Bye, Bye Flintstones

My daughter is nearing the end of her first year on the High School cross country team. She has PRed (Personal Record) a few times and continues to show improvement nearly every week. Even though she has had to get up terribly early almost every day since school started, she is still committed to doing her best. “Best” includes doing a 4 mile run on her day off of school when no practice was scheduled. (Columbus Day)

During track season in the spring, the coach noticed she had a breathing issue. We went to the pediatrician and got an inhaler for her to use before she runs. (Their was cross fit training or running nearly every weekday this summer.) When cross country started, she was given the advice to use the inhaler twice within a couple of minutes. This was to be done 30 minutes before the beginning of her race. As the season wore on, this seemed to address most of the breathing issues she was having. Unfortunately, during a couple of windy days, the coach became convinced that her breathing problems were more allergy related than asthma. We thought getting her tested could wait until after the season.

As I went to pick my daughter up on Thursday afternoon after she completed a 3 mile run, the coach had some additional advice for me. “The State meets are in just over two weeks. If the weather is really windy, I don’t know if the inhaler will be enough. She should start taking a Claratin every day until after the state meet.” This brings us to today. It took us a couple of days to get the Claratin picked up. And, it was not chewable, so we would have to do a swallowing tutorial….

Right after dinner the past couple of nights, we have played a “game”. We had purchased a big bag of bulk, mini, peanut butter cups at Sprouts. Last night and again tonight, I threw a number of pb cups into the air near my kids heads where many were caught in the mouth and quickly swallowed. Most of them arched pretty well, and many (not all) of the pb cups were caught. Cheeks, noses, and tongues got in the way of some of the catches. (There is an art to throwing well arced food items [M&Ms, peanuts, popcorn, etc], but it will have to wait for a later time.) Sometimes the pb cup nearly went straight down the throat without chewing or anything. I mentioned to my daughter, “Maybe, you can try to catch the Claratin in your mouth so you won’t have to think about swallowing.” (My wife has always been a little softer when it came to the art of swallowing. My near adult son still has trouble swallowing, so she will give him liquids whenever she can. I come from the other school that says, “Grow up! It needs swallowed, so swallow it!”) Of course, dads are more likely to be soft on their daughters (I did check when buying the Claratin. There did not appear to be a chewable variety….) Since the “catching” of pb cups by my daughter was a little sketchy at times AND because she needed to learn to swallow anyway, we filled a glass of water, and I tried to go to work!

I have been a member of the “Good Swallower” club for a number of years. I take a few vitamins daily. They are stored in plastic container with the days of the week on it. The days of the week don’t matter to me–it is the same mix every day. (Yes, these are identical to what is used by our senior citizens.) Usually, I dump the contents of the “Monday” (or whichever) compartment in my mouth; I carefully arrange them on my tongue; I drink the water slowly; I let the pills float up into the water (maybe swishing the water in my mouth a little) and try to get them to all be approximately in the center of my mouth, and then I swallow. Usually they (Okay, their are 8 total–I am getting old) are gone in one swallowing, and at most two. This is the technique (if technique can be accurately applied to the sketchy details provided) I tried to convey to my daughter. She decided to practice on something small. She suggested peanuts. I suggested something a little smaller. Since the Claratin is really only about the size of a baby aspirin, I was very hopeful the “lesson” would be a short one. After swallowing a small piece of granola a couple of times, she was ready to take her pill. I watched her center the pill on her tongue, and practically before the water was in her mouth, the pill was swallowed. She enjoyed it so much she cleared out the box and took all 30 of the Claratin in one evening. (not really, but she did enjoy the accomplishment)

I think she realized what swallowing the pill would mean. Another part of her childhood was slipping away. No longer could she eagerly look forward to another morning of chomping on the Flintstones (or other chewable) vitamin. (Chewable in my youth was a chalky like thing–it wasn’t a gummy bear!) She had to accept the bottle of vitamins in the cupboard was the end of an era in her life. No more “candy” with the vitamin chaser. She was going to have to take her vitamins the (almost) old fashion way–by water. (The real old fashion way was just eating well–she does that pretty well, too.)

