“It doesn’t take much to make the daily round with one’s employer work smoothly. A couple of ‘yessirs’ when you know that ‘not on your life’ is the thing to say. A few expressions of doubt about things you’ve spent your life perfecting. Forgetting to make use of the information that negates his hastily formed but deliciously convenient theories. It doesn’t take much but it takes about 98.5 percent more than I’ve ever considered giving”
― Len Deighton
It's here again, the imminent start of the annual school year. This time next week, classes will be in full swing for most Tennessee students.
In the elementary years, it comes forth with celebration - hugs for missed teachers and smiles for reunited friends.
The secondary years come with some joy, but also trepidation and questions. Each year draws students closer to the proverbial land of adults, and the outcomes become a lot more tangible.
Somehow, in less than a week's time, I will become the parent of a high school student. The other will be entering the final stage of their middle school career.
Shit just got real.
Usually, I try to leave family out of this blog. They didn't sign up to be supporting characters in my drama, and I respect that. But sometimes, you gotta go there.
I started this blog in 2014. My son was three at the time and had started skateboarding. This morning, I read that blog again, and realized, a decade has passed but nothing has really changed, save the sport.
At the time I wrote:
Case in point: he actually started skating when he was two. He would hop up on the board and was quickly able to go down the sidewalk. Soon he was contemplating hills. He conquered a couple small ones. So, I started taking him to the skate park. There he would eye the big ones, but wouldn’t go down them. Of course, I started pushing. “Come on”, I’d say, “You can do this no problem. You do the small ones all the time.” Still, he would resist. This would cause me to get frustrated and aggravated. He had talent. He needed to use it. The more I pushed, the more he resisted.
In fact, not only would he resist but he’d start to goof off. He’d sit at the top of the hill and just let the skateboard roll down the hill. Of course, this would just set me off. “Quit fooling around.” I’d say. ‘If you’re just going to goof off we’re going home.” Still, he went about things at his own pace. Then one day I stopped looking at things through my eyes.
I realized that what I thought was goofing off was actually careful calculation on his part. He was sending the board down the hill to get an idea of what would happen. He was testing things and processing them. About a week later, he went down the big hill by himself. We danced and celebrated like he’d won the Olympics. Inspired by this success, he tackled several other hills. Again we danced and celebrated. None of this would have happened without his “goof off” times. Low and behold, I’d also learned something.
These days he’s at a bit of a plateau. He’s mastered all the hills, but he’s a little scared of the super steep ones. There are also tricks he’d like to attempt, but physically he’s not ready yet. Truth is, he’s a little bored with it all. This time though I’m not interjecting myself into the conversation. I’m just going to be supportive and put him in an environment that is conducive to progression. I’ll give him the tools he needs and then I’m going to have faith and trust him to find his way to the next level.
He's gotten older, and I've finally gotten comfortable enough to say it, he's a good athlete. Maybe even possibly great. Unfortunately in a world that mouths fidelity to greatness while breeding mediocrity, that potential comes with a conveyer belt of baggage.
Part of the reason I haven't written it the last two weeks is because I've been busy sorting through some of that baggage.
Like gifted students, we think gifted artists and athletes will find their way with minimum support. It's the other kids we have to worry about. That's a fallacy.
We've finally come to accept that intellectually gifted are often the biggest headaches in class, yet we still stick to the canard of we are going to teach you the "right way" to play the game. As if there is only one right way to play the game, and all the great ones were cut from the same cloth.
This past baseball season was a hard one. He was among the leaders in every statistical category, offensively and defensively, but the team didn't win very much and he and his 21-year-old coach were often at odds. It wasn't personal on his side, but I can't speak for the other side of the equation. He's still one of those kids who is clear where they want to go and their mind is always working. He wants to get constantly improve and he wants to win, in that order, and he doesn't see "stroking the coach's" ego as part of that equation.
Now we can argue about the validity of that viewpoint, but history has shown us that sometimes those are the people that make history. It's also often the people that fall by the wayside, broken by the slings and arrows hurled by society.
Because he doesn't listen and respond in a prescribed and expected manner, doesn't mean he isn't listening. It all goes into the stewpot with everything else to produce better outcomes. But sometimes as adults, we don't provide that room to kids. Like I said back then,
My role as a parent and mentor is to provide him with tools and situations where he can develop his talents. My role is to celebrate his success and help him develop the tools to deal with his shortcomings. If I want this to be a lifelong endeavor for him, I have to let him own it. Owning it means not enforcing my learning styles on him. Truth is, since I don’t live in his head I don’t know when he’s learning or not learning. I need to recognize that there will be times when he seems to be making great progress and times when it seems he’s making none. Neither is probably a true reflection.
