SPOILER: No pictures.
Before my mom died, one of the things she told me--made me promise--was that I couldn't just invest any inheritance, that it shouldn't be used "only" to pay for college for the kids, that I HAD to do something 'frivolous'. Well, then Pete died, and I've been dealing with the stupidity of Pete's lawyer (Mike Roeder)--add in a health crisis, the usual life events, and I kept putting off that promise to mi madre.
Finally, last month, I started looking to fulfill that promise. The intent was to buy a new Mustang or new-ish at least, and I found a couple of cars that fit the bill perfectly. I contacted the dealers (one in Pekin, one in Milwaukee) and they said everything was great, no problem--and then when it was time to actually pony (nice pun, huh) up the money, suddenly, they both "sold" that car and said they were looking forward to showing me others 'just like' the car I'd been looking at. Ahhh, the old bait-and-switch.
Disappointed, I actually had GoogleAds pop up some vintage Mustangs--a couple looked pretty sweet, and that included a 1965 Mustang out in Ohio. The dealership (Village Motors) and salesman (Josh Martin) in Millersburg was nice and efficient--and generally open with what they knew, and with that (a total, surprising relief compared to the other dealers), out to Ohio we went, and on Tuesday, I completed the promise to Mom, buying that Mustang.
It's not perfect--it's got some flaws:
1 - There's a hole in the power steering fluid pump somewhere. That's for sure.
2 - The driver door has issues--internal panel is partially off and the window doesn't roll up
3 - The cloth on the interior roof/ceiling is loose (I'm told that's a sign the car's seen a lot of cigarette smoke).
4 - The previous owner put in a "real" stereo system 20 years ago. Hah. Hah-hah!
5 - The paint is dinged/chipped in places--on the driver door, I suspect the door was hit by something at some point accounting for all of the issues.
6 - The passenger door latch is missing.
It also has "traditional" foibles:
1 - It's a '60s car, so it drinks gas like a college student inhales beer.
2 - It steers like a pontoon boat. I'd forgotten that since it's been years since I drove Pete's old pickup, longer still since I drove the beloved '73 LTD. (Turn the wheel 30 degrees and you're just barely starting to turn...)
3 - It's a deathtrap. Lap belts only, no belts in the back seat, and everything inside the passenger compartment is sharp/pointed/hard. Of course, if you don't hit anything, you have no problems, right?
4 - No A/C (other than 'natural air'...aka windows)
5 - No cruise-control or things like power-jacks, USB outlets, etc
But...
1 - The current paint job is an awesome champagne/burgundy.
2 - I have enough room to stretch my legs out straight while driving.
3 - It looks beautiful.
4 - There is a big engine in it (v8, 289) and it works VERY well.
5 - It is fun to drive.
#5 is the biggie. Seven hours back here without cruise control, but I didn't mind. It was fun to drive. I didn't worry about a radio or anything else. It was so different, much more 'natural', but I'm not sure that comment can make sense to people who have never driven a pre-1990ish vehicle. It's you, the car, and that's it.
So now the object is to get all the "big issues" (the pain, the driver door, the power steering) taken care of. Then it's time to remember that I used to (probably still can) do a lot of the basic things that I haven't had to do since the LTD. Mmmm...mmm...mmmm.
Oops--AND, I'll have to drive this up to the QC so Erik Johnson and I can show off the cars (he has a modern Corvette), then try and get to Keokuk for a couple hours (Uncle Mike has a modern Mustang). And then maybe next summer--maybe Julie and I take a couple days to just drive Route 66.
I do this because it's awesome, but always--I love my mom. She'd be happy.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Uni High: A rough mileage calculation...
So today, Brigitte graduates from Uni. It's a bittersweet day--because it was only yesterday that she was five-years old, dressing up for Halloween as a fairy princess, etc, or sitting on my lap along with her brother as we watched Star Wars movies and stuff like that.
After getting let go from Satan's School for Boys and Girls, we had the kids go to a different school for a couple years, but unfortunately (and it is a different issue) the academics available to our oldest children, weren't up to snuff--and the attitude of the administrator at the time was unacceptable. That's how we wound up with the commute to Uni.
People've asked for a long time about the cost and everything--but Uni doesn't charge tuition. The real cost came in time and gas money (we can never replace time, just make sure we invest it wisely--and Uni was a wise use of time...) When Erick graduated, I figured out the mileage, but I've forgotten since then...so why not calculate the whole shebang?
IMPORTANT INFO FOR THIS:
Distance from home to Uni: 66 miles
EIU to Uni 35 miles
32 weeks of school/5 days per week = 160 days
Absences due to illness cancel out weekend days added due to sports = 0 days
Extra days such as prom, Homecoming, and Theatre = 5-10 days/year
For nine weeks/year (45 days)--I do the driving. (28.125% of miles)
For three weeks/year (15 days)--I drive but have to go SPFLD->Champaign->home (9.375%)
For twenty/ weeks/year (100 days)--Julie did the driving. (62.5% of miles)
My mileage = up+back = 132 miles. 132 x 45 = 5940
The spring practice schedule = 156 x 15 = 2340
Eight years total = 66240
Julie's drive = 66 + 35 + 35 + 66 = 202 miles x 100 days = 20,200
Eight years total = 161600
So the total mileage = 227840, not including extra trips to sporting events in the evening and such.
Cost: My car gets 25 mpg/hwy, so 66240 / 25 = 2649.6 gallons of gas. If we assume a rate around 3.40/gallon (ballpark estimate over past eight years), gas cost = 9008.64
Julie's car gets 44 mpg/hwy, so 161600 / 44 = 3672.7 gallons of gas. Cost = 12487.27
Totals now:
227840 miles
$21,495.91 (gas)
Oil changes...if done every 4,000 miles, I needed 16 oil changes due to the drive, Julie required 40. 56 oil changes at $45/visit (trying to factor in wear on other components, etc). This is another 2520.00 of cost.
227,840 miles
$24,015
Ok--before including "time" into this--the financial cost of this is $24,015 in maintenance on the car. We should then add $30,000 to it--because once you get over 200,000 miles on a car, you're looking at ultimately needing another. Erick went to Uni from Fall 2006 until Spring 11. Brigitte graduates now, so there were two years of overlap (thus the eight years).
Cost per year (basic): $3001.87
Just on that--is it worth the education they received? Absolutely. Heck, count the overlap as double-value and the cost drops to $2401.50/year. Even better.
Now lets add that new car on. That makes the 'cost' $54,000 (we'll round it off).
Cost/year now: $6750.00
Cost/year (doubling up): $5400
Think about the tuition rates at private schools (Lutheran, Satanic, or whatever). If you do not practice that same faith--those numbers are well within the range of tuition costs. The cost at Sacred-Heart Griffin in Springfield is $7,925/year. Davenport Assumption is $6,910 (with a subsidy if you are Catholic). ..and remember, we've built a $30k car purchase into my cost-assessment!
But what about time? Two adults driving. If we presume 60mph, it is a total of 3797 man-hours behind the wheel. We can value that at $15/hour--so the money-cost of that time is $56,955.
That expense would add:
+$7119/year to costs, so that we'd be looking at:
Cost/year: $13,869
With doubled-up years: $12,519
$12,519/year x 8 years = $100,152 total expense.