I know some kids achieve this “milestone” earlier in life. I know my kids are not perfect, and are not “100th” percentile on everything. I know we probably could have found a solution that involved the preservation of her “no swallow” policy. And, I also know she didn’t do something she didn’t really want to do because it was the only option presented to her. I am pretty sure it is okay to “secretly” celebrate a milestone if it means your child is daily winning the war against their negative thoughts and the “I can’ts”. I know she is going to be a great adult–I am just hoping she doesn’t figure it out before I am willing to tell her!

Relighting The Pilot

Each time the pilot goes out on the water heater, it falls upon the oldest male (me) to get it relit. And, tonight was no exception. If the people who showered earlier in the day would have mentioned the water was not that warm for their showers, I might have been able to avoid the unavoidable “near” shower experience. Unfortunately, I was well along the path to jumping into the shower before I realized my predicament–get an uncomfortable shower over with or have a warm shower and enjoy it? I opted for warm.

When the pilot goes out, I say a silent prayer that I will not blow our house or any of its occupants into a million pieces. It seems relighting the pilot light is so traumatic for me that I need to relearn how to light it every time. With a “grill lighter”, flashlight, and screwdriver in hand, I approach the water heater with all due respect. I reread the directions attached to the side–hanging on every word. I allow the words to fully marinate my brain as I disconnect the necessary water heater pieces so I can have the best possible access to the pilot. I look at the hardware–fully capable of releasing the natural gas that could blow me and my fellow house occupants up if not completely respected–and seek any memory of our previous interactions. As I reread the directions, our past entanglements become slightly less distant memories. I commit to holding the lighter in the “presumed” pilot area. (without the grill lighter I would be dead. When the directions say use a “match”, I go into a semi-panic. I think certainly the spot I have the lighter is wrong. It must be closer to the edge than I am trying to light. Certainly I am going to blow myself up. I shift my prayer to “Please at least protect the downstairs and my family from anything stupid I may do within the next few minutes”….) I push the red button down and watch to see what havoc my lighter creates. Even after my finger cramps, I still find a way to hold the button down. When my lighter finger cramps, I hope the 60 seconds have passed. After releasing the lighter flame, the pilot remains lit; my body remains intact within our attic, and I shift my prayer to “Please keep the pilot lit. Please, please, please!”

Past “lightings” have involved ripped pants, stretching of patience beyond any previously stretched amounts, and hugging of the water heater as I was certain my last moments were upon me. The lighting ritual seems to be an annual occurrence. Sometimes it is the natural gas line freezing shut (pretty rare–when it gets cold, I now wrap the gas meter to discourage this outcome), or as it apparently was today, it was an overly mischievous breeze. I do not ever want to take this relighting for granted, but my muscle memory seems to be much better than the trauma-wiped actual memory. A bit of self-hypnosis before again approaching this task might be a good option. Or, maybe the better option is the gift of a hot water heater blanket to my under-appreciated and only occasional foe.

My Semi-Lucid Camera

No this is NOT a selfie!

As I continue to explore the new paths in our neighborhood, I like to have my camera on my hip. I don’t have a fancy camera, but I have had it for over 4 years. I have used this camera for SO many things:

I have taken pictures of the kids at so many different sporting events, fairs, and other activities.
It has gone on many vacations with the family. It was fastened to my hip for most of our trip to China last year.
I have taken lots of videos of the kids blowing out candles, cooking food, doing quirky human tricks, and a variety of other oddball things that only I would consider entertaining.
I have taken work pictures for eBay, blogs, and whatever other place I needed. I probably through in quite a few videos as well!

As my camera has aged, our affection (I like to think it is shared, but I know he just thinks of me as the annoying guy who pushes his buttons and yanks out his guts [the SD card and the rechargeable battery]) has grown. I have relied on him for all of those special moments that words just would not be able to do justice to. This was how our relationship went for the past few years until last week. He started letting me down more often then not. I missed a few key shots:

The chickens wandering in the front yard along my walk route. There was no fence or anything. Even telling you now, you are going, “Really? There were chickens wandering without a fence. If you had a picture, I might believe you!”
At the cross country meet, I went to snap a few pictures, but the camera still needed to take a nap or something….