Yet we are quick to label kids as inattentive, disrespectful, or just plain bad kids whose crap we don't want to put up with. The question though becomes, if not us, then whom?
This week, his team of the last two years and an extension of a league he's played with since he was five held tryouts. Early indications were that they were on the fence about bringing him back, not because his skills, but because of who he was. Despite knowing that he was unwanted, he made a decision to go to tryouts and convince them that he belonged.
On Sunday morning I called to get an update. He was not wanted. The team had sent out 7 invitations Saturday night and he was not one of them, nor would he be getting an invite.
"You're telling me that there were 7 players out there that were better than him?", I asked.
"No, he was clearly the best out there. We are just going a different direction", was the response.
In the end, nearly everybody who played last year received an invitation. Yet nobody thought this was a conversation worth having prior to tryouts. There was nary a thought given to the young men filled with equal parts bravado and fragile egos. Nobody felt compelled to show the same loyalty that they demanded during the season.
In this case, a 12-year-old boy was left, without a detailed explanation, to "figure it out" by the adults entrusted to mold him into a man. The primary takeaway was, you are a problem unworthy of us dealing with.
Intentional or unintentional, the result is the same.
Reading this you might come away with the impression that this is just another pissed-off father ranting about the unappreciated virtues of his child. But it's more than that, and if you'll bear with me, I'll explain.
At one point, the president of the organization, said exasperatedly to me, "TC, we are just talking baseball here."
Here in lies the fault. That statement fails to recognize that for some kids, it's not just baseball. Nor is it "just" a guitar". Or "just" a pair of ballet slippers.
For other kids. it's not "just" a wrench or a verse. For some kids, it's something much more.
It's a place to fly. Where the earth can't touch them. Their fears and insecurities dissipate and everything comes into razor-clear clarity. It's a safe spot where they are free to reveal their true selves.
If you've never flown, that might sound like hyperbole. But to those whose feet leave the ground when they slide their hands into a bowling ball or grab a pencil, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
Few of us get the opportunity to live a life in full flight, for most of us it's a fleeting excursion and soon our feet are fully moored to the ground as we proceed through life.
In high school, I was a theater kid. On the stage, under the lights is where I found my peace. It's where I felt confident, accepted, and alive.
In the summer between my senior and junior years, I earned a scholarship to the Pennsylvania Governor School of the Arts. For the first time in my life, I was around people that thought like I did, and felt as deeply as I did. People understood that acting was more than just a fun activity, and a neat way to spend time. In the company of these fellow artists, I was encouraged to take flight, and for four weeks, my feet never touched the ground.
Afterward, I returned home. My new wings were eager to lift me again. Instead, I found adults that sought to ground me. Some intentionally, some with their well-intentioned advice. Either way, the result was the same - I never flew again.
I'm 58 years old now, and it's been a good life, but I've never flown again.
Over the years, I vowed never to do that to a child.
If you don't have the time to consider the unintended consequences of your actions and approach, perhaps working with children isn't for you.
These days we toss the word respect around like beads at a Mardi Gras parade, but what's it really mean. If you want the respect of a child, have something they want. Knowledge, acceptance, security, and understanding are all valuable commodities to a child. Provide any or all, and you'll get more respect than you will by simply demanding it because of your age or the position you hold.
As the school year starts, it's imperative that we as adults acknowledge how often we work to cut the wings of children. We do it because we presume to know what's best. We do it out of concern for their safety and well-being. We do it for a myriad of reasons - some real and some imagined. But intentional or unintentional, malignant or benevolent, the outcome is the same.
We argue constantly that kids are more than just a test score, but do we ever truly take the time to discover what that means. What more are they?
As the school year starts, let's all commit to being better accomplices in the pursuit of flight.
Sure it's a little bit more work. Yea, it's a little more of a pain in the ass.
But if you love someone, you love them for who they are, not who you envision them to be.
The start of the school year brings multiple professions of love for children, but if you ain't helping them fly, you are simply mouthing promises you can't keep.
- - -
We'll be back on a regular schedule starting next week. Sorry for the lack of consistency, but sometimes I truly am a dad gone wild.
Time to rattle the cup a little bit before I head out the door.
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This was very touching. I have been on both sides of this coin. I was cut from a track team while in middle school, only to later be a member of the famous Tigerbelles. I have also, had to cut a few young ones when I was a coach. The first experience made me determined. The second, hurt me as much as it hurt those I had to cut. Life is hard.
My parental heart ached when I read this post. Hard lesson to learn at a young age. As I lived my career in corporate America and experienced downsizing after downsizing, the people with the great skill sets were not retained but the people that worked well with others were. Is it fair? No. But it’s a reality. The people with great skill sets moved on to bigger and better things.