Of course, adding in those man-hours is unfair. It's 500 hours/year...but it was time in a vehicle with my children (or for Julie), time spent talking and discussing and listening to music together--not time staring at a TV or isolated from one another. Think about families you know--do those families spend 2-3 hours together actually talking, etc every day? That's why including that cost is unfair. I enjoyed those hours--whether talking about movies, music, or our attempts to go the entire drive while only using one syllable words AND discussing issues like Whorf's Linguistic Hypothesis as we do it. Yeah, there's a cost to spending that time driving to/from school, but those hours with the kids...priceless.
Whew. Glad to have calculated that.
Maybe next time I'll calculate my OTHER driving for Lincoln Land....I swear, I'm in the wrong life--I should've been a long-haul trucker...
After getting let go from Satan's School for Boys and Girls, we had the kids go to a different school for a couple years, but unfortunately (and it is a different issue) the academics available to our oldest children, weren't up to snuff--and the attitude of the administrator at the time was unacceptable. That's how we wound up with the commute to Uni.
People've asked for a long time about the cost and everything--but Uni doesn't charge tuition. The real cost came in time and gas money (we can never replace time, just make sure we invest it wisely--and Uni was a wise use of time...) When Erick graduated, I figured out the mileage, but I've forgotten since then...so why not calculate the whole shebang?
IMPORTANT INFO FOR THIS:
Distance from home to Uni: 66 miles
EIU to Uni 35 miles
32 weeks of school/5 days per week = 160 days
Absences due to illness cancel out weekend days added due to sports = 0 days
Extra days such as prom, Homecoming, and Theatre = 5-10 days/year
For nine weeks/year (45 days)--I do the driving. (28.125% of miles)
For three weeks/year (15 days)--I drive but have to go SPFLD->Champaign->home (9.375%)
For twenty/ weeks/year (100 days)--Julie did the driving. (62.5% of miles)
My mileage = up+back = 132 miles. 132 x 45 = 5940
The spring practice schedule = 156 x 15 = 2340
Eight years total = 66240
Julie's drive = 66 + 35 + 35 + 66 = 202 miles x 100 days = 20,200
Eight years total = 161600
So the total mileage = 227840, not including extra trips to sporting events in the evening and such.
Cost: My car gets 25 mpg/hwy, so 66240 / 25 = 2649.6 gallons of gas. If we assume a rate around 3.40/gallon (ballpark estimate over past eight years), gas cost = 9008.64
Julie's car gets 44 mpg/hwy, so 161600 / 44 = 3672.7 gallons of gas. Cost = 12487.27
Totals now:
227840 miles
$21,495.91 (gas)
Oil changes...if done every 4,000 miles, I needed 16 oil changes due to the drive, Julie required 40. 56 oil changes at $45/visit (trying to factor in wear on other components, etc). This is another 2520.00 of cost.
227,840 miles
$24,015
Ok--before including "time" into this--the financial cost of this is $24,015 in maintenance on the car. We should then add $30,000 to it--because once you get over 200,000 miles on a car, you're looking at ultimately needing another. Erick went to Uni from Fall 2006 until Spring 11. Brigitte graduates now, so there were two years of overlap (thus the eight years).
Cost per year (basic): $3001.87
Just on that--is it worth the education they received? Absolutely. Heck, count the overlap as double-value and the cost drops to $2401.50/year. Even better.
Now lets add that new car on. That makes the 'cost' $54,000 (we'll round it off).
Cost/year now: $6750.00
Cost/year (doubling up): $5400
Think about the tuition rates at private schools (Lutheran, Satanic, or whatever). If you do not practice that same faith--those numbers are well within the range of tuition costs. The cost at Sacred-Heart Griffin in Springfield is $7,925/year. Davenport Assumption is $6,910 (with a subsidy if you are Catholic). ..and remember, we've built a $30k car purchase into my cost-assessment!
But what about time? Two adults driving. If we presume 60mph, it is a total of 3797 man-hours behind the wheel. We can value that at $15/hour--so the money-cost of that time is $56,955.
That expense would add:
+$7119/year to costs, so that we'd be looking at:
Cost/year: $13,869
With doubled-up years: $12,519
$12,519/year x 8 years = $100,152 total expense.
Of course, adding in those man-hours is unfair. It's 500 hours/year...but it was time in a vehicle with my children (or for Julie), time spent talking and discussing and listening to music together--not time staring at a TV or isolated from one another. Think about families you know--do those families spend 2-3 hours together actually talking, etc every day? That's why including that cost is unfair. I enjoyed those hours--whether talking about movies, music, or our attempts to go the entire drive while only using one syllable words AND discussing issues like Whorf's Linguistic Hypothesis as we do it. Yeah, there's a cost to spending that time driving to/from school, but those hours with the kids...priceless.
Whew. Glad to have calculated that.
Maybe next time I'll calculate my OTHER driving for Lincoln Land....I swear, I'm in the wrong life--I should've been a long-haul trucker...
Monday, May 19, 2014
Teachers, Motivation, Inspiration
So...this past weekend, one of the people I used to teach with out at Allen County, Tom, picked up a Master's degree (again). Tom used to teach Psychology and coach the track programs before going over to the Dark Side (college administration).
When he got his degree, he put a picture up on Facebook and mentioned one of the motivations he had--a teacher from high school. Now, before you start thinking, "Awwww...", this "teacher" had told Tom before he graduated high school that Tom couldn't cut it, wouldn't ever amount to anything.
So let me ask a rhetorical question here: WHAT THE HELL SORT OF TEACHER IS THAT???
For the record, Tom (who wasn't going to amount to much) now has a couple advanced degrees, an award for teaching, an award for administrating (I'll avoid my usual admin-type comment here), had a track scholarship, emphasized the STUDENT part of student-athlete, and then somehow found a nice woman to marry him and have some kids with him (seriously, that last part is not made up--Tom's pictures are not photoshopped).
It's been several years, but now reading that Facebook post, I realize why he was the way he was as a teacher--why he was positive when dealing with students, even the ones who didn't get it and really struggled.
It made me wonder--do all good teachers have that negative role-model in their past?
I know I had a couple. I still keep the journal comments written to me by an English teacher (there's a pause here while I go get them so I may quote...): "Jim, I don't know what happened, but you are a completely negative, disappointing person. I had high hopes for you, but I am disappointed to see how wrong I was, that you will not amount to anything in life."
Now, you could make the argument that "Hey, she's just trying to motivate you"--fair enough. Let's assume that's true (for her or Tom's former teacher). That doesn't change the horrid method. Why would you take a teenager and break them down or insult them? In that situation--you're the teacher. Your job is to work to get through to a kid, maybe empathize with them because whether it's 1985 or 2014, it is not easy being 16 years old.
But do those words look motivating or inspiring? As a parent, teacher, and coach, I avoid the D-word (disappointed) as much as possible. I think I've used it twice with my children in the past three years, and maybe four times with my athletes. It's a powerful word--and it almost always hurts feelings. Adults know that, so why, as a teacher, use it?
I'd rather focus on the positive--whether in the classroom or not.
