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Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Learning Bee
I remember it like it was yesterday. My little girl strolled into the sanctuary at her private Lutheran school with bright eyes, curly hair flowing, and cute as a button in her school uniform. She wore a long-sleeve pink polo under a navy blue jumper. It was roughly 8:45 am. I sat there silently and anxiously awaiting her first semi-public spelling bee. I brimmed with pride either way. I never made it to such a stage, though I viewed myself as a historically-excellent speller, my talents were never put on display like this. I was impressed as the kid rattled off correct spellings of words at each trip to the microphone. I hadn't prepared myself for a positive or negative outcome - I just wanted to be there; to be a cheerleader, win or lose. A relatively shy kid, she had never been in this position. Her mom and I agreed that someone should be there, and I was glad to be the one.
It seemed like a dramatic last second-shot. Swish! She spelled the qualifying word correctly and won the Second Grade spelling bee! She smiled wide. She even got a medal. She was so happy to run over and show me once she realized I had been there to see. I'll never forget that hug. Life at that moment was absolutely perfect. My beautiful, tall, intelligent, seven-year-old daughter was on top of the world. She would get her picture in the newspaper, and lots of phone calls from proud grandparents, aunts and uncles.
One year later, things are different. Her mother and I have divorced, and alternate weekends with our daughter. Instead of getting to wish her luck in the bee before school, I would receive a reminder text message from her mother asking if I was going.
I slipped into the sanctuary a few minutes before the start and took a seat in the back. I sat quietly and sipped my coffee as I waited for the third-graders' turn. After the practice round, it was Faith's turn to spell her first word. I remember thinking to myself as the proctor used the word in a sentence, "You got this, kid. This word is easy for you." I overheard the judges deem it a correct spelling, and Faith happily bounced back to her seat waiting for her next turn.
Today, her hair was pulled back in a french braid neatly and tightly. Taller and prettier than the last time we were here, but I was just as proud and anxious. She also wore a pink, long-sleeve polo but this time, tucked into khaki pants. Her face was bright and optimistic.
As she stood for her next turn, that same confidence washed over me. "Fourth," said the proctor. "Next year, you will be in the fourth grade. Fourth." Another easy one. As Faith stated the word, and spelled it out, I felt it. I knew what happened. When she heard the word, her eager little brain began working instead of listening to the tense and context of the proctor's use in a sentence. "Forth. F-O-R-T-H. Forth."
She didn't react. She simply left the stage, and sat with the members of her class that hadn't been in the competition. I was a little sad for her. I knew that she had high expectations of herself based on last year's win. I also believe that she felt others had those same expectations. And just like that, she was back to being a normal kid. No longer the spelling bee champ. She seemed okay as she sat quietly. It would be another half an hour or so before all of the grades had determined their winners.
I knew that she was unaware that I was there. There had been no eye contact, and she always waves when she knows I'm there. As the students were dismissed to their classrooms, I caught her attention. I hadn't seen her for a couple of days, and I wanted a hug and to offer a kind word for the rest of her day and make sure she wasn't too upset.
Instead of a smile, her sweet face began to frown and sob as she detoured right into my lap. I squeezed her tightly when she dove into my arms. She buried her face into my shoulder, soaking the fleece with tears. I said "It's ok, Faith. Don't cry. You did great to even qualify as a finalist." She continued to cry softly. I rubbed her back.
I adjusted her so I could see her face, and assured her that I was still proud of her, that her mother would still be proud of her. I wiped her tears and searched my soul for the right thing to say as the sobbing continued. Nothing tugs at my heart more than tears in my daughter's eyes. Her sadness mixed with humiliation as she responded, "I didn't even want to be in it. I wanted to fake sick and miss school today."
Right then I knew that we were at a very critical moment. Many of us recognize these moments as "teachable moments," instances where a character is either built or neglected. I took her little wet face in my hands and told her "Faith, God has blessed you with a gift. You're way to smart to not participate. It is wrong to not use it. You can't keep it to yourself." I could tell that she understood what I was saying. She quieted down, and became a bit ashamed of her reaction. With her head down and shoulders slouched, I could tell that she was still embarrassed for missing the word. She was reluctant to come out of her funk right away.
At that, a quote popped into my head. I believe college basketball coach Rick Pitino said, "Lose the game, but don't lose the lesson." So I tried to frame my next words into encouragement and consolation. I explained to Faith that she spelled the word correctly, but it was the wrong word, and that next time she needed to listen to the sentence, be patient and take her time instead of "pre-spelling" the wrong word in her head while the word was still being given. She hugged me. She didn't want me to leave. Neither did I. I could've sat in that pew, holding her until I knew for sure that she wasn't sad or disappointed anymore.
