The Season That Wasn't

Hope seems to me to be the ultimate expression of optimism. Over the course of this crazy spring, people have wondered aloud to me if, by continuing to give workouts and motivation, were we giving false hope to athletes and their families? False hope? Believe me, I am not some Pollyanna who thinks bad things never happen or that  things never feel hopeless. I have known despair and disappointment and grief. And, I would choose hope over those every. single. time. This spring, hope got us out the door to get a workout in. Hope forced us to continue to plan workouts with our coaching staff. Hope gave us smiles and opportunities to see and support athletes from afar. Hope allowed us to create a new normal for a season which just *might* come to fruition. Hope saved us from the depths of despair and disappointment and grief. For a while, at least.

And now, here we are.  The 2020 spring seasons will not happen. The invitationals are off the calendar. The individual goals will not be met. The competition between teammates for a coveted spot on a relay team is simply melted away. The Section True Team championship goal, the State True Team championship goal, the Conference, Sub-Section, Section, and State - all gone. I am wallowing tonight in my own losses. But, I know my losses do not hold a candle to those who don't get the opportunities to compete for their last year - our seniors.  As coaches, we feel grief at the end of each and every season. But then, it's a loss of relationship, of the intensity that that relationship gives us for one season or over the course of many seasons. Now, not only is it the loss of relationships, it's also the devastation of thinking about what could have been and never got the chance to materialize.

Every athlete and coach has defining moments in their lives related to sports. Before this year, I had three.

The first one occurred in my senior year when my team lost the region 3A final in girl's basketball by a slim margin. The buzzer sounded, the other team and their fans exploded in cheers, and I sat on the court with my head in my hands and sobbed. We were so very close to realizing the dream of going to the state tournament in a season where others had already written us off.

The second happened during the Section track and field meet in 2002, long before live results even existed. Our boy's 4x400 team walked across the field toward Matt and me to see if their 2nd place might still qualify them for state. (At that time, only the first place relay team qualified for state.) We had to tell them that they had missed the qualifying standard by .01 seconds. There was nothing we could say to ease that pain.

The third was just two years ago at the State meet. Our senior athlete was running in the 800m finals. We were cheering on the backstretch of the track, feeling the joy and excitement as he sprinted down the homestretch. The runners disappeared behind the awards tent as he was vying for the lead with the eventual champion. We heard the crowd gasp, the runners emerged on the other side of the awards tent, but our runner did not. He had been tripped, got up, and crossed the line in 9th place. The officials ruled that he could rerun the race, alone, at the conclusion of the meet. We didn't want him to regret not trying, so we told him he would do the rerun.  It was emotional as the crowd gave him a standing ovation, but his rightful placing in the top 3 was not to be as his final time would not equal his best. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he crossed the line. Career over.

Each of the previous defining moments still gives me pause. Even the basketball game from 30 years ago. Each moment produces an ache that never will go away and has shaped who I am. I've gotten better at revisiting those moments and sitting with the ache and the sadness. I've gotten more efficient at squashing the what ifs, because now they've become what wasn'ts.  But still, I go back, sit in that space with the ache, cry a little, open to feeling the sadness, breathe in and out and let it go until the next time. That ache isn't a space I avoid anymore, because it's become a tool. When disappointment and despair occur again, as they inevitably do, I think, "Oh yeah, I've felt this before. I've been through this. And I've come through on the other side, maybe not stronger, but different. I can do this."

And now, I have a fourth defining moment. And oh, does it ache.  One of my strengths is empathy, and it's killing me right now. I feel all the feels for our seniors and their parents who just are suffering loss after loss after loss. I feel for the kids I've been coaching since I taught them as students in 6th grade.  I feel for my own kids whose goals for this season won't be realized. I feel for our coaching staff and the volunteers who were beyond compare this year! I feel for my husband who has been talking about THIS season and THIS team since the seniors were 8th graders. 

Grief is funny, and definitely not funny haha.  It's loss. It's disappointment. It's sadness. It's anger. It's despair. This spring, each of these is a response to something that we collectively had absolutely no control over. It's something that's happened or is happening to us, in which we have no say.  The only say we have is in our response.  Trite. I know. The one thing it ISN'T is regret. I often think regret can be even worse than grief. Regret happens when we choose our action or inaction to something with which we are faced.  I will never regret my season kick off speech to the girls. I will never regret the hours in invested in planning this season. I will never regret the meetings and the captain interviews and the planned workouts and the emails and the facebook and twitter posts.  And the athletes? They won't regret coming out for track and field. They will not like the pain and loss and disappointment. But, despite that, the emotional and physical and mental investment that they and their parents and our community has made in track and field will serve them well in the future.  It doesn't feel like it now, and won't for a long time. But this hardship? It will come to look like an opportunity, a gift.