*Long ago, I got banned from my high school's campus, not allowed to sit there while my friends and/or former classmates graduated. The principal, Fat Man, said I would 'disrespect authority'...whatever that means. After that, two teachers went to him and said that if he held to that, they'd be done teaching. Think about that...two teachers standing up for a former student, not even a current one, and both willing to put their jobs on the line for it. Those were Mrs. Strohm and Mr. Valus. It's been 29 years and I've never forgotten that.
*Go back further, and I remember Mrs. Loula, my 6th grade teacher, working things out so that me and Steve Pedersen could take math separately with the 7th grade. At the time I didn't think anything about that...I mean, you're 11-12 years old, right? Ahh--but I've taught now. Having a couple kids leave for a different class at a certain hour disrupts your whole schedule--because if we are leaving during Reading for Math--then you've got to do a Prep so that we can do Reading while everyone else is doing Math. There aren't a ton of teachers out there willing to take that extra extra step just for two students.
*Todd Francis--teaches Chemistry, even during the summer, but then donates his time to coach ACCC's Scholar Bowl team, as well as work as an assistant for the volleyball team. That's a lot of time and effort--especially since he doesn't HAVE to do any of that extra work. Todd would say he does it for the money...but that's because he's a crusty old fart with a crappy golf game. The reality is that inside--he cares a ton about his students.
*Richard Kottman--everybody other than me, Dave Pieart, and Chris Libby despised Kottman, and Kottman relished that. I got the worst grade ever in a History class with him, and I learned more there than in any other class in college. I learned that teachers SHOULD push students, should maintain the highest standards for what constitutes an "A", and that we shouldn't compromise those values under any circumstances.
In the end, I keep that journal for specific motivation--that when I teach, when I coach, I will never ever EVER be like that with a young person, not even when those young people try and cause trouble or are failing at life--because I need to be there to help them, to offer a hand. Otherwise, I'd much rather focus on the good teaching I see. Most teachers, most principals, are good people and are in education to help make this world a better place. That's the truth.
Who are your role-models? Who motivated you? Why? I'm actually interested to read what people say--please share!
When he got his degree, he put a picture up on Facebook and mentioned one of the motivations he had--a teacher from high school. Now, before you start thinking, "Awwww...", this "teacher" had told Tom before he graduated high school that Tom couldn't cut it, wouldn't ever amount to anything.
So let me ask a rhetorical question here: WHAT THE HELL SORT OF TEACHER IS THAT???
For the record, Tom (who wasn't going to amount to much) now has a couple advanced degrees, an award for teaching, an award for administrating (I'll avoid my usual admin-type comment here), had a track scholarship, emphasized the STUDENT part of student-athlete, and then somehow found a nice woman to marry him and have some kids with him (seriously, that last part is not made up--Tom's pictures are not photoshopped).
It's been several years, but now reading that Facebook post, I realize why he was the way he was as a teacher--why he was positive when dealing with students, even the ones who didn't get it and really struggled.
It made me wonder--do all good teachers have that negative role-model in their past?
I know I had a couple. I still keep the journal comments written to me by an English teacher (there's a pause here while I go get them so I may quote...): "Jim, I don't know what happened, but you are a completely negative, disappointing person. I had high hopes for you, but I am disappointed to see how wrong I was, that you will not amount to anything in life."
Now, you could make the argument that "Hey, she's just trying to motivate you"--fair enough. Let's assume that's true (for her or Tom's former teacher). That doesn't change the horrid method. Why would you take a teenager and break them down or insult them? In that situation--you're the teacher. Your job is to work to get through to a kid, maybe empathize with them because whether it's 1985 or 2014, it is not easy being 16 years old.
But do those words look motivating or inspiring? As a parent, teacher, and coach, I avoid the D-word (disappointed) as much as possible. I think I've used it twice with my children in the past three years, and maybe four times with my athletes. It's a powerful word--and it almost always hurts feelings. Adults know that, so why, as a teacher, use it?
I'd rather focus on the positive--whether in the classroom or not.
*Long ago, I got banned from my high school's campus, not allowed to sit there while my friends and/or former classmates graduated. The principal, Fat Man, said I would 'disrespect authority'...whatever that means. After that, two teachers went to him and said that if he held to that, they'd be done teaching. Think about that...two teachers standing up for a former student, not even a current one, and both willing to put their jobs on the line for it. Those were Mrs. Strohm and Mr. Valus. It's been 29 years and I've never forgotten that.
*Go back further, and I remember Mrs. Loula, my 6th grade teacher, working things out so that me and Steve Pedersen could take math separately with the 7th grade. At the time I didn't think anything about that...I mean, you're 11-12 years old, right? Ahh--but I've taught now. Having a couple kids leave for a different class at a certain hour disrupts your whole schedule--because if we are leaving during Reading for Math--then you've got to do a Prep so that we can do Reading while everyone else is doing Math. There aren't a ton of teachers out there willing to take that extra extra step just for two students.
*Todd Francis--teaches Chemistry, even during the summer, but then donates his time to coach ACCC's Scholar Bowl team, as well as work as an assistant for the volleyball team. That's a lot of time and effort--especially since he doesn't HAVE to do any of that extra work. Todd would say he does it for the money...but that's because he's a crusty old fart with a crappy golf game. The reality is that inside--he cares a ton about his students.
*Richard Kottman--everybody other than me, Dave Pieart, and Chris Libby despised Kottman, and Kottman relished that. I got the worst grade ever in a History class with him, and I learned more there than in any other class in college. I learned that teachers SHOULD push students, should maintain the highest standards for what constitutes an "A", and that we shouldn't compromise those values under any circumstances.
In the end, I keep that journal for specific motivation--that when I teach, when I coach, I will never ever EVER be like that with a young person, not even when those young people try and cause trouble or are failing at life--because I need to be there to help them, to offer a hand. Otherwise, I'd much rather focus on the good teaching I see. Most teachers, most principals, are good people and are in education to help make this world a better place. That's the truth.
Who are your role-models? Who motivated you? Why? I'm actually interested to read what people say--please share!
Sunday, May 18, 2014
High School Teaching (A Decade Gone now...)
This week is the ten-year anniversary of me being fired at Satan's School for Girls and Boys. It's a bittersweet thought because I loved teaching high school.
Of course, if that doesn't happen, I never get to teach/coach at Allen County or coach at LLCC, and if not at LLCC, no trip to nationals, no AVCA membership and conventions, or presentation and book. It's not like it's been ten years of misery by any means.
On the other hand, ten years at SSGB and I'd have 400+ wins and, I'd put $50,000 on this--there would've been at least four trips to State during that time. A pity the total still stands at zero because there've been some good players through the SSGB program. Feh--that's whining and we do not have the ability to go back and change things--and as I noted in a different blog, change something in the past and you're going to eliminate a bunch of good things that come down the road.
It doesn't change my feelings though--it's despicable for a superintendent to remove a faculty member because someone's dad threatens to stop donating to the school because of a grade or playing time. If you are a Catholic institution, you should always, always, place integrity and ethics above money. That's a life lesson--there's always more money, always fundraising, but once you compromise your morals, there's no getting those back.
I hope my former students, former players, realize that. It makes it funny when I get accused of lying or being unethical/inappropriate. Because it's lying. I've got a bazillion faults--those ain't them.
