Note: So sorry to have kept you waiting on this, the next Ugly Tree Blog Post. I have been hosting a family reunion for my in-laws for the past few days and thus drinking more margaritas than usual. These two things combined with two children to care for and a husband who worked 80+ hours Sunday to Sunday last week made for not a spare minute to blog. If you have been waiting for a Mattie update, she is still doing awesome. If all continues to go well this week, she will be getting her chest tube out and heading home soon! Hooray!
There is something that my dad has been doing for the past 17 years. Waiting. And finally, the wait, for him, is over.
It all started with me. Well, sort of. I was playing Little League Softball. My mom was coaching our team. It was awful. I don’t know if anyone else has observed this, but a 12 year old girl and her mother are not usually a pretty sight to behold. Mostly, they are at each other’s throats. My mom and I were no different at this age, so you can imagine the frustration that ensued with her as my coach. I’m sure that it had much to do with the fact that she throws like a girl. Don’t say that to her. She’ll argue with you about it. And that’s not to say that she’s not tough. She definitely is to be feared, but… she throws like a girl. And as a 12 year old girl, I wouldn’t listen to her as my coach.
So…my dad stepped in, thinking, at first, that he did not want to coach girls. Coaching girls was silly. Or some other adjective. Regardless, he was reluctant. So he was only going to coach my teams until I was in high school. Well, then I was a freshman in high school and the Varsity coach died tragically and unexpectedly. So, my dad started coaching the Varsity team. And he was only going to coach until I graduated. But that first year, his first team made it to the State Semi-finals. We lost. And the next year, back to the Semi-finals. Lost again. Back this time to the State Finals. And we lost again. This process was repeated like that for 17 years.
My dad does not know how to do this losing thing. He doesn’t. Failure isn’t an option. He’s never had a losing season. Never. I don’t even know what his worst season’s record is, but I’m sure it probably includes about 30 or so wins in a 38ish game season. (If you do well in the playoffs, which his team inevitably does.)
The point is, he finally won the State Title. Finally. After 17 years of coaching high school softball and a ton of State Quarter-Final, Semi-Final, and State Final appearances.
Now, softball and baseball players and coaches are notoriously superstitious. Don’t talk about a no-hitter or perfect game until it’s over. Don’t wash your socks during a winning streak. Wear your pants a certain way if you’re on a hitting streak. The people of Clinton Softball are no different, saying things like, “the mustache must’ve been holding you back,” since after a lifetime (my entire lifetime) of a mustached face, he finally shaved it in the off-season.
But I know the truth. The truth is that my dad is getting old. And his whole life, he’s been coaching, parenting, living with closed fists pointing out the way that he wants things to go. He’s been grabbing on to the steering wheel with white knuckles his whole life, trying to pave the road with the wheels of his car, climb over rocks and through small rivers while driving an escort.
And like I said, he’s getting old. Which means that his hands are starting to cramp up unless he opens them and lets go of the steering wheel a little. And I think… I think he let go of the steering wheel a little and he might be starting to find out that by golly, there’s a nice smooth paved road over there with a bridge that his escort can easily climb over and maybe he doesn’t need to buy that jeep to get there.
And the thing about getting old is that we start to find out that when we finally get something we’ve been waiting for so long, on the tail of the celebration rides the thought, What’s next?
Which means that the important thing is really the work and the wait for the celebration, but then again, don’t we need something to work and wait for? I don’t know. Maybe I’m not old enough to really get it yet. I guess I’ll have to go ask my dad.
No comments:
Post a Comment