Here's what else this is - a pivot. It isn't a stop sign, a brick wall, or a cliff. It's a pivot. And we choose HOW we pivot and where we go from here. It doesn't mean that we will easily and simply move on. We won't. We will move through, sit in the ache, cry a little (or a lot), and feel all the feels. This hardship is practice for what will come later in our lives - when we will return to the aches we've felt before and know we can get through whatever it is that's going on, because we got through the losses of  2020.

1981/2020

In 2020, it's Friday. The day when teachers usually say, "Phew, we made it through the week!" We celebrate what went well, bemoan what didn't, and start to gear up for the next week. So, when I walked out of my classroom today, I had a minor meltdown. I paused with my bin, filled with what I might need for the next 6 weeks, and just stared with my breath caught in my chest.  This classroom is my sanctuary, my energy, my home, and my work. My students are my why everyday.  My team, my family at work, is filled with the most dependable, innovative, and intelligent people. The administrators I work with? So dedicated, so passionate, so driven, and so good to work with. And, so, when I left today, there was no celebration. There was no relief. There was really only sorrow.

In 1981, in southwestern Minnesota where I grew up, money was tight, especially for a small, rural school district. Just four years before, the district had ended the year in the red - to the tune of over $100,000. And in 1980, by the narrowest of margins, only 30 votes, the school district approved a referendum to build a new athletic complex. Following that approval, between local and state budget shortfalls, the district had to cut almost $200,000. This led to staff layoffs and cuts to programs like language arts, home economics (now called Family and Consumer Sciences), and Physical Education.

In October 1981, in my small town, the teachers' union voted to strike. On Wednesday, October 14th, to coincide with fall break, classes were cancelled indefinitely. My mom was an instructor at the technical college at that time. This meant my mom was on strike, too. I honestly don't remember a lot about that time except the tension. At first, we just had a few days off. And then, a few days more. And then, a few days more. I do recall that this was very polarizing for the community. My friends whose parents weren't teachers, were parrotting their parents in saying, "I don't know why the teachers on on strike. It's greedy, don't they care about the kids?!"

That fall, I was a 10 year old fourth grader. My teacher was a strict, 90 pound, 5 foot tall fearless woman I was scared of. Mostly because once she called me in from recess to talk about a signature I had forged, but that's another story.  My sisters were in 8th and 9th grade respectively.  After 3 weeks, the negotiations were at a standstill. It was getting colder and the strike headquarters, a former gas station at the corner of Prentice and Ninth Avenue, was hopping with teachers unable to teach. And still, teachers were walking the picket line every day.  As supporters (because my mom was on strike as a teacher), we brought coffee, hot chocolate, and cookies to the striking teachers.

It was also cross country season, and my 9th grade oldest sister was a dominant runner who had qualified for the state meet.  On October 31st, she ran in the State Class A race. Our family brought her, our family supported her and cheered her 3rd place finish, and then we brought her home. She could have no contact, or receive any coaching from her coach. But, at that point, we were just so grateful that she would be allowed to compete.

In mid-November, with no settlement in sight, the district made the decision to re-open school with substitute teachers.  The polite word for them was substitute, the impolite word was scab. The substitutes who chose to cross the picket line and teach had a variety of reasons I'm sure.  It could have been money, experience, survival, who knows? I remember my mom telling us that school was starting up again, and for one brief moment, my heart surged. Yes! (I loved school.) I could be back with my friends and going to school which I loved. But, she went on to explain that, because she was a teacher, the three of us could not cross the picket line either. I hung my head and said, yes, I understood. It was solidarity. But, it didn't stop my sadness at not being able to return to school with my friends.

On that first day of school, I stood in our entryway and watched bus #10 turn the corner and head to school without me. That memory is crystallized in my brain. Backing away, I retreated to my room and allowed myself to lose my emotions in a book. The teachers who had school age children decided at that time to start their own school. Card tables were set up in my living room and my teachers and my friends came to my house. I know we had math because we had some worksheets to do. Where they got them, I have no idea. We also visited the planetarium as a "field trip." We had school, but it obviously wasn't the same. In the afternoon, my neighborhood friends would come over and were bursting with how much fun it was with the new teachers. My sister remembers that one of her classmates said, "These teachers are soooo much better than our regular teachers."