Well, I am not stupid. I thought to myself, “I have never bought a new battery for this camera. Certainly that is the problem.” Two days later, I was able to test this theory when the new battery arrived. Initially, I thought it was more than the battery. After I charged the battery, I popped it into the camera and grew to expect this type of result when I wanted to take a picture:

I turned the camera on and prepared to take my picture.
After waiting for the camera to come to life, I aimed it at my intended target.
I was usually greeted by the lense being sucked back into the camera with no desire to help me capture any memories.

Starting this morning (the day after I bought a new camera online w/ an expected delivery tomorrow), the camera seemed to be embarrassed by its recent behavior. It was cooperating about 50% of the time. (As an example, it only took 3 tries to take my first picture.) By the time I got to my 2nd and 3rd desired picture, the camera was “almost” reliable. At my 4th picture, it did make me try twice, but it took the picture without complaining again and it seemed to be ready for more. (It was not easy, but I kind of pictured a dog who was trying to please—his tongue was hanging out and all of his body language was saying, “Let me help. I want to play.”)

At this point, this camera, at best, will be my backup. I am not sure if it is rethinking the whole “death” idea, or if the internal battery needed extra time to recharge off of the newly acquired battery. Whatever the problem was or is, now that the camera has broken my trust, this camera will….soon be in the trash heap. (I completed the last few words after the recent adventure at the state fair.)

At the Texas State Fair, the camera was on my hip, but the camera was barely lucid. He acted like he just left a sanitarium and had no idea what he was supposed to do. He would stick his tongue out at me, and quickly pull it back in. (The lense would quickly suck back in as I tried to take the pictures.) He would pretend to take pictures and leave me disappointed later when I could not find the pictures I was certain he had committed to memory. He was not reliable, and without a good camera, I am better enjoying the moment then fooling around with an electronic device that has made different career plans.

The camera, when acting according to its DNA, takes pictures. Not being an artist, my brain needs a good image to remember all of the subtle details of the camera captured event. A good picture can add color to an otherwise boring description provided by a somewhat overburdened brain. While my active memories only seem available in black and white images, a camera captured image from MY camera can provide my brain the adrenaline boost it needs to propel my descriptions into a color palette that make the events seem like it just occurred.

Fortunately, the new camera awaited me on the front porch when I got home from the fair. It is a little bulkier, and it only came with a manual in Japanese. In its first outing (daughter’s cross country meet), it appears to know what it was designed to do. If it gives me a few years of mostly lucid service, I am eager to trust it with helping me preserve some amount of the past…regardless of how lucid I am when the pictures are reviewed.

Monster Mashed Potatoes

As we were sitting around the table Sunday night enjoying my daughters birthday meal, one of our guest commented to our Korean exchange student, “Have you ever done the “mashed potato” dance?”

After looking at him rather strangely due to our inability to make a connections with where his brain got that one from, the only thing we could puzzle out is he was thinking of “The Monster Mash”. (The meal did in fact consist of mashed potatoes, so we did figure that part of it out.)

Although a “monster mashed potato” dance does not exist, I could not help but wonder what it WOULD look like. Just a couple of thoughts on the subject…

Is the potato so huge it would be called a monster potato OR is it a monster smashing the potatoes? The answer to this question would greatly influence the dance. Is it a monster smashing to potatoes or is it an all out scramble to smash this many-eyed, starch laden wonder into digestible form?
What appendages are available? The “monster” option is either the hands smashing with a madness or the feet being used to stomp with reckless abandon. If an imaginary massive tuber is a part of the dance, it would seem teamwork might be an effective way to reduce the potato to a smooth, semi-creamy consistency.

The older I get, the more memories I seem to have available for all of the random paths a dinner conversation may take. I love it when some comment, noise, or random thought can serve as a catalyst for a completely different trajectory to an otherwise “normal” communication. I love it that I don’t have to take full responsibility for providing these catalyst. My kids (and exchange kids) are confident enough in themselves and comfortable enough in their environment that they can be willing to throw out the obscure quote/fact/observation. If it takes the conversation no where today, it may reappear in a future conversation.