I gave 100% teaching. 100% coaching. I'm proud of where those students have gone, what they are doing--whether it is starting a family, working on a doctoral exam, working in the family business, or serving in the armed forces. I tried to make you work hard because that's what brings success in life. I tried to model ethics and integrity, so that when you got into your careers, you would also be known as someone worthy of trust.
The best? You're all so different--music lovers, readers, family men/women. I love Facebook so I can see what you are all up to--even if I don't ever do more than (lamely) click "like". As a teacher, I am absolutely proud of all of you. I just hope that with 10-15 years of perspective, you found the work I asked of you to have been worthwhile.
Of course, if that doesn't happen, I never get to teach/coach at Allen County or coach at LLCC, and if not at LLCC, no trip to nationals, no AVCA membership and conventions, or presentation and book. It's not like it's been ten years of misery by any means.
On the other hand, ten years at SSGB and I'd have 400+ wins and, I'd put $50,000 on this--there would've been at least four trips to State during that time. A pity the total still stands at zero because there've been some good players through the SSGB program. Feh--that's whining and we do not have the ability to go back and change things--and as I noted in a different blog, change something in the past and you're going to eliminate a bunch of good things that come down the road.
It doesn't change my feelings though--it's despicable for a superintendent to remove a faculty member because someone's dad threatens to stop donating to the school because of a grade or playing time. If you are a Catholic institution, you should always, always, place integrity and ethics above money. That's a life lesson--there's always more money, always fundraising, but once you compromise your morals, there's no getting those back.
I hope my former students, former players, realize that. It makes it funny when I get accused of lying or being unethical/inappropriate. Because it's lying. I've got a bazillion faults--those ain't them.
I gave 100% teaching. 100% coaching. I'm proud of where those students have gone, what they are doing--whether it is starting a family, working on a doctoral exam, working in the family business, or serving in the armed forces. I tried to make you work hard because that's what brings success in life. I tried to model ethics and integrity, so that when you got into your careers, you would also be known as someone worthy of trust.
The best? You're all so different--music lovers, readers, family men/women. I love Facebook so I can see what you are all up to--even if I don't ever do more than (lamely) click "like". As a teacher, I am absolutely proud of all of you. I just hope that with 10-15 years of perspective, you found the work I asked of you to have been worthwhile.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Dear Mom (open letter, maybe one of many)
Dear Mom,
I keep wondering since it's been a long time now since we were able to sit and talk--almost 10% of my life now spent without you around--but, are you proud of me? Am I doing all right?
I suppose I know the answer, and I know how Julie would respond. I know how the kids would respond, and I know what Pete would've said, though he's been gone now 16 months, too. I can hear you, "You're fine, honey. Are you happy? You should be because Julie is great and the kids are wonderful. If you're happy, then screw everyone else."
Hah--I know you would've said some more though: "Though it would be nice if you guys tidied up the house more. I swear, the kids are slobs, and the clutter is through the roof." Yeah, two of the three kids are messy--but is that any different than we were as kids? Do you remember Debbie having a glass in her room that got crusted over with mold-stuff? Hah--I do. I remember you letting me just stack clean clothes on the floor, as long as they were in my room--it was my room and I could do what I wanted. I appreciated that. It's why our upstairs looks like Ground Zero--because we've handled their rooms like you handled ours.
You do realize that we've done a ton of things in the spirit of what you taught me, right? We didn't push Erick into engineering, nor either him or Brigitte into studying abroad. They wanted to and we let/are letting them. That was scary, but you were gone by then.
I guess that's why I'm writing--you knew you were dying, didn't you? That's the heart of it. I know you had COPD. You said there were stages, but I trusted you to tell me everything--and you didn't. I know now you were 'end-stage' and what that means. You were a nurse, the best possibly to ever walk the halls of Mercy/St. Luke's/Genesis East and West, and on a pulmonary unit, you would've seen those cases for years. Bronchial drugs, your body burning its fat for daily needs, and oxygen assistance to get up and down a flight of stairs or to merely walk into a grocery store. I know you knew and I wish you would've just told me.
Then again, you did, didn't you? It's why you brought a couple of sentimental things down to us. It's why you made the pointed comment about if you died while Erick was in Poland that he was not to be brought back for a funeral. The end point for the last stage of COPD is four years tops--see, I've learned. I know when you started losing weight even when you didn't want to. I can do the math. You were probably in Year Four already when you came for that last visit, weren't you?
You knew and didn't say anything, damn it. I'm still upset by that, but you know what's worse? Realizing you did it to not upset me, as well as the fact that if we reversed places, I would've done the exact same thing you did. So here I am, still upset three years later, even though I would've done the same thing, made worse because I'm upset--why? Because I'm glad you did what you did. Telling me would've ruined my memories of that last week, your last visit with you and Pete. It was an amazing week--laughing at Zombieland, you finding that you liked playing Pandemic (a geeky boardgame!), and those baby e-trade commercials and finding crap on YouTube.
The goodbye was wonderful, too. If you're going to have last words from a parent, I think "I love you so much" is the best possible thing to hear, even if you already know your mom feels that way. And I hope you know that I love you still. I hope you saw that in the values we've tried to share with the kids, how we put family above everything, that I am honest with everyone, that I will not compromise my ethics--you taught me well. All of that was wrapped up in those last three words I said to you: I love you.
I'll write more soon, but I've got volleyball, writing, and Jolly Roger stuff to do, and then get Brigitte from school when they are done with senior assembly...three days of class remaining until she is done with her senior year. Time goes so fast.
Love,
Your son.
I keep wondering since it's been a long time now since we were able to sit and talk--almost 10% of my life now spent without you around--but, are you proud of me? Am I doing all right?
I suppose I know the answer, and I know how Julie would respond. I know how the kids would respond, and I know what Pete would've said, though he's been gone now 16 months, too. I can hear you, "You're fine, honey. Are you happy? You should be because Julie is great and the kids are wonderful. If you're happy, then screw everyone else."
Hah--I know you would've said some more though: "Though it would be nice if you guys tidied up the house more. I swear, the kids are slobs, and the clutter is through the roof." Yeah, two of the three kids are messy--but is that any different than we were as kids? Do you remember Debbie having a glass in her room that got crusted over with mold-stuff? Hah--I do. I remember you letting me just stack clean clothes on the floor, as long as they were in my room--it was my room and I could do what I wanted. I appreciated that. It's why our upstairs looks like Ground Zero--because we've handled their rooms like you handled ours.
You do realize that we've done a ton of things in the spirit of what you taught me, right? We didn't push Erick into engineering, nor either him or Brigitte into studying abroad. They wanted to and we let/are letting them. That was scary, but you were gone by then.
I guess that's why I'm writing--you knew you were dying, didn't you? That's the heart of it. I know you had COPD. You said there were stages, but I trusted you to tell me everything--and you didn't. I know now you were 'end-stage' and what that means. You were a nurse, the best possibly to ever walk the halls of Mercy/St. Luke's/Genesis East and West, and on a pulmonary unit, you would've seen those cases for years. Bronchial drugs, your body burning its fat for daily needs, and oxygen assistance to get up and down a flight of stairs or to merely walk into a grocery store. I know you knew and I wish you would've just told me.