These were trying times for the community. Finally, In late November, the school district and the teachers' union reached an agreement. Our district was one of 35 in the state that lived through and learned through a strike that year. 

These last few weeks have been crazy, to say the least. At the same time, it's provided the opportunity for me to reflect on other times in my life where circumstances have been beyond my control. I've seen parallels between myself as a 10 year old student and my own 12 year old students. They have had unknowns, too. They went from spring break to another unexpected week off, while my fellow teachers and I planned for how we would teach them in a way we've never done before. Tonight, I'm sure they are uncertain, but anxious to try whatever we can offer them.

In this story, there are also perpendiculars. I'm sure that when my teachers left their classrooms on October 14th, they expected the negotiations to be over quickly. They didn't pack everything as a finality. They expected to be back quickly, doing what they loved to do. But, because negotiations went poorly, and neither side could come to an agreement, they were not able to return to their classrooms until almost six weeks later.

For myself as a teacher, there's rarely been a year where I haven't either been in school as a student or as a teacher. As it was when I stood in my entryway as a ten year old, tonight I'm faced with what I know and love - school - looking so very, very different. Tomorrow, I start teaching my students in ways I never have. My strengths as a teacher are connections, relationships, stupid jokes, small touches,  and personal interactions. Those things will be hard for me to do through a webcam, headset, and audio in an online forum while I sit in my dining room with a map of Minnesota taped to my china cabinet. But, just as I did in 1981, and my students will do in 2020, we will persevere and be educated by our circumstances and experiences. While my experience as a ten year old was of a polarized community, this definitely is not. We all understand the importance of staying home and making the sacrifices for the greater good. Our community understands that we love our students and that all of us will make it through this time stronger together.

We Are Track and Field

Unprecedented.

Uncertain.

Unusual.

These words have dominated our conversations, our posts, our in person and digital landscapes over the past week.  We will not downplay the seriousness of the pandemic. We’ve not dealt with something exactly like this before. But, we’ve experienced adversity and come out on the other side, and know that our track record for getting through hard things is 100%. 

We Are Track and Field. 

And, on an albeit smaller scale, we’ve done this before. We’ve stood in the rain and the snow and the wind. We’ve run in downpours. We’ve landed on a soaked pole vault pit and celebrated clearing a height, despite our discomfort. Our shoes have been soaked and dirty from landing in a drenched sand pit. We’ve slipped and fallen in a hurdle race, whether the track was wet or dry. We have entered the throws circle in a puddle, slipped past the toe board and scratched an amazing attempt. We’ve picked up our shots and discs, wiped them down with towels, and thrown again. We’ve high jumped right into the bar, or missed the pit altogether. We’ve taken water during races in oppressive heat. We’ve slowed down, tucked in behind another teammate or competitor on the backstretch to shelter from a driving wind. We’ve surged to pass someone, only to get caught right at the finish.  We’ve won big and lost big. 

See? We’ve already done this. Every competition and practice has provided us the experiences of frustration, exhaustion, and failure. But, it’s also provided us the experiences of joy, laughter, teamwork, and victory. 

We don’t know the outcome of our season, if we’ll get to practice together or compete. But, whatever happens, our track record for getting through hard things is 100%. 

Unburdened.

Unafraid.

Undefeated.

We’ve got this. We Are Track and Field.

Northrop News 2019

Northrop News 2019 *

*I realize it is 2020. But, I am optimistic that next December I will actually write a 2020 letter and send it off before 2021. There’s a good reason I’m late. Read through to the end if you care. :)

Dear Family and Friends, 

Trace Adkins sings, “You're gonna miss this, You're gonna want this back, You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast, These are some good times, So take a good look around, You may not know it now, But you're gonna miss this!” When our kids were little, it was always noisy in our house, our van, everywhere. And now? Not so much. I mean, our kids are still here. But sometimes, they’re here, without being HERE. I realize that the time I have them in my physical reach is quite literally slipping through my fingers. Before, I just needed to get through each day until bedtime when I would find joy in the peace and quiet. Now, they don’t need me to tuck them in anymore. No stories need to be read or continued from the night before. They sleep with their bedroom doors closed and I don’t often peek in to see their chests rise and fall. I still relish the quiet and the chance to breathe and think and just be.  But more and more in that in between space, I feel it. I feel the loss of what is to come when it will be quiet ALL the time. So, for now, we plan to encourage the noise and the busy and the chaos. 