I knew the initial sadness and frustration she felt was going away. We stood up, and I escorted her out of the sanctuary. I knew that this was one of those "necessary losses." Like an undefeated team losing a game they have no business losing, I felt us both grow and learn something. Who knew that a misspelled word could teach so much?
I learned that despite a new address, I'm still her dad. I'm not a part-time playmate, baby-sitter or shopping buddy. I learned that not being able to make her breakfast and pack her lunch everyday doesn't mean I'm less important.
On a day that my bank account was an absolute mess, and had a ton of work waiting for me at my office, a missing "U" totally shook my world. One missing letter not only shaped my day, but left me closer to my child and more confident in our relationship. A true teachable moment.
It seemed like a dramatic last second-shot. Swish! She spelled the qualifying word correctly and won the Second Grade spelling bee! She smiled wide. She even got a medal. She was so happy to run over and show me once she realized I had been there to see. I'll never forget that hug. Life at that moment was absolutely perfect. My beautiful, tall, intelligent, seven-year-old daughter was on top of the world. She would get her picture in the newspaper, and lots of phone calls from proud grandparents, aunts and uncles.
One year later, things are different. Her mother and I have divorced, and alternate weekends with our daughter. Instead of getting to wish her luck in the bee before school, I would receive a reminder text message from her mother asking if I was going.
I slipped into the sanctuary a few minutes before the start and took a seat in the back. I sat quietly and sipped my coffee as I waited for the third-graders' turn. After the practice round, it was Faith's turn to spell her first word. I remember thinking to myself as the proctor used the word in a sentence, "You got this, kid. This word is easy for you." I overheard the judges deem it a correct spelling, and Faith happily bounced back to her seat waiting for her next turn.
Today, her hair was pulled back in a french braid neatly and tightly. Taller and prettier than the last time we were here, but I was just as proud and anxious. She also wore a pink, long-sleeve polo but this time, tucked into khaki pants. Her face was bright and optimistic.
As she stood for her next turn, that same confidence washed over me. "Fourth," said the proctor. "Next year, you will be in the fourth grade. Fourth." Another easy one. As Faith stated the word, and spelled it out, I felt it. I knew what happened. When she heard the word, her eager little brain began working instead of listening to the tense and context of the proctor's use in a sentence. "Forth. F-O-R-T-H. Forth."
She didn't react. She simply left the stage, and sat with the members of her class that hadn't been in the competition. I was a little sad for her. I knew that she had high expectations of herself based on last year's win. I also believe that she felt others had those same expectations. And just like that, she was back to being a normal kid. No longer the spelling bee champ. She seemed okay as she sat quietly. It would be another half an hour or so before all of the grades had determined their winners.
I knew that she was unaware that I was there. There had been no eye contact, and she always waves when she knows I'm there. As the students were dismissed to their classrooms, I caught her attention. I hadn't seen her for a couple of days, and I wanted a hug and to offer a kind word for the rest of her day and make sure she wasn't too upset.
Instead of a smile, her sweet face began to frown and sob as she detoured right into my lap. I squeezed her tightly when she dove into my arms. She buried her face into my shoulder, soaking the fleece with tears. I said "It's ok, Faith. Don't cry. You did great to even qualify as a finalist." She continued to cry softly. I rubbed her back.
I adjusted her so I could see her face, and assured her that I was still proud of her, that her mother would still be proud of her. I wiped her tears and searched my soul for the right thing to say as the sobbing continued. Nothing tugs at my heart more than tears in my daughter's eyes. Her sadness mixed with humiliation as she responded, "I didn't even want to be in it. I wanted to fake sick and miss school today."
Right then I knew that we were at a very critical moment. Many of us recognize these moments as "teachable moments," instances where a character is either built or neglected. I took her little wet face in my hands and told her "Faith, God has blessed you with a gift. You're way to smart to not participate. It is wrong to not use it. You can't keep it to yourself." I could tell that she understood what I was saying. She quieted down, and became a bit ashamed of her reaction. With her head down and shoulders slouched, I could tell that she was still embarrassed for missing the word. She was reluctant to come out of her funk right away.