Then again, you did, didn't you? It's why you brought a couple of sentimental things down to us. It's why you made the pointed comment about if you died while Erick was in Poland that he was not to be brought back for a funeral. The end point for the last stage of COPD is four years tops--see, I've learned. I know when you started losing weight even when you didn't want to. I can do the math. You were probably in Year Four already when you came for that last visit, weren't you?
You knew and didn't say anything, damn it. I'm still upset by that, but you know what's worse? Realizing you did it to not upset me, as well as the fact that if we reversed places, I would've done the exact same thing you did. So here I am, still upset three years later, even though I would've done the same thing, made worse because I'm upset--why? Because I'm glad you did what you did. Telling me would've ruined my memories of that last week, your last visit with you and Pete. It was an amazing week--laughing at Zombieland, you finding that you liked playing Pandemic (a geeky boardgame!), and those baby e-trade commercials and finding crap on YouTube.
The goodbye was wonderful, too. If you're going to have last words from a parent, I think "I love you so much" is the best possible thing to hear, even if you already know your mom feels that way. And I hope you know that I love you still. I hope you saw that in the values we've tried to share with the kids, how we put family above everything, that I am honest with everyone, that I will not compromise my ethics--you taught me well. All of that was wrapped up in those last three words I said to you: I love you.
I'll write more soon, but I've got volleyball, writing, and Jolly Roger stuff to do, and then get Brigitte from school when they are done with senior assembly...three days of class remaining until she is done with her senior year. Time goes so fast.
Love,
Your son.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Bus routes and a better America
Depending on where you live, you deal with bus routes.
Now, buses are great things--I think efficient public transportation could do wonders for congestion in big cities and even middle-sized areas like the Quad Cities, Des Moines--fill in your favorite community of 200-300,000 here. Indeed, most cities of that size, as well as most towns with large colleges have bus routes. Most large cities or urban areas also feature great train service or subways (Washington DC is the model for a great subway system...in that, DC is competent).
But they could be better. Once again this morning I was trapped behind a Champaign-Urbana bus on a one-lane road (so that there was really no way to get past it for me or the 50 cars behind me). It kept stopping every block to allow people to get on and people to step off. Why?
Why do we permit buses to stop every block or at points that are not designated bus stops? Is there really a difference whether that person is let off at the door of his destination? Are people no longer capable of walking even a couple blocks?
Wouldn't the solution be to limit bus stops to point every half-mile? Or if you are in a really congested traffic city like New York or Chicago, in your downtown area, you define it by blocks--perhaps every two blocks? There are three great advantages to this.
1 - Traffic is going to be more efficient. Because when I've got a dozen cars behind me, they are sticking into the previous intersection in all likelihood and that means cross-traffic won't go anywhere either, thus backing up those streets and causing a chain reaction of stopped or slowed traffic.
2 - The media keeps whining about America being obese. It is. But every solution you see is based on changing diet or 'great workout plans for killer abs', and very little that offers practical value. Well, if a bus only dropped off every half-mile, that means riders would have to do a little walking. Nothing horrible, but a half-mile walk from the bus to work and then work to the bus--and suddenly you've got a mile of exercise. No, not a great amount, but that could be enough to help quite a few people.
3 - Fewer start-stops means less wear on engines and better mileage for buses. In an era of tight budgets for municipalities--even savings of $4000-5000 can be significant.
Of course, the problem is convenience. Lazy people don't want to walk whether it is a block or a half-mile. The logic is that they paid for the bus ride, so by God, drop me off exactly where I want.
I think my solution would be easy to implement and after a short adjustment period, no one would complain. Sadly, I know none of this will happen--it's not a subject that's going to generate "WOW" for a politician, nor are bus riders the ones donating to political campaigns.
Am I nuts for this? Are there other little ways you can find that could help communities? I'm going to forward this suggestion to the bus services in C-U and over in Springfield. I don't expect anything to come from it--but you never know, right?
Now, buses are great things--I think efficient public transportation could do wonders for congestion in big cities and even middle-sized areas like the Quad Cities, Des Moines--fill in your favorite community of 200-300,000 here. Indeed, most cities of that size, as well as most towns with large colleges have bus routes. Most large cities or urban areas also feature great train service or subways (Washington DC is the model for a great subway system...in that, DC is competent).
But they could be better. Once again this morning I was trapped behind a Champaign-Urbana bus on a one-lane road (so that there was really no way to get past it for me or the 50 cars behind me). It kept stopping every block to allow people to get on and people to step off. Why?
Why do we permit buses to stop every block or at points that are not designated bus stops? Is there really a difference whether that person is let off at the door of his destination? Are people no longer capable of walking even a couple blocks?
Wouldn't the solution be to limit bus stops to point every half-mile? Or if you are in a really congested traffic city like New York or Chicago, in your downtown area, you define it by blocks--perhaps every two blocks? There are three great advantages to this.
1 - Traffic is going to be more efficient. Because when I've got a dozen cars behind me, they are sticking into the previous intersection in all likelihood and that means cross-traffic won't go anywhere either, thus backing up those streets and causing a chain reaction of stopped or slowed traffic.
2 - The media keeps whining about America being obese. It is. But every solution you see is based on changing diet or 'great workout plans for killer abs', and very little that offers practical value. Well, if a bus only dropped off every half-mile, that means riders would have to do a little walking. Nothing horrible, but a half-mile walk from the bus to work and then work to the bus--and suddenly you've got a mile of exercise. No, not a great amount, but that could be enough to help quite a few people.
3 - Fewer start-stops means less wear on engines and better mileage for buses. In an era of tight budgets for municipalities--even savings of $4000-5000 can be significant.
Of course, the problem is convenience. Lazy people don't want to walk whether it is a block or a half-mile. The logic is that they paid for the bus ride, so by God, drop me off exactly where I want.
I think my solution would be easy to implement and after a short adjustment period, no one would complain. Sadly, I know none of this will happen--it's not a subject that's going to generate "WOW" for a politician, nor are bus riders the ones donating to political campaigns.
Am I nuts for this? Are there other little ways you can find that could help communities? I'm going to forward this suggestion to the bus services in C-U and over in Springfield. I don't expect anything to come from it--but you never know, right?
Saturday, May 10, 2014
The Positive that Comes from the Bad (Dad's death...)
Twenty-five years ago today, my dad died. They pulled the life support in the early afternoon after I signed the papers providing authorization. As it is with most people who suffer the unexpected death of a parent at a young age, 5/10/89 was one of the low points of my life.
For a long time, I allowed that, as well as what came afterwards because of my evil step-mother and her son (far worse than anything Disney could imagine as villains). Life didn't get easier--I even had a professor at the University of Illinois who lowered my grade in a class because I went back to the Quad Cities for a court date. His comment, "Just have them reschedule the date. If it's even true in the first place."
But...this is supposed to be positive. If he lived, I wouldn't have gone to grad school at Illinois, and while I think Illinois sucks rocks as a school now...if I don't go there, I don't meet my wife. No wife, then no Erick, Brigitte, or Mike. I don't go there--then I never go to a volleyball match, and one of the other great passions I've found in my life never happens.