Gabe

Sixteen. Oof. We have a driver and a young man who’s thinking about the direction his life will move. Gabe is a great student. He doesn’t need our help or direction with his homework, and we have no worries about deadlines or due dates. He’s independent and yet, sometimes shows us the mushy prefrontal cortex by asking us things like, “Where is the cottage cheese?” when it’s in a giant case in Costco directly in front of him. He earned an academic letter last year and an athletic letter in track and field, where he high jumped for the varsity. He was confirmed in April and we enjoyed a celebration with family. He also built his own computer after learning what he needed to know from YouTube and with the financial backing of his Uncle Seth. Gabe played football last fall and is in the middle of basketball season, where he’s playing with the Junior Varsity.  He is my Target shopping buddy and still enjoys hanging out with me and running errands. Gabe sings in the choir and plays percussion with the band. He is thinking about computer science in college and exploring options about where that might lead him in the future.

Ben

Ben is such a loving boy, who sometimes needs redirection from his momma when his passion comes out at me after I say, “Let’s gooooo, get out of BED!” He LOVES all his grandparents and smothers them with love and kisses when he gets to see them. Ben has some great friends and concentrates in school on trying to be a good friend and a good teammate to others. After first quarter in 7th grade, he has taken full responsibility for his grades and his learning and warns us in advance if we are going to see something that is not up to our expectations. Ben had a supporting role in “Willy Wonka” this summer and simply shined on stage. He is fun to watch in concerts - both choir and band. You never know what you might witness from him. As my mom said, “Is he supposed to be doing that acting during the concerts?!” Ben also played football this fall, is currently in BB, and is looking forward to track and field this spring, where last year he LOVED his experience as a thrower. He knows everything you can know about Marvel and Star Wars and animals. We wonder how he stores all that information!  

Lyndee

Oh, my heart. She’s almost 13.  Soon, I will be shortest in my family. I look at her and wonder how I was so awkward at her age, and she’s just NOT. She checks her grades (to excess) and is deep into perfectionism. I’m sure I modeled that for her often, but hope that she will find meaning in her life in other ways as well. Like Ben, Lyndee also acted in the Willy Wonka play last summer and sang in the ACDA Honor Choir last spring.  She amazes us with her beautiful voice and her talent at the trumpet. Lyndee loves to read books over and over and is our most serious animal lover. She still is considering what life would be like as a vet, but wonders how she’ll handle her cat allergy. Lyndee loved volleyball this fall and is enjoying BB this winter. She’s playing with the 8th grade team as a 7th grader and is also looking forward to being a JH track and field athlete this spring. (“Mom, I am NOT running the 400.”)  

Matt

Last year, I’d see him the hallways at our school and think, “Wait, why are you here?” and then my brain would catch up to realize we both worked at the same school.  :) He resigned his position from Rochester this summer to truly begin his journey at Pine Island. It was scary to leave behind all the earned sick leave and seniority for sure. In the end, he decided it wasn’t about that, but about career fulfillment and family, which many times is one and the same.  I admire his intensity as an educator. He demands a lot from his students both physically and from their character. Matt had a track and field season that was amazing last year. His team won the True Team Section, Conference, Sub-Section, and Section. Many of those titles had not been won since the 1980s.  To top it off, he deservedly won the Section Coach of the Year honor. I am so proud of all of the time, effort, and energy he puts into coaching. In addition to coaching track and field, he also assisted in the football program this fall. 

Amy

Coaching, teaching, and family are my themes as always. I am ridiculously grateful for our kids. Even though I’m all up in their business, they still love me and think (some of) my jokes are laughable. I get courtesy chuckles and more than a few exasperated sighs of “Oh Momma.” They try to keep me in the loop about trends and help me figure out what’s cool and what went out a long time ago. Last spring, I took on a new role in the track and field program as the Head Girl’s Track and Field coach.  It was challenging and rewarding and I can’t wait for the upcoming season. In Cross Country, I was fortunate to have two athletes who qualified for the state meet in November. Running with the team (well, behind the team) gives me a chance to work out and connect with athletes while coaching. The Hot Cider Hustle was my 6th half marathon, so CC really helped me in my training for that. I continue to teach MN History to 6th graders. Every single day I think I about how lucky I am to be doing a job that I love. My whole heart lives in that school building with my husband, my kids, my friends, my students, and my athletes all in one place. How lucky can one girl get? Now, if only I could bring my dog to school, life would really be perfect!

