my father had arrived in time to see my smart play. Dana Colley remembers being 12 and leading a’cappela versions of the Doobie Brothers “Black Water” in the Hobomock locker room. Ruth McDonnell remembers nearly decapitating me in batting practice. Johnny Casoli remembers playing “steal the puck from the coach” in practices - first as a 12 year old player (a game where the entire team would gang up and try to take the puck away from the two man coaching staff), later as my assistant coach as we tried to out-stickhandle and out-pass fifteen 12 year olds. “Bobby-Gay” Gora remembers the Scituate runner at 3rd base who was being called “Blueberry” by her team-mates. In a display of sympathy, Jill Bernado shouted back from our bench (while pointing out her best friend Roberta) “at least her middle name isn’t “Gay”! I remember the Scituate coach being irate that the girls were having too much fun. Most former players I run into (and there are literally thousands of them now) all have similar memories – and hardly any can tell you what our won-loss record was. They remember snapshot moments of a play or a hit or a joke that someone told or the rides to away games or the team song they made up. These are the moments we need to encourage. These are the stories we want to hear recalled decades from now.
1) Officials are not paid enough to take the verbal abuse they too often get. Every league – no matter what the sport – needs to adopt zero tolerance policies against spectator misbehavior, assure that every parent gets a copy, and the game officials need to have full confidence that abusive spectators will be removed.
2) winning/losing isn’t as important to the kids as it is to the parents. Children are taught by adults what is important or not. Learning how to handle losing well is possibly more important than learning to win well. If your child is overly sensitive about losing, you probably are responsible for that. Every decent youth sport coach starts the season with a talk about how winning and losing is not important. Participation, fair playing time, learning skills and having fun are the team goals. We coaches and parents need to remember these words while the game is in progress.
Hours before reading the Express, I discovered that the mother of one of the players on my youngest son’s Little League team happened to be a girl I coached in Hanson many years ago. As she and I and Coach Costa (also a former Hansonite) discussed the team and how good the kids did and how much fun everybody had, she commented that she only wished they had won the championship. I asked if she had enjoyed playing way back when. Without hesitation she said “Absolutely”. I asked her if we had won any championships while she played. She was pretty certain we had a good team, and thought maybe we had – but couldn’t say for certain (PS: we didn’t, we were OK – some years better than others). But to prove what the teenaged umpire had stated – we seldom remember the wins or losses. I remember being 9 years old on the Robinson Street lower field and hitting a double over Charlie Hatches head in left field – then getting spoken to by Mr. Ruxton because the pitch had bounced two feet in front of the plate and I shouldn’t have swung (but I’m so glad I did). I remember catching Nick Gardner in a rundown between 2nd & 3rd and bluffing him into turning around then tagging him out. Most importantly I remember looking up to discover my father had arrived in time to see my smart play. Dana Colley remembers being 12 and leading a’cappela versions of the Doobie Brothers “Black Water” in the Hobomock locker room. Ruth McDonnell remembers nearly decapitating me in batting practice. Johnny Casoli remembers playing “steal the puck from the coach” in practices - first as a 12 year old player (a game where the entire team would gang up and try to take the puck away from the two man coaching staff), later as my assistant coach as we tried to out-stickhandle and out-pass fifteen 12 year olds. “Bobby-Gay” Gora remembers the Scituate runner at 3rd base who was being called “Blueberry” by her team-mates. In a display of sympathy, Jill Bernado shouted back from our bench (while pointing out her best friend Roberta) “at least her middle name isn’t “Gay”! I remember the Scituate coach being irate that the girls were having too much fun. Most former players I run into (and there are literally thousands of them now) all have similar memories – and hardly any can tell you what our won-loss record was. They remember snapshot moments of a play or a hit or a joke that someone told or the rides to away games or the team song they made up. These are the moments we need to encourage. These are the stories we want to hear recalled decades from now.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Helplessly Hoping
So - I'm not sure I want to blog. I clearly see it as a dangerous proposition - not because somebody might see it and take exception to what I say or that I might leave myself vunerable to scorn or critisism, but that maybe nobody cares. I was told by a very wise person that most people who blog do so simply as a private journal - that it is not necessarily meant for public consumption nor to initiate an exchange of comments and ideas. Most bloggers do not expect feedback, and they expect to remain anonymous I am advised. This sounds strange to me because if I blog, if I post my personal thoughts, philosophies, gripes, dreams - I am going to be deeply disappointed if nobody responds. I would want the validation of knowing somebody agrees with me, or the enlightenment of someone who has a different perspective that I have overlooked. I could attempt to remain anonymous, but all of the people who I told to "Check out this blog" are smart enough to figure it out. This brings up the "writing for a specific audience" conflict. When you know who is reading it, can you really be free and honest? The intelligent answer is "No". As a blogger, I am dangerously exposing my inner self - offering to let others know me better and more intimately (although there are always things that you simply don't need (or probably want) to know). For this to be useful, you must actually know me to begin with so you can compare my autobiographical me to the live-in-person me. Then you can fill in the gaps with what we don't get the time or space to share (parties with 20 friends - some vague, some close - aren't good "getting-to-know-you" events), or throw out the crap when I am just trying too hard to be intelectually deep and meaningful.