Some of our best standing jokes have been over dinner conversations. And, some of our best laughs have been while eating dinner. Whatever mistakes we have made as parents, one of them was not failing to eat and dine around the table on a very regular basis. The quality of the food has improved over the years and the dialogue has matured. The kids have brought various friends to the the table to share meals with us. When they left/leave the table, we hope their hunger is an ancient memory and their only real thought is “Did we eat dinner, too?”

Warm-ups Or Leftovers?

As my daughter was designing at attachment for her team’s robot project, I had a pretty good food conversation with one of the other parents. (In the spirit of full disclosure, I am supposed to be a coach on for the team. Since they are one of the older teams and have been doing this for a few years, my services are more along the lines of asking them questions “why?” rather than being there to keep them from losing focus.) After the other parent told me of her younger daughters refusal to use cake mixes out of the box because making it from scratch was so much better, we talked about a couple of things we make for dinner. (Her same daughter who is home-schooled will search out recipes on the internet and give her mother shopping lists. She makes dinner 1 or 2 times per week, and she rarely watches anything other than Food Network on TV.) When it came to the portion of the meal remaining on the table after everyone has eaten their fill, I received a temporary blank stare when I used the term “warm-ups”. Not sure if it is a Midwest term, but maybe it is an attitude. Sure I know what she means when she says “leftovers”, but it set me to thinking….

I am proposing the use of “warm-ups” or “leftovers” is an attitude. In our house, we rarely if ever use the word leftover. Leftover sounds like something you tolerate. (Although, the Caribbean beans and rice did fall into this category. Our “rice-lovers” had a hard time accepting the coconut milk taste in the rice.) Leftovers are something that are the last thing picked when the foods on your table were picking teams. It is an unwanted thing your refrigerator needs to be bribed to keep alive for the few days necessary before the container is either full of mold or too sloppy/stiff to be able to believe the microwave could revive it. Whoever the chef is on any given night (chef is used loosely, but is much more complimentary than, “person charged with cooking and responsible for all of the blame if the meal goes horribly wrong”. We make every effort to be flattering, but the number of second servings speaks louder than, “Great job. I really loved it!”) usually pulls from something they know will be good. (If our exchange students, they either call or email their mothers to get ingredients and/or ideas. For the “natives”, we build on things we know will be eaten and expand from there.) When I hear “warm-ups”, I think of taking a glazed donut out of a box from Krispy Kreme and putting it in the microwave for a few seconds. A warmup is something to look forward to. It is something to be savored. The term implies good (possibly slightly decadent) eating ahead!

In our household, warmups better describes the dining remaining for these reasons:

Warm-ups is a much happier term in our household. Since my daughters and exchange students all pack lunches everyday, the ability to rapidly consume the warmups allows us to view any food left over after a meal as only a temporary contributor to refrigerator clutter. Each girl usually has 2 – 4 plastic containers at the end of each meal. It depends on the individual night (they pack the night before because cross country demands a very early wake up call) how frustrating their towers of protein and veggies are to navigate when something is needed at the back or bottom shelf.
Taste better warmed-up: This is a possible lie we have cultivated to improve the enthusiasm for “maturing” meals. The argument does have some validity with a couple of our meals. The jambalaya has been accused of being too hot on day one. As the rice mixture matures, it tends to become a little less potent. It still tingles the tongue, but it doesn’t rattle the tear ducts.
Kudos and praise: When the warmups pile up and it is one of those summer lunch meals, the counter top is covered with lidless plastic containers. Bounties are placed on certain containers, and rewards are offered for emptying a container. Special rewards are offered for those who are capable of consuming the contents of two or more containers at one meal. If necessary, peer pressure is placed on the potential diner who refuses to consider any of the offering and claims, “I am not hungry.” When they reluctantly pull out a plate, choose a warm up and take their place in line at the microwave, they are again embraced and accepted as a fellow soldier in the battle to exterminate the warmups and admitted leftovers from the household.

