On Sports

My son is playing soccer now. It's the 4 year old league - and as he's almost 5, with a late birthday, he's a little bigger than the other kids on his team. Coach Taylor, my coworker at Eleventh Street, says there are two types of coaches: ones who are nurturing and sensitive and the ones who want to win. And the liberal side of me wants the nurturing and sensitive coach - the one who will ease my son into the competitive nature of sports. I want him to enjoy the sport, to like playing, to have a good time. And then there is that hidden monster that has driven me for years - the winning monster. I like to win. I wasn't athletic - but I was academic so I tried to have the best grades in my classes -- I wanted to win in class so much that I would often write down the wrong answer on my paper if I knew someone was copying -- so that they would get it wrong. I'm evil like that.

So, my split personality sat it's fat butt down at the soccer field saturday morning to watch my son play. Our first game was a good game -- and by that I mean we won by a comfortable margin. Sure they don't keep score at this level -- but that doesn't mean that I can't keep score at this level. And Elijah scored a few goals on his own. So, I got to leave with the proud mama, I'm great feeling of being the parent of a child on a winning team. So, when I sat down Saturday morning, I expected more of the same -- no doubt about it, our team would dominate. And then the other team appeared, and they ran us off the field. They kicked the ball better, ran faster, and scored so many times to our not at all that really, I began to see the logic of not keeping score.. it's a loser's logic. So, then I began to make excuses. Oh, these boys must have played before - last season. Oh these boys must be practicing; whereas we've had one practice and 5 games. And I had to fight my disappointment that we'd lost the game, that our team sucked -- because my four year old son, had no idea that he lost -- and lost badly. He just knew the game was over and it was time for the playground. And then, my husband, mr. soccer expert himself, began to critique Elijah's playing, what was wrong, what he should have done, blah blah blah. And I found myself angry -- because we had lost and that last thing I wanted to hear was why we lost. I was in competition while my son was out there playing for fun.

Now, Coach Taylor also says that he won every game while he was in junior high school and that was a good time. And I agree, there is a joy in winning. But for me part of that joy was that I was better than someone else -- and I knew that as the winner, I was supposed to feel bad for the loser, sorry for them because they hadn't won. But I never did. I just felt really pleased for myself. I don't like losing, I don't like my son losing. And after Saturday, I can really see how parents can sometimes become violently angry at sports events. I was entertaining some very nasty, evil thoughts about the soccer mom sitting next to me. And if it weren't for the fact that her son had to be dragged of the field, crying that he would be better, I might have been tempted to kick her water bottle or something. But I didn't have to -- thank you little head strong kid who hits other and wants to play on the playground -- i appreciate your alleviating my need to be nasty.

So, Jose has resolved himself that for now, sports is about being active and moving around - not about winning. But don't let him kid you, I've been seeing little soccer diagrams sitting all over the house as he furtively tries to instruct Elijah on the finer points of the game. My only hope is that we find a balance between the competitive need and the joy of the game. And I suppose that part is called team work, team spirit, sportsmanship -- which for me was largely not crying when I lost and not attacking the winner -- i can only hope that it's better for Elijah than it was for me -- and if I'm being really honest -- I hope it's better because he wins more.