No Illinois, then no Ohio State--no Final Four, no friendships with Linda and Jim Stone, no Yao, no D.C. (rest in peace, sir). No OSU, then I don't find the Guardtower, create my first game and then open my own store and eventually Jolly Roger Games.
No Julie--no central Illinois. And that means St. Anthony would still be sucking at volleyball, probably looking for a 1st Regional title. It means I don't teach for Parkland or EIU, or at St. Anthony--where I know I made a difference in the classroom for kids. Given the other social studies teachers--would anyone have taught those students how to write research papers or efficiently take essay tests (I doubt it)?
No Julie--no Uni. No Uni, no kids being selected to study abroad--so I never see Poland or Colditz in person....and hopefully Hungary in 2015. No Julie, no central Illinois...no adoption of Michael.
My dad didn't share affection easily. It was only at the visitation and service that I realized his love--all because person after person came up and mentioned how often he talked about me and my sister, how proud he was of us, his love for us. His death made me realize that I didn't want that for myself, so I made myself better. I tell my children I love them--even as they roll their eyes. Barring weird accidents, at the end of my life, I want the last words that they (and Julie) hear from to be "I love you" because that's the truth. Without my dad's death--do I ever come to that realization?
If an angel (or devil) were to come to me and say, "All you have to do is say 'please' and you'll have your dad back and it'll be May 11, 1989 to live again"...it sounds tempting, if only to go back and say I was sorry for my last words to him and to let him know I love him, to goad him into admitting he loved me TO ME. Oh, how tempting. But I couldn't. Too many good things have happened to me, triggered by that one unfortunate incident.
I hope that he is at peace, or if the eastern religions are correct, that his karma was good and that he is enjoying his next existence, and hopefully learned that it's ok to say "I love you".
If you're reading this--have you said those magic words to those close to you lately? Do it. Please.
For a long time, I allowed that, as well as what came afterwards because of my evil step-mother and her son (far worse than anything Disney could imagine as villains). Life didn't get easier--I even had a professor at the University of Illinois who lowered my grade in a class because I went back to the Quad Cities for a court date. His comment, "Just have them reschedule the date. If it's even true in the first place."
But...this is supposed to be positive. If he lived, I wouldn't have gone to grad school at Illinois, and while I think Illinois sucks rocks as a school now...if I don't go there, I don't meet my wife. No wife, then no Erick, Brigitte, or Mike. I don't go there--then I never go to a volleyball match, and one of the other great passions I've found in my life never happens.
No Illinois, then no Ohio State--no Final Four, no friendships with Linda and Jim Stone, no Yao, no D.C. (rest in peace, sir). No OSU, then I don't find the Guardtower, create my first game and then open my own store and eventually Jolly Roger Games.
No Julie--no central Illinois. And that means St. Anthony would still be sucking at volleyball, probably looking for a 1st Regional title. It means I don't teach for Parkland or EIU, or at St. Anthony--where I know I made a difference in the classroom for kids. Given the other social studies teachers--would anyone have taught those students how to write research papers or efficiently take essay tests (I doubt it)?
No Julie--no Uni. No Uni, no kids being selected to study abroad--so I never see Poland or Colditz in person....and hopefully Hungary in 2015. No Julie, no central Illinois...no adoption of Michael.
My dad didn't share affection easily. It was only at the visitation and service that I realized his love--all because person after person came up and mentioned how often he talked about me and my sister, how proud he was of us, his love for us. His death made me realize that I didn't want that for myself, so I made myself better. I tell my children I love them--even as they roll their eyes. Barring weird accidents, at the end of my life, I want the last words that they (and Julie) hear from to be "I love you" because that's the truth. Without my dad's death--do I ever come to that realization?
If an angel (or devil) were to come to me and say, "All you have to do is say 'please' and you'll have your dad back and it'll be May 11, 1989 to live again"...it sounds tempting, if only to go back and say I was sorry for my last words to him and to let him know I love him, to goad him into admitting he loved me TO ME. Oh, how tempting. But I couldn't. Too many good things have happened to me, triggered by that one unfortunate incident.
I hope that he is at peace, or if the eastern religions are correct, that his karma was good and that he is enjoying his next existence, and hopefully learned that it's ok to say "I love you".
If you're reading this--have you said those magic words to those close to you lately? Do it. Please.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
A College Moment--25 years ago (5/9-10/89) --long
If you want, you can look it up, but I assure you, in 1989 May 6th was a Saturday. It was the night I went to see a brand-new movie, "Major League". By that point, I was on Easy Street. I was a graduating senior suffering Short Timer Syndrome. I had my graduation permission turned in, only had a final in one class, and otherwise, had nothing to do for the next two weeks, other than that final and packing to head home. It should have been paradise on Earth...though of course, any day spent in Ames at Iowa State is awesome.
I know May 9th was a Tuesday. A nice day, I'd gone to class, playing out the string, come back and done the usual--watched some TV, read the Des Moines Register (because in the '80s, that's how you got news), and then gone down to Windows for dinner.
*Windows was the name of the East Cafeteria within Friley Hall, known because of all the windows (gasp), creating a ton of natural light and a nice view of campus outside, pretty whether it was green with spring or the all-white of winter. The other cafeteria was Dungeons--because it was in the basement and had no windows at all. Sadly today, Windows is used for conferences or storage while Dungeons is a study center.*
After dinner, I went down to a women's floor, Lowe, to hang out with people there. My friend Brian's sister lived there along with her roommate who was a huge Cubs fan (but I've forgotted her name now), as well as Tami Cott who was dating my friend Paul, and Cathy, who was my roommate's girlfriend. Lowe had been ejected from Westgate at the same time as Foster House, moved to Friley, so that there remained a connection between the people on the two floors. I was in Cathy's room--I can still find it--talking with her and a couple other people when her phone rang. Two rings at a time--on campus. She picked it up, looked at me, said "It's for you. It's Ron."
It was Ron, her boyfriend/my roommate. He'd just got a call up in our room from my mom. I needed to call her immediately. Something happened. Since the phones had codes to access long-distance, I called the number from Cathy's room--it was my mom's work number at the hospital. When I reached her, she told me my dad had just been brought in--he'd collapsed, had a stroke, but was stable. That was 815.
The rest of the night is missing for me. I remember nothing. I know I talked with my sister at some point to coordinate me picking her up in the morning to go home--because Mom was specific: He was stable, he was okay. She'd call if there was a change. No call--so we proceed as planned, leaving Ames around 8am.
May 10th was a Wednesday. Classic Rock Night at Welch Avenue Station.
The car ride home was silent. What's there to say? We were both worried. It's different facing mortality when it is a parent rather than a grandparent or distant relative. This was Dad. I remember it was a decent day to drive--nice temperature and overcast. The plan was to drive home, then walk over to the hospital (since we lived across the street from it). Mom and Pete would meet us there.
*My parents had been divorced almost a decade by that point and Mom and Pete were married 3+ years then. Pete and my dad had known each other and been friends going back to the early 1950s. Life is weird sometimes.*
Except that when we got home and went in the house to use the bathroom before heading over, I opened the door and both Mom and Pete were there in the kitchen. They were waiting for us. Pete was standing in the same spot where they found his body when he died last year. Yeah. I'm writing this now and have Gordon Lightfoot pop in my mind--Does anyone know where the love of God goes... I'm many things, but I'm not stupid. This wasn't the plan and the look on Mom's face.