Despite the bickering over what is a warmup or a leftover, I will fully agree with the title of “leftover” being assigned to anything that remains in the refrigerator for over a week. Once the criteria is met for disposing of the “aged” food, we ask ourselves what we could do different so we don’t have to throw the food away next time. Do we need to make it differently? Do we need to make less? Do we need to find a new way to repurpose a warmed up meal? (We will often make roast and carrots in the crockpot. The roast does not usually get eaten well as a warmup, but it usually does pretty well as beef and noodles. While breathing life into a pork roast as pork ‘n noodles does not seem to be quite as winning of a plan.) Do we need to make LOTS of something and just freeze the balance knowing its reception will be much warmer if the intended diners believe it is fresh (assuming the taste it not too badly compromised) rather than a “revisit”?

We do realize less cooking would help us have less dishes to wash. The table is a place to cultivate belonging. It is a time where the grunting/chomping that goes with oral consumption is blended with the chatter of school, work and relationships. When we pray over a meal, it is like we are making the table and everything that transpires around it sacred. When we arise and clean up, the sacredness is broken. In the spirit of this mood, why would anyone want to introduce anything to make the experience less than the bonding/coaching/parenting experience it should be. If you are ever hear on a warmup night, you are allowed to sit at our table and refer to the items eaten out of the plastic containers as either leftovers or warmups, but one needs ketchup, and one needs a good appetite. Which do you want to eat?

When I Do Dishes….

As the whole family has watched the dishes mound up, it has caused all of us to feel some level of guilt. A brave family member (usually my wife) dives in and often washes all of them or causes the onslaught of the dirty dishes to temporary be abated. The most recent attack of the dirty dishes (in the spirit of Halloween, maybe someone should dress up as dirty dishes. Although it doesn’t scare everyone, a pile of dirty dishes seems to make homework remarkably attractive and interesting.) had not receded over the past few days, so something needed to be done. I washed a few dishes last night, but after letting a few things soak, I did not get back to the sink before the water was cold. To redeem myself, I promised to finish the remaining dishes in the morning. It was after this weak attempt that I was provided with the necessary ingredients: the cookie sheets and the drying rack (my wife baked cookies so my daughter could take them for a friends birthday). Without these key components, it would have just been just another unsightly pile of clean things.

As the clean dishes flew out of the sink this morning, I was not sure if there was a stable structure in there. Fortunately, I didn’t let my dish washer hands ruin my latent engineering skills. I don’t do dishes often, but when I do, I build something.

Kimchi II With a Side of Cold Noodles

After surviving another Saturday morning of cross country and a lunch of warmups, we solicited volunteers to take the lead on dinner. Fortunately, our Korean exchange student stepped up. As she did her online research and threw out things like “spinach root” and a few other things we had available in our refrigerator or knew we could get OR were pretty sure a substitute would be necessary, we started to pull together our grocery list. Since her shopping list was written in Korean, I had to make sure the “must have” items made it onto my English list.

When the grocery trip was announced to include Whole Foods, all of the girls wanted to go. And, when there was a pet store next to Whole Foods, everyone but me was really happy. Before we made it into the pet store, there were adoptable kittens, cats, and dogs all along the sidewalk. My exchange daughters barely made it into the store. Although the cats and dogs were in cages, they were reminiscent of their pets in China and Korea in mannerisms if not in appearance. My daughters immediately went to the guinea pig and hamster area. They rattled off facts of both creatures like they had studied them in their native, non-domesticated nests. After visiting the geckos, birds, snakes, chameleons, fish and assorted mammalian life at the entrance, I announced to the girls it was time to get Rachel’s birthday present and head out the door. They obeyed pretty well; I ran interference with the birthday girl as the purchase was made.

After the pet-related gifts made it to the car, we poured into the Whole Foods produce department. (When you have 5 or more, your movements are somewhat more flowing than otherwise…) The pineapple and melon samples were soon vanquished. The mushroom options were reviewed with a portabello decision being made, and the spinach root was put in the unavailable category. Other than needing to spend $25 to qualify for using our coupon, the rest of the 1/2 was spent exploring. Our Korean student liked the natural sunscreen and related items. Our Chinese student liked the apple juice with the special delivery mechanism. (I didn’t look at it, but I am assuming it still involves the mouth.) My girls were all over the healthy snacks. Whether it was bulk trail mix or some sort of otherwise unavailable flavor of a food bar, they were just happy to take in the experience. As we checked out, it was nearing 5:00. The errands were over; the dinner prep needed to begin!