On Friendship

Friendship for me has always been defined somewhat by commercials and television programs. I watch Sex in the City and see these four women meeting every week, getting together, sharing their lives with one another. Or the show Friends in which a group of friends in their 30's seems to have the camaraderie of college students. And it seems that I am seriously lacking in friendship if that's the true definition. Throughout my entire school career, I never had any peer group to speak of. Sure, I had classes with the same groups of people. I knew their names; they knew my name, but they weren't really my "friends." They didn't ask me to join them in their high school games -- sort of like reindeer games but involving alcohol and sex I think. My junior year in high school, I went to a summer camp at Western and felt like I belonged to a group of people for the first time, but that was a brief - fleeting sensation that didn't last past the first month or two of school my senior year. And once I got to college, I bonded with my roommate and hall mates of my dorm. But again, nothing lasted past the time spent in close contact.
When I was in middle school, and bemoaning the fact that I didn't fit in and no one really liked me, my mother told me that I was going to be the type of person who didn't have a lot of friends, but I would find a few really good friends in my life and I would keep them forever. As a result, since the age of 12, I have been searching for those fee people. And, at the age of 36, I'm not sure that I've found those people. But to be fair, I think that my definition may be wrong.
The issues was solidified for me when on my 13th birthday party – held at Lake Barkley State Resort Park beach – in which I invited the kids I had spent every school year for the past 5 years – the only person who came was the girl who spent the night for me. Nothing says, you’re not special or liked like a party that no one attends. It was a life shaping moment.
When I was 18, I met a boy named Craig who was going to be a senior in high school. And for some odd, twist of fate reason, I got caught up in his group of friends. But, not really -- again lack of proximity makes that connection impossible to keep -- and of course they were in high school and I was a sophomore in college. But it did give me the chance to see what high schoolers did on the weekend nights.
As I grew older and began to make friends, I suffered no small amount of anxiety about letting my friends meet each other. My greatest fear was that they would like each other so much and I would be come a third wheel (thanks to Terri and Craig for making that a reality – truly no bitterness – I swear). And this plagues me to this day – to the point that any life event that demands celebration gets celebrated 3 times – once for my family and close friends, once for my work and good friends, and once for my husband’s family. I can’t handle the pressure of mixing groups.
So here I am, at 36, taking stock of my life (largely due to the fact that I’m temporarily in doogie howser blog mode) and trying to see who I count as my friends. Unfortunately, most of my friends are like me – in that we are a relatively reclusive lot – we don’t want or need to see each other every day – we don’t call each other often. We are more like the forwarded email type of friends. And it’s not until we meet up and sit to visit that I really appreciate them and realize how much I miss them. After a visit session, I often wish that we lived close enough together to visit every day. But then I know that we would never visit every day – the routines of our lives have gone too far separate to allow such togetherness. But, the connection is always there.
My only conclusion is that my definition must be wrong – that I should not try to recapture the togetherness of the sex in the city girls or friends – because I’m not like any of those people anyway. I am self-aware, self-confident, and content. I have no need to vent, complain, or to share the sordid details of my sex life with anyone – nor do I really want to hear on a daily basis the trauma of someone else’s life. My friendships aren’t really friendships, they are in essence extended family… our visits beginning with catching up, telling stories, spattered with reminiscing and always, but always, sparkling with laughter. I think that if I spent too much time with them, I wouldn’t appreciate them as much. And on the rare occasion when we get together, we are the sex and the city girls or the friends gang – we just aren’t those people every day – mostly because I think we have real lives – jobs, bills, the daily drudge that doesn’t play well on sit-coms.
And a final note – because I feel I must. A final reason that I feel that my need to extraneous relationships is so small is that I have been blessed with a husband, children and family who really fulfill these needs for me. Elijah is my playmate and we force Jose to do FFO’s with us. Jose is there for me to discuss life issues, goals, plans, dreams, plumbing, etc. And for the rest, I have my neighbor, Patti, and the people that I work with every day. It will have to do. And, god willing, I’ll never have an event that requires me to call upon my friends – the fateful test of who really gives a damn or not. I’m really just hoping more people show up to my funeral than showed up to my 13th birthday party – and I’ll be happy.