Family

Last Christmas, we traveled to San Francisco to spend a week with Seth, Michaela, and the girls. We packed tons of activities into seven days, including the kids’ favorite - skiing in Tahoe. We also squeezed in two vacations with friends over the summer. In July, we drove to Chicago and spent four days with our friends the Winters exploring the city, going to a Cubs game, swimming in Lake Michigan, and eating deep dish pizza! In August, we drove to Colorado with our other longtime friends, the Koppelmans. We hiked Garden of the Gods, went white water rafting on the Arkansas River in the Royal Gorge, made it to Pikes Peak, did an unintentional seven mile hike in Winter Park, and mostly just hung out and enjoyed our time together. Finally, the reason this letter is late. On December 21st, Seth and Kaela provided the opportunity for our family and Matt’s parents to accompany them to Costa Rica. Two weeks in an amazing country with great food, Seth’s cooking, adventures galore, and excellent company was the trip of a lifetime. Each one of us had a favorite activity, but the top rated for us were the 1. Chocolate and Coffee Tour, 2. Finding a sloth in our very own backyard, and 3. Ziplining for three of us and parasailing with Grandma for Ben and Gabe. Most of all, time with family is precious so just occupying the same spaces was entertaining and good for the soul. We hope to travel and visit even more family in the months to come. 

Pets

Here’s the 2019 rundown–Dash - 8 years old and has run away 4 times this year, loves us, but wants more adventure than we can offer.  Tucker  - 7 years old, loves Lyndee the best, though eating cat litter is a close second.  Mia-The tortoise who is STILL at camp with the Kohners. Let’s be honest, she likes it better there anyway.  Wrigley – age unknown, hates storms and absent owners, often shows his displeasure by destroying small areas of carpet.  Cats #3 and #4, Lucy and Pepper - disappeared, probably joined the neighbors’ cat commune for a more exciting life. Cat #5, Sunny - loves Gabe the best and hasn’t been outside at all. We can’t expose her to the outside world due to our fear that she will end up like cats 1-4. And, we think she’s pretty cute and want to keep her around. 

Since this letter greets you after the 2019 holiday season, we hope you were able to find pockets of time where you could  enjoy being present with family and friends. And, when you are in that in between space, take a good look around and remember to value present over perfect. 

Love, Matt & Amy

Gabe, Ben, Lyndee, Dash, Tucker, Wrigley, and Sunny

For the Love of Minnesota, signed a Teacher

I've seen lots of posts lately on social media questioning, "Why do I live here?!" I'd like to preface this post by saying that I don't work outside. There are no animals that I need to care for that live outside of my house. I'm not in the field of public safety. As a teacher, I'd like to think that I'm an essential employee, but in reality, when my students aren't in school due to weather, I have options for whether or not I will go in to work in a quiet building.

I love Minnesota. I love it in the summer. I love it in the fall. I love it in the spring. And yes, I love it in the winter.  I was born in Minnesota. I've lived here all my life, except for 3 months in college when I lived in Florida. And no, I didn't love it in Florida.  Some people do! This girl didn't, so I was happy to come home. I adore Minnesota and am incredibly lucky as a teacher to teach what I love - Minnesota History!

Today, while driving into town during a winter weather advisory, I tried to be funny with my husband (who was doing the actual driving.) "Hey, get this," I said, "Winter weather advisory in December - 'Looks like we better stay home!' Winter weather advisory in February - 'What time should we head into town?' "  Hahahahahaha, I laughed at my own joke.  He didn't laugh. I said, "Sometimes I wonder if you even like it when I talk to you." He smirked, "Yeah, I like it. You think you're pretty funny." Yes, this is why I laugh at my own jokes, because I know that no one else will laugh or even understand my humor.

Where I live, our last few weeks have gone like this:

Monday, January 28th - No school due to snow and ice
Tuesday, January 29th - No school due to dangerous windchill (online learning day)
Wednesday, January 30th - No school due to dangerous windchill (online learning day)
Thursday, January 31st - No school due to dangerous windchill (online learning day)
Friday, February 1st - YAY! SCHOOL!
Monday, February 4th - No school due to snow and ice (online learning day)
Tuesday, February 5th - YAY! SCHOOL!
Wednesday, February 6th - YAY! SCHOOL! Our 6th grade students had a PERFECT Learn to Ski Day at a nearby ski hill.
Thursday, February 7th - No School due to snow and blowing (online learning day)
Friday, February 8th - 2 hour delay due to blowing snow

Now, here I am on Sunday, February 10th, staring into the face of another potential winter storm starting Monday night into Tuesday. Some models have suggested a possibility of 10+ inches of new snow.