But dammit, she didn't call.
He'd taken a turn for the worse in the early hours. She didn't want to worry me, knowing I was driving. Didn't want me to speed or be reckless. I understand her logic--and still disagree with it. I wish she would've said something. So we walked over to Genesis West on a cloudy day. In the ER, the woman my dad married was there along with her biological son, as well as a relative of my dad's.
*That woman he married was/is one of the most evil, horrid women I've ever known. I love my dad, but his judgment on her was so messed up--I have no idea what he ever saw in her. Dad's relative was there simply to see who she could get in good with--she was broke and wanted money....ahh, the joys of family, right? It's not like your family doesn't have people like either of these women....*
We walked in and the doctor, trying to be gentle, said he was already brain-dead. There weren't going to be miracles. So the question then was what to do next. And that was a horrid moment. Because of a pre-nuptial agreement, the decision about my dad's life could not be made by his wife. That meant it fell to me as oldest surviving child to decide.
So there it was. I decided to put his organs up for donation (they were able to use his eyes and one other), and then I had to sign the papers to remove him from life support. Twenty years old and I signed the papers killing my dad. I know I didn't kill him, but those papers say otherwise.
Once they were signed, we each got a chance to go in and see him, to say goodbye. When that moment comes, you have to do it. I wish I didn't. I'm glad I did. They'd tried to fix the problem. That meant brain surgery at some point during the night. They'd shaved his moustache, all his hair. The meds and the brain injury had caused him to retain fluid or caused swelling--so that his hand nearest me was swollen enough, the fingers were a little spread apart. But the worst was his eyes. They were open, pupils wide, but there was no response.
So I talked to him. That's between me and him. The last time I talked to him before that moment holding his hand in the hospital, it was April 24. I'm sure of that, though maybe it had been the 25th. So I'm not sure. But I remember that conversation, too--because it ended with me saying "Go to hell, I hate you." Yup--last words ever to my dad, at least that I'm sure he heard.
And then he was gone. 49 years old, less than four years older than I am now. I'm the age he was when I started college. He'd be 74 now, probably retired if he'd found a buyer for the family business (which is sadly no longer family).
I wish he'd been here for what he missed.
*Julie
*Three great kids
*My first novel, my first coaching text.
*Starting my own businesses, now just Jolly Roger though.
*Erick's graduation, Brigitte's impending graduation.
*The joy of me meeting Julie
*7/24/93
But it doesn't work that way, and how could he foresee what his sister would do, what his then-wife would do? He couldn't. For all of those problems, I still love him. He was imperfect, even as a dad, but I'm older now I understand. He did the best he could. It's all anyone can ever do.
But even when my sons are 49 and I am old and retired, it will still be with me that May 10, 1989 was a Wednesday.
I know May 9th was a Tuesday. A nice day, I'd gone to class, playing out the string, come back and done the usual--watched some TV, read the Des Moines Register (because in the '80s, that's how you got news), and then gone down to Windows for dinner.
*Windows was the name of the East Cafeteria within Friley Hall, known because of all the windows (gasp), creating a ton of natural light and a nice view of campus outside, pretty whether it was green with spring or the all-white of winter. The other cafeteria was Dungeons--because it was in the basement and had no windows at all. Sadly today, Windows is used for conferences or storage while Dungeons is a study center.*
After dinner, I went down to a women's floor, Lowe, to hang out with people there. My friend Brian's sister lived there along with her roommate who was a huge Cubs fan (but I've forgotted her name now), as well as Tami Cott who was dating my friend Paul, and Cathy, who was my roommate's girlfriend. Lowe had been ejected from Westgate at the same time as Foster House, moved to Friley, so that there remained a connection between the people on the two floors. I was in Cathy's room--I can still find it--talking with her and a couple other people when her phone rang. Two rings at a time--on campus. She picked it up, looked at me, said "It's for you. It's Ron."
It was Ron, her boyfriend/my roommate. He'd just got a call up in our room from my mom. I needed to call her immediately. Something happened. Since the phones had codes to access long-distance, I called the number from Cathy's room--it was my mom's work number at the hospital. When I reached her, she told me my dad had just been brought in--he'd collapsed, had a stroke, but was stable. That was 815.
The rest of the night is missing for me. I remember nothing. I know I talked with my sister at some point to coordinate me picking her up in the morning to go home--because Mom was specific: He was stable, he was okay. She'd call if there was a change. No call--so we proceed as planned, leaving Ames around 8am.
May 10th was a Wednesday. Classic Rock Night at Welch Avenue Station.
The car ride home was silent. What's there to say? We were both worried. It's different facing mortality when it is a parent rather than a grandparent or distant relative. This was Dad. I remember it was a decent day to drive--nice temperature and overcast. The plan was to drive home, then walk over to the hospital (since we lived across the street from it). Mom and Pete would meet us there.
*My parents had been divorced almost a decade by that point and Mom and Pete were married 3+ years then. Pete and my dad had known each other and been friends going back to the early 1950s. Life is weird sometimes.*
Except that when we got home and went in the house to use the bathroom before heading over, I opened the door and both Mom and Pete were there in the kitchen. They were waiting for us. Pete was standing in the same spot where they found his body when he died last year. Yeah. I'm writing this now and have Gordon Lightfoot pop in my mind--Does anyone know where the love of God goes... I'm many things, but I'm not stupid. This wasn't the plan and the look on Mom's face.
But dammit, she didn't call.
He'd taken a turn for the worse in the early hours. She didn't want to worry me, knowing I was driving. Didn't want me to speed or be reckless. I understand her logic--and still disagree with it. I wish she would've said something. So we walked over to Genesis West on a cloudy day. In the ER, the woman my dad married was there along with her biological son, as well as a relative of my dad's.
*That woman he married was/is one of the most evil, horrid women I've ever known. I love my dad, but his judgment on her was so messed up--I have no idea what he ever saw in her. Dad's relative was there simply to see who she could get in good with--she was broke and wanted money....ahh, the joys of family, right? It's not like your family doesn't have people like either of these women....*
We walked in and the doctor, trying to be gentle, said he was already brain-dead. There weren't going to be miracles. So the question then was what to do next. And that was a horrid moment. Because of a pre-nuptial agreement, the decision about my dad's life could not be made by his wife. That meant it fell to me as oldest surviving child to decide.
So there it was. I decided to put his organs up for donation (they were able to use his eyes and one other), and then I had to sign the papers to remove him from life support. Twenty years old and I signed the papers killing my dad. I know I didn't kill him, but those papers say otherwise.
Once they were signed, we each got a chance to go in and see him, to say goodbye. When that moment comes, you have to do it. I wish I didn't. I'm glad I did. They'd tried to fix the problem. That meant brain surgery at some point during the night. They'd shaved his moustache, all his hair. The meds and the brain injury had caused him to retain fluid or caused swelling--so that his hand nearest me was swollen enough, the fingers were a little spread apart. But the worst was his eyes. They were open, pupils wide, but there was no response.