If we would have known at the beginning of prep the 2 hour wait necessary until we dined, we might have chosen another dinner option. Since the ingredients were there and cooking also provides some entertainment, we went for it! Of the two menu items our Korean student made, these were the key things I thought were interesting (If you are seasoned in Asian cooking, it may be of absolutely NO interest to you. I am okay with that. Since no real recipes seem to be used by either of our students, a list of techniques and guidelines are all that seem necessary):

Fried Kimchi Rice: When we made the rice to be used in the fried rice, it was “dry” and not sticky. Sticky rice would have made the frying process excessively difficult. (All vegetable prep was done previously. I am only referring to them as if they are already cut and waiting to be cooked. The smoked sausage was also cut up and ready to go into the heat.) The two batches were basically made the same way. 1) The vegetables needing a little extra cook time were cooked first. 2)The rice and sausage were added after some oil was put in the bottom of the pan. (if necessary) 3) The special tube of “special” pepper paste was squeezed into the pan and blended with the ingredients. 4) The kimchi was put in after being sliced according to ancient Korean secrets. 5) Any remaining veggies were added. Since the onions were sliced thin and cooked before, there may have been some thinly cut (and small pieces) carrots, green onions, and celery or some such item. When I have fried rice in the past, I get worried about all of the sticky stuff that really adheres to the pan. I was told this is normal. It is to be scraped off and eaten–very flavorful–before doing the next batch. (The eating is optional and does not have to be done immediately.)
Pork with Cold Noodles and vegetables: This one was not to hard to follow. She cut about a pound of pork into thin pieces maybe a couple inches or so long. (She added salt and pepper and made sure all of the meat was satisfactorily seasoned.) The vegetables were all prepped and cooked separately with minimum oil. (The veggies included: carrots, mushrooms, green onions, onions and maybe some celery and some other similar veggies.) They were set aside in a bowl waiting for the pasta. The pork was cooked in a similar fashion, and also set aside. The pasta was an Asian starch based noodle. (Not sure what the noodles were made from. I think she mentioned sweet potatoes….??? Whatever they were, they cooked up clearish.) Before putting the pasta in, she added a significant amount of soy sauce to the water. She monitored the pasta pretty close; she wanted to make sure it was just right when she declared it done. It was immediately drained of the hot water and bathed in cold water. All of the pork, veggies, noodles, some garlic and extra soy were added to the mix and tossed.

I liked both meals. The rice was very flavorful with an expected texture. The pasta was good. However, it had a somewhat rubbery texture. Whenever I bit into it, it felt much different than normal pasta. Chewing this pasta involved a bit more of a chewing commitment. Although it did offer slight resistance to being consuming, the overall flavors were very good.

Our first Korean meal was good, but the Korean chef was much more confident on this meal. She was very decisive as she chose her ingredients and did her cooking. As exchange parents, we selfishly get to benefit from the great meals they have made us. (The corollary, of course, is we have to be pleasant and enthusiastic when the meals are not so good, too. 😦 ) It is great seeing our students mature as young ladies! They continue to surprise us with the skills they have acquired through parental osmosis. Our fear is what obvious and less than obvious skills and/or vices they might acquire after a year in our household. As we are tempted to play favorites between them (this is a challenge we also juggle with our bio kids), we have to alter our view of the immediate. We need to climb up the ladder a few rungs and get a view of the situation in the light of future perceptions rather than the moment. We have been entrusted with these kids. Their parents have willingly allowed them to come into our homes and allowed our whole family to grow from the experience. We are not told to pull out the cookie cutter and make them into kids that would have come from our families kid factory.

As with all relationships, there is give and take. Both they and us will be changed from this 10 month exchange experience. It isn’t only our palettes that will expand during this time. We are obligated to use all of our senses and embrace the cultural exchange in its fullest. We probably won’t realize the vacuum created when they leave until we participate in one of the things shared with them. Then we will realize how this experience changed us and made us richer people and a richer family. So many months to go, and only one blog to try to capture the moments and meals of the experience!