Most people are gritting their teeth and again saying, "Why do I live here?!"

Me? I really, truly adore it. There is nothing better than sledding down our hill in fresh snow. Or waxing my cross country skis and going into the woods with huge flakes coming down. Or playing dominoes, or boggle, or something else with the kids. Or having a movie marathon, or two cups of coffee in the morning, or baking something yummy, or finishing a project that's been staring at me for too long.

Please, don't crucify me and other teachers on snow days with comments like, "What do teachers even get paid for anyway?! Did you see everything she likes about snow days? I wish I had a job where I didn't have to go in to work on a (scoff) snow day!"

The truth is, that I actually don't let myself enjoy any of those things (except the coffee) until after my school duties for the day are done. That includes answering emails from parents and students, getting up early to communicate with my team so that we can send a coordinated email regarding assignments for the day, or grading things that I took home with me anticipating a weather related delay or cancellation.  Did you know that the time that a teacher puts in outside of contract hours is exponential? Please realize how passionate we are about our jobs and our community's children. We are so passionate that we will ignore our own children on a snow day so that we can answer a student's email about how he/she can earn extra credit because the grades on the regular credit are not up to par.

Again, before complaining about teachers on snow days, note above that we have had FIVE online learning days. This is something truly innovative. Something that for someone who doesn't observe it or plan for it, is really difficult to understand. We are educators. We KNOW that the best learning is done in the classroom. We are fully aware that there are some assignments given on snow days that kids can't or won't complete for a variety of reasons. This is why we HATE being gone from our students, even for legitimate reasons like weather or illness or our own child's illness or appointments. It's why I've scheduled FIVE appointments on President's Day when we don't have school. It's why I moved my mammogram from tomorrow to spring break, so I don't miss time in the classroom with my students.

Despite what one might think, online learning days can be valuable. They teach more lessons than just about particular subject areas. Online days teach perseverance and communication. When a student doesn't understand the assignment, he/she has to communicate via email or message to the teacher who has to be able to explain it without being physically present. A student sometimes has to search for where the online assignment is posted. Is it emailed? Is it posted online? Is it messaged? Is is a calendar item? An online assignment forces students to be independent. They don't have their peers or table mate to ask clarification questions or to get answers. And finally, it teaches follow through.  If a student did not do the online assignment, he/she has to follow through and still complete it in a timely manner.

My own three kids have had varying levels of work to do on the online days. My freshman legitimately had 4+ hours of work each day. My seventh grader, and this could be due to how long it takes us to normally complete assignments, too, had about two to three hours of work. (Side note - we also realized this weekend that he was STILL missing three snow day assignments. Luckily his teachers are gracious enough to accept the late work. And yes, my son had consequences for those missing assignments.) My 6th grader had an hour of reading each day and an assignment from each core class. Altogether, probably 1.5 - 2 hours of work.

So, you see, snow days aren't what they used to be.  It's not a free for all for students and teachers.  We don't get "paid to do nothing." We get paid to do our jobs, just like every other day. We grade, we communicate, we team with our colleagues, we post assignments, we plan ahead.

And again, I realize that there are LOTS of people who don't get to stay home and do their jobs remotely. I do not envy your position, where you have to put your job above your own personal safety. I do not envy those people who keep us safe when we have to go out and I give them my utmost respect.

As I've gotten older, I've become less of a complainer or lamenter. I choose to embrace what is happening, because really, there's nothing I can do about it anyway - especially when it comes to the Minnesota winter weather. While I won't ever be a "when it's raining, dance in the rain" kind of person (I'd much rather watch it rain from inside), I AM an "embrace the winter" Minnesotan. It's why I live here. It's one of the reasons I love it here. And, it's one of the reasons I'll never leave. Keep me guessing, Old Man Winter, it's one of the things I love about you.

Parenting as a Coach, Coaching as a Parent - 2018 - Lu

“You yelled at me!”

The statement above came just a day ago from my daughter after her league games. As her coach, I clarified, “Yes, I did yell at you, and I yelled at most of your other teammates, too.”

“Okay,” she huffed, “but you yelled at me most.”

“I yelled at everyone,” I repeated. But in my head I admitted, “You’re right, I probably did.” Then I hugged her tight. “It’s tough being the coach’s kid. I am so proud of you. I have so much fun watching you play.”

And she is right. I did yell at her, just like I yelled at the girls I coached before she came along.