So I talked to him. That's between me and him. The last time I talked to him before that moment holding his hand in the hospital, it was April 24. I'm sure of that, though maybe it had been the 25th. So I'm not sure. But I remember that conversation, too--because it ended with me saying "Go to hell, I hate you." Yup--last words ever to my dad, at least that I'm sure he heard.
And then he was gone. 49 years old, less than four years older than I am now. I'm the age he was when I started college. He'd be 74 now, probably retired if he'd found a buyer for the family business (which is sadly no longer family).
I wish he'd been here for what he missed.
*Julie
*Three great kids
*My first novel, my first coaching text.
*Starting my own businesses, now just Jolly Roger though.
*Erick's graduation, Brigitte's impending graduation.
*The joy of me meeting Julie
*7/24/93
But it doesn't work that way, and how could he foresee what his sister would do, what his then-wife would do? He couldn't. For all of those problems, I still love him. He was imperfect, even as a dad, but I'm older now I understand. He did the best he could. It's all anyone can ever do.
But even when my sons are 49 and I am old and retired, it will still be with me that May 10, 1989 was a Wednesday.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
A Love Letter to Losers (Reflections on Coaching and the National Title Game)
So I'm home from Chicago and the AVCA Spring Convention and Men's Volleyball Final Four. I learned some new stuff--technically and in regards to psychology and communication, which is good. I worry that at some point I'll go to a convention and learn nothing or worse still, have no motivation to learn.
In any event, Loyola showed that yes, indeed, they deserved to be #1 in the country by beating Stanford in the championship Saturday evening. It was a good match. Loyola's short middle with the beard hit well (unlike on Thursday) while their hitter, Jaeschke, had a good night (or so it seemed from the stands). All night, Loyola kept USC off balance and the Trojan hitters were just plain ineffective, and Stanford's setter (who was freakin' amazing--setting a '4' with one hand? Really? Setting above the antennae? Really?...probably helps to have a quality coach for a father, too).
And then Loyola crushed USC in the fourth game. Played at Loyola, the crowd went wild (in a good way), and then I left--I couldn't bear to watch the awards ceremony. I've found I dislike awards ceremonies in general for champions. It's not actually the pomp or anything like that, and it isn't just volleyball. I turn off March Madness before the awards. Heck--I even turned off the Iowa State games this year as soon as they won.
And I realize why--I love winning, but I'm 40+ now. And I hate losing, and I empathize with all of those athletes who don't quite make it, fall just short for all the work that got put in. Watching Shaw put his hands behind his head, stand and wait to shake hands--that's painful. To see Stanford's team waiting while the awards ceremony was being set up, forced to stay calm--painful (and classy on Stanford's part...I've seen teams act like jerks before).
When Iowa State won their first game of the tourney this year, you know what stuck with me? It wasn't State and how they played, it was the opposing coach hugging his two seniors--the ones who kept the game close, left it all out on the court.
It's why losing in the Regional in 2010 for us hurt--because most of the sophomores I had gave it their all. That damned last point. That damned net. 0.1 inches higher or lower and we go to nationals. It's why 2000 hurt at Satan's School...we put it on the court and had Bobbi Mattingly screw us over intentionally.
And I see those kids who are done--no NBA careers for them, no million-dollar contracts, and I understand the emotion of it. It hurts--I feel it.
I even feel it for the pro guys now when the end comes and the body can't do the amazing any more, whether it's Payton or Jordan or a Maddux. It sucks to watch it take down Tiger Woods' golf game, even if I know that time is undefeated against every athlete.
So here I empathize with Stanford, even though I'm excited for Loyola. If the results were reversed, my empathy would be with Loyola, maybe more since the defeat would've been in front of their fans.
So--for you reading this, the players, the coaches, everyone who winds up on the wrong end of the score...I love you. I love the effort you put in to your season. I love your dedication, the sweat and pain. I love seeing the friendships and brotherhood, I love seeing athletes grow into young men and women and later into adults. I love watching when you win with sportsmanship, and love when you lose with grace and dignity.
Many in the media say today's youth is struggling, that we've lost a generation--but when I see teams play and win or play and lose--I know the world is fine. Maybe my emotion isn't commiseration for the losers after all; maybe it is pride to know that with the next generation, the world's in good hands and I'm witnessing it.
And maybe, just maybe, I need to stay and watch those ceremonies after all.
In any event, Loyola showed that yes, indeed, they deserved to be #1 in the country by beating Stanford in the championship Saturday evening. It was a good match. Loyola's short middle with the beard hit well (unlike on Thursday) while their hitter, Jaeschke, had a good night (or so it seemed from the stands). All night, Loyola kept USC off balance and the Trojan hitters were just plain ineffective, and Stanford's setter (who was freakin' amazing--setting a '4' with one hand? Really? Setting above the antennae? Really?...probably helps to have a quality coach for a father, too).
And then Loyola crushed USC in the fourth game. Played at Loyola, the crowd went wild (in a good way), and then I left--I couldn't bear to watch the awards ceremony. I've found I dislike awards ceremonies in general for champions. It's not actually the pomp or anything like that, and it isn't just volleyball. I turn off March Madness before the awards. Heck--I even turned off the Iowa State games this year as soon as they won.
And I realize why--I love winning, but I'm 40+ now. And I hate losing, and I empathize with all of those athletes who don't quite make it, fall just short for all the work that got put in. Watching Shaw put his hands behind his head, stand and wait to shake hands--that's painful. To see Stanford's team waiting while the awards ceremony was being set up, forced to stay calm--painful (and classy on Stanford's part...I've seen teams act like jerks before).
When Iowa State won their first game of the tourney this year, you know what stuck with me? It wasn't State and how they played, it was the opposing coach hugging his two seniors--the ones who kept the game close, left it all out on the court.
It's why losing in the Regional in 2010 for us hurt--because most of the sophomores I had gave it their all. That damned last point. That damned net. 0.1 inches higher or lower and we go to nationals. It's why 2000 hurt at Satan's School...we put it on the court and had Bobbi Mattingly screw us over intentionally.
And I see those kids who are done--no NBA careers for them, no million-dollar contracts, and I understand the emotion of it. It hurts--I feel it.
I even feel it for the pro guys now when the end comes and the body can't do the amazing any more, whether it's Payton or Jordan or a Maddux. It sucks to watch it take down Tiger Woods' golf game, even if I know that time is undefeated against every athlete.
So here I empathize with Stanford, even though I'm excited for Loyola. If the results were reversed, my empathy would be with Loyola, maybe more since the defeat would've been in front of their fans.
So--for you reading this, the players, the coaches, everyone who winds up on the wrong end of the score...I love you. I love the effort you put in to your season. I love your dedication, the sweat and pain. I love seeing the friendships and brotherhood, I love seeing athletes grow into young men and women and later into adults. I love watching when you win with sportsmanship, and love when you lose with grace and dignity.
Many in the media say today's youth is struggling, that we've lost a generation--but when I see teams play and win or play and lose--I know the world is fine. Maybe my emotion isn't commiseration for the losers after all; maybe it is pride to know that with the next generation, the world's in good hands and I'm witnessing it.
And maybe, just maybe, I need to stay and watch those ceremonies after all.
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