Assistant Phys Ed Coach – Sorta

Still attempting to break in my new shoes. I am very grateful the new shoes came to me broken…

As I nearly reached the halfway point of my oval, 1-mile, walking path, the connected Christian school was conducting PE class. The days objective was the 1-mile run. As the runners lined up and took off on on their teachers “Go”, I was about 200 yards behind the “enthusiastic” runners. The runners didn’t go for much more than 200 yards before they went behind a bathroom/picnic building. On the other side of the building (bathroom and picnic tables) where the path emerged, the runners were transformed into very slow walkers.

As I passed their phys ed coach, I asked her, “Is it okay if try to motivate them a little if I pass them?

“Sure”, she said. “They often go pretty slow on the back of the course.”

I took this as my license to try and encourage them in my best coaches voice as I passed the kids. Out of the 10-12 that started, it appeared 1/3 of the kids ran the mile per instructions, and 1/3 was a group of guys walking slightly faster than the group of girls bringing up the tail. Although my feet may have been working a little extra hard due to the thrill of a challenge, the girls were pretty easily vanquished. Because the girls were so involved in their conversation, my heavy foot falls right next to them made them jump a bit when I began my passing move.

“Your teacher said I should remind you to keep running.” I said somewhat encouragingly–I know I was smiling big when I said it.

As I kept walking, the girls continued to get farther in my rearview mirror. Now, I could focus on the boys in front of me. They were spanning the whole width of the sidewalk. As were their female classmates, they revealed in no outer way they were aware of me about to pass them. Because they were boys, I am pretty sure my encouragement was more like what a football coach might say.

“Your teacher wanted me to remind you not to walk. She knows how you guys always use it as social time.”, I preached-a sneering smile likely adorned my face.

My sermon did have some brief success. The boys grunted before picking up their pace (in fact they ran) for a couple of hundred yard. When they resumed their previous slow walking speed, I knew we would meet again. “Ditto” was all I needed to say as I passed them the second time. They laughed a little bit, but based on the reaction of their feet, they were not very interested in anything that would interfere with their social time.

As I came to the part of the path where my non-responsive high school friends had started their lap, I did have to give their teacher an update.

“In the boys defense, I did have to pass them twice.”, I proclaimed.

I believe she understood the ramifications of the comment. At least, it gave her something to chew on. As I continued my walk, I heard her raising her voice to get the slackers over the “finish” line. It appeared the two groups had merged as they came into the final stretch. I am not sure how the boys slowed up enough to let that happen! If I get the chance to coach again, I will need to crank the encouragement up a few notches!

Whether the teacher admitted to the license she granted me or not, I hope the kids I interacted with do remember me. Whether I am the weird guy who spoke to them or, if the encounter was slightly humorous, the guy who walks really fast, I hope I am not some phantom they hide in their brain only to be brought back to life under deep hypnosis. I believe it is our obligation to stretch ourselves forward a generation or two. (The older we get, the harder it is to stretch forward. The older we get, the more we hope others are willing to stretch from ahead back to us.) The more the next generations sees others noticing them, the more value they assign to themselves. (I have not done studies…it just makes sense to me. And, since much of what I do has a spiritual “side” to it, I think the kids need more “good” people [I may not be good, but I am not dangerious ;-)] in their lives. If you are not a mentor of a particular kid, exhibit a quality that is one worth emulating, like walking fast or whatever.) If the world wants to devolve into chaos, our influence may lessen the impact of the chaos in our communities. Touch a life today. Make them smile, and see who smiles bigger-you or them!

My Daughters Embarrassing Parents

At this Saturday’s cross country meet, it was one of those “close” meets. It was less than 15 minutes from the house, so we got to sleep a little more than most Saturdays. And, this may have been part of the problem with our excessive energy levels and the need to “share” it with the unsuspecting masses. (The above picture is of both my daughters at the sidewalk running the perimeter of the course. It appears someone with limited mental capacities took two big steps through the wet concrete while nobody was looking. And, nobody looked again until after it dried. The secondary theory is some super hero living among us stepped on the sidewalk without “turning down” his super powers. He inadvertently burnt a “hole” into the concrete before he realized what he had done. As you can see from my daughters footwork, the steps weren’t baby steps…)