She is my 3rd child. Coaching basketball at the junior high, junior varsity, and varsity level was what I did for 13 years before I became my daughter’s traveling coach. During those years that I coached at the high school level, I was pregnant with each of my three kiddos. In fact, during the holiday tournament before my daughter was born, there were those spectators who were afraid of a courtside birth.

Two weeks later, she was born on a cold day in January, and after calling friends and family, I called the head coach of the high school team. It was 2:30 pm and he said, “Well, you’ve got half an hour to get to practice.” It wasn’t 30 minutes later, but two weeks after she was born, when I wheeled her stroller into the gym and parked it in the corner. Her lullaby became the bouncing basketballs in a gym. Is it any wonder that she can sleep through almost anything?! When she was three and half, and I went back to my teaching job, I left the basketball coaching ranks. Seven years later, I returned, not with high schoolers, but with my daughter’s fourth grade team. I did not realize at the time that the head girl’s coach had just assured himself of a coach for that grade level for the next three years! When we started, I thought my high school coaching experience would be enough. I quickly found out how wrong I was.

After coaching her team the last two years, there are a few important things that I have learned about coaching HER.

1. She is just as competitive as her momma.

2. She rejects a compliment on her play if she doesn’t feel it’s deserved, and yet craves the compliments that reflect how she thinks she’s played.
3. She has high expectations of her teammates and doesn’t understand when they don’t do the things she thinks are obvious.
4. She still wants basketball to be fun as evidenced by the Fortnite dances witnessed at practices.

This is the 3rd year that I’ve coached my daughter’s elementary basketball team, and each year I’ve ramped up expectations for myself and the girls. When we started in 4th grade, we were literally teaching everything about the game - how many girls were on floor at one time, what the lane was, the fact that you can’t dribble and pick up the ball and dribble again. The list goes on and on.

Coaching young girls for the last two years has also taught me more than I anticipated, but here’s my biggest take away to date:

Never assume the girls know what you’re talking about when you are coaching. They will pretend they do and you'll never know the difference until an important moment in a game.

My favorite two examples of this actually came last season when they were 5th graders. All season long I had been yelling at my point guards to penetrate. And they never did. I finally clued in when I asked my daughter, “Do you guys know what penetrate means?”

And she said, “Uhhhhhh, back dribble?” I sighed, dropped my head into my hands, and took a deep breath and called all my point guards to the top of the key (I actually just said, come over here since “top of the key” is a phrase we haven’t gotten to yet) to explain. (Meanwhile, one of my other players -not even close to being a guard- could be heard saying to another coach, “Am I a point guard?”)

When I got the girls together, I said again, “Do you guys know what penetrate means?” Blank stares told me that I had inadvertently neglected instructing the girls on something I thought they already knew. “Actually, no, it’s the opposite of back dribbling. It’s when you dribble IN toward the basket, not back AWAY from the basket.”

“Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhh,” realization dawned on the faces of 4 little girls.

Still this year, I ask periodically, “Do you know what I mean when I say penetrate to the basket?” Now they roll their eyes as if to say, “Why does she think we don’t know?”

The second instance came in during a game last year. All season long, I had been working with our post players, encouraging them to use their bodies to *ahem* post up. “X!” I yelled, “Post Up!” She ran to screen for the wing at the same time the wing passed her the ball. Turnover. The next time down the court, “X! POST UP!” She screened for the wing as the ball came flying at her. Turnover. The third time down the court, “X! POST HER UP!”

She glared at me from just outside the lane and said exasperatedly, “I don’t know what you mean!!!!”

Ohhhhhhhh, realization dawned for me! Time out, explanation ensued. “Ohhhhhh,” she said, “Why didn’t you tell me that before?!”

There have been other instances where I am reminded how much teaching about the game that I still have to do. The vocabulary itself makes it seem like a whole different language. We added new team members this year so I back up more often than I like to explain over and back, full court press, and side out.

I am also frequently surprised by the other things I’ve learned coaching my daughter.

1. I am just as competitive as I’ve always been - no matter what level I’m coaching.

2. I reject compliments about coaching, because after all these years, it really IS about the girls and how I can help them be strong and confident.

3. I have high expectations of my players and those who coach with me.

4. I want basketball to be fun AND challenging at the same time.

5. This time I have with her is so limited. It breaks my heart and fills it with joy at the same time.

For now, I get a front row seat to the action with my daughter. I get to be on the bench with her, coach her, teach her, challenge her, and love her, sometimes all in the same game. Next year will be tougher for me. Next year, I’ll be in the crowd along with the other parents. She might appreciate the respite from mom/coach and I’ll have to be willing to give her up to someone else on the bench.I’ll have to be willing to allow her a significant relationship with another coach, like the parents who have trusted me over the last three years.  I’ll have to remember that I’m her mom, not her coach, and I plan to be her number one fan.