As a writer who personally knows most of his readers, I don't want to hurt or disappoint them so I have to be cautious what I choose to say - which limits my ability to let you know me completely (which was part of the premise for doing this in the first place). My dilema is that I have plenty of things I would love to discuss with plenty of people (which might come as a surprize to some of you already). But I don't self-edit that well in improv settings and I am very insecure that you will "understand or grant me the benefit of the doubt" when it comes out not quite right. So - am I better off having acquaintences who happen to view me in a good enough light ("his wife is great so he must be OK and he plays the guitar pretty good"), but not deep friendships? Should I let you all in on my thoughts and emotions at the risk of it back-firing? Does anybody care what I have to say or am I just being presumtuous and bothering you with info that you never asked for?
If I choose to blog, these are the issues that I face. If you read this then I have put pressure on you to respond - but how will I know if it is because I touched you in some way and you are honoring me with your feedback, or that you feel you had to simply to not hurt my feelings? Then we have two people corresponding - neither of whom feel safe enough to be totally free and honest with each other. Then what's the point. One of my problems is that I usually can see and understand the value of many sides of an arguement - I just can't tell which one is the side that suits me best. (I know the glass can be half full or half empty and why, but I can't tell you which view is me - it does help me help discern other peoples problems, though) .
So- (the final "So" for today) - if you wish to know me, read the lyrics to "Helplessly Hoping" by CSNY. There I am in a simplified nutshell. Obviously there is more but I might never offer it while I am "wordlessly watching, waiting by the window and wondering". Typically, people assume I don't wish to share because I don't invite it. Typically, I wait and hope that somebody is interested enough to ask (You don't know why I'm so stand-offish, I don't know why you don't approach me). One person once did ask and now she's stuck with me til death do us part. If THAT doesn't scare you out of responding.......
See - I told you this could be dangerous!
So - I'm not sure I want to blog. I clearly see it as a dangerous proposition - not because somebody might see it and take exception to what I say or that I might leave myself vunerable to scorn or critisism, but that maybe nobody cares. I was told by a very wise person that most people who blog do so simply as a private journal - that it is not necessarily meant for public consumption nor to initiate an exchange of comments and ideas. Most bloggers do not expect feedback, and they expect to remain anonymous I am advised. This sounds strange to me because if I blog, if I post my personal thoughts, philosophies, gripes, dreams - I am going to be deeply disappointed if nobody responds. I would want the validation of knowing somebody agrees with me, or the enlightenment of someone who has a different perspective that I have overlooked. I could attempt to remain anonymous, but all of the people who I told to "Check out this blog" are smart enough to figure it out. This brings up the "writing for a specific audience" conflict. When you know who is reading it, can you really be free and honest? The intelligent answer is "No". As a blogger, I am dangerously exposing my inner self - offering to let others know me better and more intimately (although there are always things that you simply don't need (or probably want) to know). For this to be useful, you must actually know me to begin with so you can compare my autobiographical me to the live-in-person me. Then you can fill in the gaps with what we don't get the time or space to share (parties with 20 friends - some vague, some close - aren't good "getting-to-know-you" events), or throw out the crap when I am just trying too hard to be intelectually deep and meaningful.
As a writer who personally knows most of his readers, I don't want to hurt or disappoint them so I have to be cautious what I choose to say - which limits my ability to let you know me completely (which was part of the premise for doing this in the first place). My dilema is that I have plenty of things I would love to discuss with plenty of people (which might come as a surprize to some of you already). But I don't self-edit that well in improv settings and I am very insecure that you will "understand or grant me the benefit of the doubt" when it comes out not quite right. So - am I better off having acquaintences who happen to view me in a good enough light ("his wife is great so he must be OK and he plays the guitar pretty good"), but not deep friendships? Should I let you all in on my thoughts and emotions at the risk of it back-firing? Does anybody care what I have to say or am I just being presumtuous and bothering you with info that you never asked for?
If I choose to blog, these are the issues that I face. If you read this then I have put pressure on you to respond - but how will I know if it is because I touched you in some way and you are honoring me with your feedback, or that you feel you had to simply to not hurt my feelings? Then we have two people corresponding - neither of whom feel safe enough to be totally free and honest with each other. Then what's the point. One of my problems is that I usually can see and understand the value of many sides of an arguement - I just can't tell which one is the side that suits me best. (I know the glass can be half full or half empty and why, but I can't tell you which view is me - it does help me help discern other peoples problems, though) .
So- (the final "So" for today) - if you wish to know me, read the lyrics to "Helplessly Hoping" by CSNY. There I am in a simplified nutshell. Obviously there is more but I might never offer it while I am "wordlessly watching, waiting by the window and wondering". Typically, people assume I don't wish to share because I don't invite it. Typically, I wait and hope that somebody is interested enough to ask (You don't know why I'm so stand-offish, I don't know why you don't approach me). One person once did ask and now she's stuck with me til death do us part. If THAT doesn't scare you out of responding.......
See - I told you this could be dangerous!
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