On Accepting Compliments for my Children

Yesterday at church (yes I was at church), Elijah’s Sunday school teacher took the time to tell me that Elijah was such a good child. He was smart, funny and very helpful. And while I was very happy to hear such praise, I wasn’t sure what to say in return. And such is the case whenever someone tells me something nice about my child.
When someone tells me that Isaiah’s such a cute baby – I don’t feel as if I can or should take credit for that. I am fully aware that it was simply a matter of a series of freak accidents that united the right genes to make this child. When they tell me that he’s so small, I’m tempted to say that “well, we’ve really been keeping his food intake down. We’re trying to get him to fit into Elijah’s old baby clothes and they’re one season off.” Or when someone notices that his eyelashes are so long, the only response that I can think of is “yes, but his head will soon grow into them. Eyelashes stay the same length all your life, it’s the size of the head that changes.” And in doing this, I have found that people will often believe whatever you say, as long as you sound like you know what you’re talking about.
And as for Elijah’s recent compliment. Well, I am so tempted to take credit. I mean I have been responsible for his instruction of behavior over the last 4 ½ years. Shoot, I’m able to modify his behavior by simply raising two fingers one at a time. If I have to raise three fingers – well then that’s all she wrote. And let me just say that such a skill is a blessing when you are out in public. Rather than having to argue with my child or negotiate, I can simply raise the finger and immediately he realizes that his time is coming to an end. But back to the original point, I ultimately can not take too much credit for the goodness that is in my oldest child. Because he has some traits that I am quite aware he did not inherit or learn from me. For example, on his 4th birthday, Kunkle Wow (my brother) and Big Mama bought Elijah a new bike – the cool one that looks like a harley. And after taking a short spin on the bike himself, Elijah immediately got off and let others ride the bike too. Without prompting, cadjoling, begging, anything. He volunteered to share his new toy. And sharing is something he didn’t get from me. No question about it. He shares everything he has without problem. Though, he will say to his playmate that “you can play with it but you can’t take it home with you.” And when he does, I feel a sense of relief that at least he isn’t some selfless saint. I don’t share well. Offering to share my stuff or my time or myself makes me anxious the minute the words are out of my mouth. An offer to help out or give something which comes so readily to my lips is immediately followed by a few moments of mental anguish in which I am hoping that the offer will be rejected. But not Elijah. And my son, is good – or rather genuinely nice. This I think he got from his father, because I am not all the way nice. Elijah cares about his friends and their feelings. When he’s begging for a toy, he always wants to get more than one to share with a friend – and unlike me, he actually gives the other toy to the person he bought it for. At soccer practice last week, he stole the ball from another player to make a goal. And when that little boy sat down and was upset, Elijah went back to tell him that he was sorry. And as I watch him, I am amazed that he’s like that. I didn’t teach him that. I would be walking next to the pouting boy, calling him a baby and making sure everyone knew that I had scored a goal. But Elijah, who does like to win, was more concerned with the feelings of his teammate. And in that way, he is foreign to me.
So that’s the deal – My eldest son is good, helpful, kind, chatty, and a little funny I think. And I can’t take credit for any of it, he came that way. The only credit I can take is that I try to give him the opportunity to grow in those areas. My youngest son, is small, pensive, an observer, and not fussy – and again, I can take no credit for any aspects of his personality. I was literally merely a vessel used by them so that they could begin their journey.
And how will I deal with the compliment? Well, I think I shall learn to just say thank you. And in my head, where my internal conversations about how I can’t take credit for such – I shall tell myself that I am thanking them for recognizing some special gift that my children have, not taking credit.

The Serrano family 

Blogging in General

I don't know what it is about the modern day world that makes everyone believe that that they can be a writer. And here I am, no different or better than anyone else, falling right into the trap. And why? What's the motivation? It's hard to say really. Part of me just likes the doogie howser-ishness of typing my thoughts into the computer. (see me with my pensive sidelook up to the right as I ponder some life lesson). And another part of me, the student in me I guess, longs for the feedback from others -- telling me i'm out of my mind (i disagree) or that I'm a guru (sure, I think so -- but really who are we kidding). But mostly it falls back on my desire to make a difference and to know it. Perhaps this is another attempt at becoming immortal, to affect the life of one other person. It's why I became a teacher -- this desire to affect change in others. Not that I'm successful at changing anyone's life, but I still feel that it's an admirable goal.

And thus, we are here, with the BLOG. I am not computer savy enough to know what blog stands for . . . and it is highly reminscent of the online diary pages that i tried out a couple of years ago. But, I'm a great starter and a not so good follow througher. So, we'll see how this goes. And, of course, if i got feedback, then, well that would of course make me a happy camper -- and more likely to keep it up. As I'm a bit of a performer (another teacher characteristic). So here's to building good blogs.