Parenting as a Coach, and Coaching as a Parent 2016

Parenting. Coaching. Coaching. Parenting.

These are tough things by themselves. And then, you put them together and it becomes exponentially tougher.

I've coached sports since, well, it feels like forever. I was a high school 3 sport athlete. I was a college basketball player.  And then I started teaching and still wanted to be a part of the athletics that helped to shape my life and that I loved so much.

So, I started coaching. That journey is another post, but suffice it to say that before I became a parent in 2003, I coached (and parented) many student athletes from 1996 to the present.  I've coached 3 sports - cross country, basketball, and track and field. My husband has coached 4 sports - soccer, football, basketball, and track and field.

Becoming a parent is a game changer in more ways than one when you are also a coach.

It started when the kids played Tball, then Little League. At batting practice with Gabe one day when he was about 8, I said to him, "Okay honey, I'm going to talk to you like your coach now and not as your mom. Suck it up, get in the batters box, and act like you want to be here. Your dad loves playing baseball with you and this pouting is NOT going to go over well with him."  Dad's dreams of a left handed pitcher in the majors supporting his parents were just that, Dad's, and not Gabe's.

Next comes the time last year in the gym when Matt and I were working with Gabe on basketball moves in the post.  I decided to work with Ben when my time with Gabe was over. Ben just wanted to play with the dust bunnies and the broom handle he found in the supply closet and adamantly refused to work with me on basketball. This did not go over well and I said one of those ridiculous things parents sometimes can't resist saying, "Fine, well, I guess I'll never work with you on basketball again. Too bad, I was really looking forward to it. Good luck learning on your own." He obviously didn't care because as I walked away, I heard him making light saber sounds as he sashayed his way across the gym with the broom handle.

Now, we have a 7th grader, a 5th grader, and a 4th grader all playing basketball at various levels. Gabe is learning that his mom and dad may actually know a thing or two about the game, now that Matt is not his traveling BB coach. He has worked with me on Sunday afternoons throughout this winter, getting comfortable playing with contact while I play defense on him and hack all over him, just like my dad did with me.

Ben will come with us to the gym, but whether or not he wants to be coached is hit or miss.  One time when Gabe and his friend and Ben and I were playing 2-2, he decided to say out loud that he thought he was better than me. Big mistake. Huge.  I proceeded to block his shot multiple times and blow by his defense.  I'm pretty proud that I can still beat an 11 year old. My 13 year old? Not so much. That same day I lost 10-3 to Gabe.

Lyndee's playing 4th grade this year and myself and two other moms are coaching them. It's been really fun to see their progress. It is still evident to me how many more skills boys come into the gym with as opposed to girls.  We started with information such as how many people are on the court at a time and how you know when you're on defense or offense. My bias is all toward teaching fundamentals and worrying about the other things (like plays, how to sub in, and take the ball out) later.  Our first game we lost something like 22-4. We won our most recent game 28-5, but all the other games in between were losses. The girls know improvement is the name of our game right now, and on that level, we've been successful.  At one of our games last weekend (a loss), Lyndee came out of the game frustrated. I was giving high fives to all the girls coming off the court and when I got to her, she dramatically turned her body away from me, refused my high five, and flounced to the bench, where she sat down glaring at me.  In no uncertain terms, I informed her that that would never happen again. Then I asked the other two coaches to communicate with her about what she needed to do differently from then on so that she would be open to listening.  I told Matt about all this and he chuckled and said, "Yep, she's your daughter."  Truth is hard sometimes.

While it's hard coaching your own kids, this year has proven that it's even harder to sit in the stands.  We are cursed with too much knowledge of the game and more than once have had to check and balance each other on what we say during the game, who we say it to, and how we say it.  We have had to learn that we are G's parents first, and coaches second. It's been a hard lesson to learn for us. Where other parents say to their kids, easily and naturally, "I love to watch you play," we want to coach him and say, "We love to watch you play, but...."  After the first few games and a few arguments between the two of us, I am encouraged that we seem to be learning how to talk with our kids after games.

Poor Gabe is our learning curve. The other two will benefit from the path he has forged and will continue to forge with his parents as coaches. This spring, we'll get to experience that in a new way, since G has decided to give Track and Field a try.