Having sat in the intermittent sun for over 2 hours, having endured nearly 3-4 races already of primarily 2 miles each (The HS boys run 3 miles) and with it getting on toward lunch time even though our commute home was short, we were excited to have my youngest daughter run her race. As all of the girls lined up on one end of the field, there is always some narrowing of the course that takes place by design. They know not all of the kids will maintain that line for very long as they work their way down the course. So, by the time the course goes a couple of hundred yards, the width of the course is probably 1/2 the width it was originally. On Saturday’s run, my wife hops out to take pictures of the runners (specifically my daughter and teammates as they line up). As she looked to the left and saw all of the parents encroaching on the course, she could not help but put her I-want-to-help-people hat on. Even though she did not have any event related paraphernalia on, she started pushing and/or strongly requesting the crowd back up so the cross country runners would have a little more space to jockey for position before the course “officially” narrowed. Her words did not fall on deaf ears. They people backed up without much hesitation. She acted like she had authority, and I suppose most of them pulled out the GPSes on their phones and realized the course went right through where they were standing. Regardless, the athletes got a little more space to shuffle into the position where they would run/walk the better part of their race.

I used the term athletes above somewhat loosely. I am truly confident some of the girls found out the day before they were running a race the next day. I believe many of them were walking before they were 100 yards into the race. One whole team of girls provided the entire tail for this beast that weaved its way through the course. After my daughter and her teammates worked their way through the course, my opportunity to embarrass “my ladies” presented itself.

The last 100 yards of the course was a straight away right behind the teams tent. I was impressed by many of the girls who hit this last stretch. They seemed to be able to pour it on and pass 3 or 5 or 10 people in that last stretch. It made me wonder how many of these “2 Milers” were really sprinters masquerading as 2 milers. When the sprinters stopped appearing, we had a huge quantity of the “participant” class. I started walking down the line yelling out words of “encouragement” to the runners. Things like, “You aren’t allowed to walk once you turn the corner.”, “Don’t be last. I can walk faster than you are running.”, “I don’t tolerate any walkers back here–get moving!”, “You can rest all weekend. Right now, you need to finish your race strong.”, and “You may have walked most of the rest of the race. Right now, you need to finish for yourself and your team.” I probably did get a little more colorful at times. If I said anything else, it was quotes like these that provided my inspiration. Although my lips may not have always obeyed my self-imposed rule, sometimes, in the moment, the creative “encouraging” phrases just can’t be held in! 😉

I was mostly relieved of my duties as the last few girls struggled in. Faster fellow teammates were running/jogging alongside their slower counterparts in matching jerseys. Everyone at the race-participants and parents-realizes someone has to be last. If done correctly, you can be in last place with class. I am not a proponent of the the fluffy, “Everyone is a winner.” Everyone who tries and tries to always be there best, is a winner in my book. Bad days excluded, not all girls who ran this race were winners. (More accurately stated, they probably don’t have a winner’s attitude. Without the proper foundation, they don’t have anything to build on.) I am not blaming coaches or any of the other parents who were there this weekend. If parents make kids their priority, maybe kids will find the inner winner. As middle schoolers or older who don’t already have a winning attitude, there is likely to be lots of losing in life before they find their inner winner–if they ever do.

Now, back to those embarrassing parents….it is our job to take pictures when they don’t want to pose. It is our job to give hugs and tell them we love them and are proud of them no matter who is around. And, if the coach says something inappropriate to them and makes them want to be done with cross country forever, it is our job to tell them not to quit and to get up on Monday at 5:00 AM so they can go through another week of fun. Behind every “winner” is a parent (or an adopted “parent”) who is willing to be whatever needs done to best prepare their kids for life….or the next meet. I love my winners!

The Kind Of Story That Can Make Your Weekend

In a world where a teenager in a nearby town uses affluency as a defense in a drunk driving crash (there are numerous other stories that put teenagers in a bad light), it is good to find a story where teenagers in a town just southeast of me did something good.

Two girls on the court decided they would make the day of a girl who was pranked if either one of them became the homecoming queen. There will still be youth in my kids generation that will make me doubt whether the country can survive them. (We have, however, survived the past 6 years.) It is acts like what was done by these two young ladies and the school that allow me to keep my fingers crossed!

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy