Chapter 22, Fall 2004, A New School Year
Another summer has passed. Unlike last year it was void of the steady stream of guests. One highlight however, was a quick visit from my Brother Brendan's adult daughter Christine and her boyfriend Fred from San Francisco. The girls had met them just once before at one of our summer family reunions in Minnesota. Prior to the reunion visit Mike and I had not seen Christine since she was a young girl. Her Mother was divorced from my brother Brendan, that coupled with distance made seeing Christine more challenging.
Fred and Christine are held high on a pedestal by the kids because they spent most of their short Minnesota visit teaching their younger cousins to play poker, using candy as the prize rather than currency. Kids love to be engaged in fun activities with their elders. It makes them feel valued and cared about. An entire day and evening was devoted to gambling, betting, laughing, winning and losing. Even though their visit to Ohio was just a few days, they manage to fit a couple of rounds of poker, some genuine, encouraging conversations about my illness and a little meaningful bonding. Because I did not get the opportunity to know Christine as well as I would have liked in her formative years, I value anytime I have to spend with her.
School starts in a few days for the girls. Alex is dealt a disappointing blow when she finds out she did not make the JV Volleyball Team. At the age of 14 life feels like it is going to end when you don't achieve the goals you have set for yourself. Listening to her crying in her room is difficult, but as an adult I know that it is our failures that fuel our achievements far more than our successes. My words, "A new opportunity will come along for you, one in which you are better suited," falls on deaf ears.
My health continues to hold steady, I'm feeling well, so I decide to coach my daughter Katie's 8th grade volleyball team again. The first year I, along with another mom, coached these girls in their fifth grade year because no one else volunteered for the job. Volleyball wasn't a sport I played so I knew little about how to play or coach it. We lost every game that first season. The second year we won one game. The third year I took off because of my illness and they won two games. We are in our fourth and final season and are winning more than we are losing. All good things come to those who wait, for four long years!
. Coaching Junior High girls is a challenge! One minute they act like the Devil's spawn and the next like God's angels. I guess it's because they vacillate between wanting to be twenty and two all in the same day. I blame it on hormones, confusion and apprehension about growing up. Getting them to concentrate on volleyball became problematic at times, but they could be fun as well.
I also had the added pressure of coaching my own daughter Katie whom I admire and love to death. She is determined, opinionated, take charge and aggressive. These are all great qualities for volleyball, but taxing on the Mom, or in this case the Coach. You want to be fair and not play your kid too much, but also not play them too little. Katie likes to have her way and it isn't always the way that it should be. I don't relish yelling at my kid or other kids for that matter, in a group setting, so it became stressful holding in my frustration.
Currently there is a popular expression the kids spew out when something positive happens which is, "Hells ya!" Because this is a Catholic school I continually discourage them from using this phrase. One day I had just had it with their antics and I screamed really loud at a few of them. Their eyes seemed like they were going to pop out of their heads as the look of shock covered their faces. From that moment on, the more challenging personalities were pretty well behaved.
Our last game was against the other eighth grade team at our own school. I would say they were considered the A team and we were the B team. Just a few weeks prior the A team whipped us into a pulp at a local tournament, a humiliating loss for the girls. All four years the other 8th grade group had a much better record and we had not won one single game against them. In the last game of the season we ended up beating them in two games by just two points in each game. It was a sweet victory for the girls and I could not have been prouder of them. As we huddled together at the end of the match the girls were screaming and jumping around. After several attempt to quiet them, I asked them all to look in my eyes, as a serious hush fell over them I said, "HELLS YA!" They all broke into laughter and cheers. It was a great end to their season.
Frankie is heading into her fifth grade year. Fears of my illness made her more introverted in the fourth grade. Using my cancer as an excuse not to socialize became common place. She once told a friend she couldn't come over because I had liver cancer. And her sleep patterns were plagued with cold sweats and bad dreams.
After many mother daughter conversations Frankie would try to become more social. This was easier said than done. She couldn't find a group to fit in, perhaps because of her technique. She is after all the baby of the family used to being the center of attention, not always caring whether this attention was positive or negative. She wasn't welcomed back in the fold with open arms. As she put it, everyone already has a mate, a partner or best friend, they don't really want another.
One Friday evening I took her to a high school football game. As we were walking toward a group of her classmate's one little girl yelled, "There's Frankie, run!"My reaction to this, much to my dismay, was to roar out the girls name like a mother lion protecting her cub. I motioned the child to come to me and she grudgingly obeyed wearing the look of fear and panic on her face. I, in not such a nice voice, told her to stop being cruel to Frankie. She agreed! What's she going to say to the wild eyed, crazed Mom staring her down? So what did I accomplish with that burst of anger?
Frankie was completely humiliated, her head snapped down so fast toward her feet she probably got whip lash, I put the fear of God in her old friend and I looked like a big bully. The next morning I called the child's Mother, who is a kind and gentle woman, to apologize for my behavior. My excuse for my action was simple, Frankie is having a difficult time with my illness, and I'm having a hard time seeing the pain she is going through so I wrongly snapped when I saw the kids running away from her.
Her Mother was gracious and understanding, telling me that her child prays for me every night, taking my humiliation a notch lower, as we hung up, I felt foolish. Being a protective mother is not necessarily new to me, I've just stepped it up a notch since my diagnosis. The lesson I should have learned from this is that kids usually work things out. When parents get involved it tends to make a bad situation worse.
On a positive note I'm learning to speak up when I see a wrong, I just need to direct myself or my children to do it in a proper, constructive way. Perhaps I'll learn to do it with grace and not yell at little kids in the future.
Advice
If cancer has kept you from your "regular life", jump back into it whenever possible. Participation brings back meaning that may have been lost during the difficult times of your illness.
Use a disappointment as a learning tool. It is a disguise for a future success.
Stand up for yourself and others, but do it along proper channels and in an appropriate way.
No comments:
Post a Comment