At that, a quote popped into my head. I believe college basketball coach Rick Pitino said, "Lose the game, but don't lose the lesson." So I tried to frame my next words into encouragement and consolation. I explained to Faith that she spelled the word correctly, but it was the wrong word, and that next time she needed to listen to the sentence, be patient and take her time instead of "pre-spelling" the wrong word in her head while the word was still being given. She hugged me. She didn't want me to leave. Neither did I. I could've sat in that pew, holding her until I knew for sure that she wasn't sad or disappointed anymore.
I knew the initial sadness and frustration she felt was going away. We stood up, and I escorted her out of the sanctuary. I knew that this was one of those "necessary losses." Like an undefeated team losing a game they have no business losing, I felt us both grow and learn something. Who knew that a misspelled word could teach so much?
I learned that despite a new address, I'm still her dad. I'm not a part-time playmate, baby-sitter or shopping buddy. I learned that not being able to make her breakfast and pack her lunch everyday doesn't mean I'm less important.
On a day that my bank account was an absolute mess, and had a ton of work waiting for me at my office, a missing "U" totally shook my world. One missing letter not only shaped my day, but left me closer to my child and more confident in our relationship. A true teachable moment.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
I typically try not to touch on controversial topics. One thing I've learned during my career in sales is to stay away from religion and politics. You're bound to upset someone, and cost yourself business. However, this is my blog and I'll blog what I want to.
Yes, this is America. Yes, Americans have rights. For example, a black man has the right to run for president. And win. He also has the right to not screw up the possibility of other black people being elected to office by being controversial. Controversy is for Hollywood, not the Oval Office.
Religious freedom is a Constitutional right in this country. So is peaceable assembly. But this issue raises two questions in my head.
Expressing any sort of support for a group that shoulders the blame for one of the most-heinous acts in American history nearly assures that there will not be a second term of the Obama Administration. Appearing insensitive to the American people on such a hot-button issue was a bad move, even if it is upholding the Constitution.
Sometimes political correctness and diplomacy are the easy way out. I believe that there was a diplomatic and politically correct way to address the issue since he felt the need to make a statement. I agree that Muslims have a right to worship, but is it safe to worship there? On that block? On that street?
The struggling economy isn't his fault. The fledgling housing market, the unemployment rate, the war (are they still looking for bin Laden?), not his fault. It will take a lot to get these issues corrected. He knew that before he took office. He had a plan, a goal, a vision to take steps to get America back where it once was. He knew there would difficulties convincing the public as well as other politicians of his policies. Misguided statements on controversial issues like this just add momentum to his plummeting approval rating, and I can guarantee that this topic will resurface at election time.
Yes, this is America. Yes, Americans have rights. For example, a black man has the right to run for president. And win. He also has the right to not screw up the possibility of other black people being elected to office by being controversial. Controversy is for Hollywood, not the Oval Office.
Religious freedom is a Constitutional right in this country. So is peaceable assembly. But this issue raises two questions in my head.
- With the knowledge of the significance of the Ground Zero and surrounding blocks, why would any Muslim want to establish a place of worship there?
- Why did Obama say anything at all?
Expressing any sort of support for a group that shoulders the blame for one of the most-heinous acts in American history nearly assures that there will not be a second term of the Obama Administration. Appearing insensitive to the American people on such a hot-button issue was a bad move, even if it is upholding the Constitution.
Sometimes political correctness and diplomacy are the easy way out. I believe that there was a diplomatic and politically correct way to address the issue since he felt the need to make a statement. I agree that Muslims have a right to worship, but is it safe to worship there? On that block? On that street?
The struggling economy isn't his fault. The fledgling housing market, the unemployment rate, the war (are they still looking for bin Laden?), not his fault. It will take a lot to get these issues corrected. He knew that before he took office. He had a plan, a goal, a vision to take steps to get America back where it once was. He knew there would difficulties convincing the public as well as other politicians of his policies. Misguided statements on controversial issues like this just add momentum to his plummeting approval rating, and I can guarantee that this topic will resurface at election time.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
The King of His Castle? Apparently Not In The Throne Room.
I normally don't require much time in the bathroom. A few minutes to shower and a few more minutes to shave and I'm done. The size of our home's lonesome bathroom doesn't suit more than one person very comfortably. And my wife... well, let's just say it's a good thing I don't need "the good light" in the bathroom very often.
Every two weeks I need some time in the mirror to cut my hair. I taught myself how to face backward in the bathroom mirror while holding a hand mirror and not slice off an ear. My hair cuts are just about the only place I'm frugal. I refuse to pay $15 when I can (evidently) do it myself.
Most of the time, there is enough time right before she wakes up to cut my hair and shower before she needs to commandeer the facilities. This particular day, I allowed her to shower first. I figured that I could get the kid's breakfast and lunch made during the time she took to shower and put her face on. I had assumed she was done, and as I glanced at the clock, I concluded that I could still give myself a trim and get out of the house on time.
Shortly after the clippers start buzzing, my lovely little daughter prances in with a high-pitched "G'mornin' Daddy," and perches herself on the toilet. I didn't think much of it, it's 7:30am who doesn't need to go first thing in the morning?
As I was shearing my head, my nose began to detect a tang in the air. It took a minute or so for my brain to diagnose what was happening...
"Air you poopin," I questioned in a shocked and despaired tone. "Yes," she replied with undeniable cuteness. I couldn't help but feel a bit disrespected. Do I barge in during her bath tub time? Does she get strong-armed while she's brushing her teeth? I can't have 10 minutes? I peeked over at her. She smiled, and of course I smiled back. "Oh well," I thought. I used to change the kid's diapers, and soon things wouldn't so familiar. Before long she'll be a tweenager sassing me out the door.
Just as Faith is finishing up, Julie strolls in, excuses herself past me and starts rummaging in one of the drawers of the vanity. I wasn't paying much attention to the commotion because I was making sure that my 'do was even. Soon, we're shoulder-to-shoulder, jockeying for mirror space.
Our bathroom mirror is actually a cabinet with three vertical glass doors. I started out using the middle one, but magically found myself crammed against the wall using the one on the right as my beautiful wife's flying elbows created a perimeter and staking claim to 66% of the available mirror space.
I mentioned to her that I was nearly done, and the mirror would be hers, but she insisted that she was nearly done as well. My statement of initial occupation of the facilities fell on deaf ears.
It was at this moment that I realized the pecking order in my house. I knew that I was outnumbered. Living with a wife and daughter would often cause my manly instincts to be compromised on occasion. But during a hair cut?! I was essentially ignored on this particular day. Well, maybe not ignored, but I was literally pushed aside. Let's see how quickly I spring into action next time a bug needs squashed or a jar needs opened.
Every two weeks I need some time in the mirror to cut my hair. I taught myself how to face backward in the bathroom mirror while holding a hand mirror and not slice off an ear. My hair cuts are just about the only place I'm frugal. I refuse to pay $15 when I can (evidently) do it myself.
Most of the time, there is enough time right before she wakes up to cut my hair and shower before she needs to commandeer the facilities. This particular day, I allowed her to shower first. I figured that I could get the kid's breakfast and lunch made during the time she took to shower and put her face on. I had assumed she was done, and as I glanced at the clock, I concluded that I could still give myself a trim and get out of the house on time.
Shortly after the clippers start buzzing, my lovely little daughter prances in with a high-pitched "G'mornin' Daddy," and perches herself on the toilet. I didn't think much of it, it's 7:30am who doesn't need to go first thing in the morning?
As I was shearing my head, my nose began to detect a tang in the air. It took a minute or so for my brain to diagnose what was happening...
"Air you poopin," I questioned in a shocked and despaired tone. "Yes," she replied with undeniable cuteness. I couldn't help but feel a bit disrespected. Do I barge in during her bath tub time? Does she get strong-armed while she's brushing her teeth? I can't have 10 minutes? I peeked over at her. She smiled, and of course I smiled back. "Oh well," I thought. I used to change the kid's diapers, and soon things wouldn't so familiar. Before long she'll be a tweenager sassing me out the door.
Just as Faith is finishing up, Julie strolls in, excuses herself past me and starts rummaging in one of the drawers of the vanity. I wasn't paying much attention to the commotion because I was making sure that my 'do was even. Soon, we're shoulder-to-shoulder, jockeying for mirror space.
Our bathroom mirror is actually a cabinet with three vertical glass doors. I started out using the middle one, but magically found myself crammed against the wall using the one on the right as my beautiful wife's flying elbows created a perimeter and staking claim to 66% of the available mirror space.
I mentioned to her that I was nearly done, and the mirror would be hers, but she insisted that she was nearly done as well. My statement of initial occupation of the facilities fell on deaf ears.
It was at this moment that I realized the pecking order in my house. I knew that I was outnumbered. Living with a wife and daughter would often cause my manly instincts to be compromised on occasion. But during a hair cut?! I was essentially ignored on this particular day. Well, maybe not ignored, but I was literally pushed aside. Let's see how quickly I spring into action next time a bug needs squashed or a jar needs opened.
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