Coaching Myself to Be A Good Parent

As the air turns much more crisp, and the days start to get shorter, I sometimes have vivid dreams late at night of coaching again, as I did for 15 years. I am in a gym, in a dugout, on a bus, and I am sometimes driving or playing with a dry erase board. I am dressed in a polo and shorts and a cap, or I am in a sweater vest with shiny shoes. Sometimes I have the feeling of being like Tom Landry, and I have channelled the wonderful-at-cursing coach from Bull Durham. I never get to finish a game, and there is more often than not no scoreboard. There is always a yelling crowd, and I can always feel piercing stares and burning eyes from parents, and this makes me itchy, and I make myself wake up. (I have that skill not often enough.)
Then, I go to a soccer game for one of the kids, and I set my chair up, get them squared away, and I proceed to stare at the back of a parent coaching from the opposite sidelines of the real coach. He is in anguish, yearning to run on the field. Another parent put an umbrella up, which inadvertently blocks the view of all others from about 20 percent of the field. There are equal amounts of imploring Juan and Tanner in Spanish and English to pass or run harder. It is passion, and then one of the boys has a ball kicked into his gut, and he goes down in pain. The response from the other team is to encourage their sons to run past and around the boy, now writhing on the ground, and it becomes something twisted.
And, I am taken back to nights of confrontation after wins by parents whose children didn't play "enough" outside of lockerrooms, in parking lots, getting on the bus. I can remember every moment of long, uncomfortable conferences, as playing time was hashed over, and childhood accomplishments were lauded as proof of my ignorance or lack of judgement. "T Ball Champion" of 1994 had a quest of being an Olympian, and I was in the way. Practice habits were discounted, reality of talent is an oblivious subject that inflames, and other children are doggedly drug in, despite repeated reminders, that privacy and respect must be maintained. I recall clearly screams from the stands, muttering in the workplace from teacher parents, a morning when a parent miffed at junior high playing time came to my home one early Saturday morning and scared Amy with a knock on the door. Crank phone calls, cold stares, Amy getting bumped while plregnant at a playoff game by a respected civil servant lady. My children heard things they didn't understand while playing in the grass, and my parents who patiently made sacrifices out in the cold heard condescension and criticism.
So, as I added my own children, I began to ease out of coaching to the position of counselor to spend more time with those I loved and was missing seeing grow, as I got weary and wounded to the point of exhaustion. A thought germinating was brought to life by a couple of parents who got a hold of  the ear of a weasel of an athletic director who liked to look at himself but not you in his office mirrors, and I was demoted my last year. My obsession was not enough, my desire too temperate, and I didn't like to play a political game and break bread and drink a few beers with John and Sam and Bob. It was really a blessing to be pushed the direction I was going a little more firmly, that of a parent in the stands. The hottest day on record that last game in May made the air that much sweeter on the charter bus.
And, so the question, becomes, what kind of parent am I now in the stands? I get anxious, angry, frustrated, excited, thrilled, exultant and morose. I cheer hustle, heart, gusto, and I concentrate on the demeanor and attention of my kids when their coach speaks. They get rebuked for not showing appropriate respect for teammates, for not being into games. We have quiet talks about what can be done different or better. I try to ask the most important question of all: did you have fun? 
After most games, I make sure that the chair is packed, that we have snacks, that we have what we need to head home, and I don't look back at the field or gym. On days or nights like that, what awaits me, if I am lucky, when I sleep is a deep and dreamless slumber.

Remembering 9-11 While Moving Forward.

10 years ago on September 11th, 2001, before it became 9-11, the day started out like any other first-of-the-year day for me, as the air was starting to become cooler in the mornings, and I was running a bit late.  Amy was home with baby Stephen, and I spent some time with her, as she was slumbering, as the result of being more than 6 months pregnant with the baby that was to become Annie. Time was sweet in the mornings before school in our little blue house.
I remember looking for a parking spot, listening to the radio, a few minutes late, when I heard that a plane had crashed into one of the WTC towers. Thinking surely it was an accident of some type, I hurried into my classroom and turned on the ancient TV that in one corner, and as things began to unravel, I realized that this was no accident, with the second plane hitting. Hurrying out into the hall to find someone to talk to about it, as I had first period off that year, I heard a lot of quiet and then the steady sounds of TVs on all over the building. A coach had rolled a TV out that was normally used for showing workout videos, and all around, you could start to hear the buzz. As I recall, there was an announcement and then a flurry of e-mails to keep things calm and on schedule, and that we attempted to do, as another plane crashed, and then another in the countryside in Pennsylvania. Amidst all this, Amy called me in a panicked voice, as the electricity had flashed off in Grandview. (Terrible coincidence, it turned out, as a transformer had quit.)
We went through our day on schedule, suspending real classwork in most cases, but following the bells, eating lunch, telling kids to get out of the halls, following routine. The day's specific moments after that first shock have largely faded from memory, as they have been replaced by other days, with tragedy or joy or mundane routine. Things returned to normal in the weeks after that in the school setting, while the world changed profoundly, and this made me wonder if that is what we should be doing: providing a calm in the storm, a steady and consistent wave of movement forward, a safe haven.  Should that moment have been more of about provocative learning? About connecting our lives to those who were going through horror in NYC, in DC, and on a lonely field outside Philadelphia?
Then, this past week, Jamie, who is my second grader, came home with an assignment to be a part of a mural that would honor the day and the victims, as she was to draw or get off the Internet pictures representing her thoughts on things. Now, as a 2nd grader, it hit me that she had no real clue about what happened then, and I was okay with that, but she wanted to do her best to help out, and we found pictures that showed one tower being hit by a plane, and then another picture with obviously wounded and suffering people helping each other through the ash and destruction. She wrote the word HEROES under that one.  As she got ready to get out of the car the next morning, with her poster contribution, she held it up, and she told me that there was an "evil man" and he planned things to hurt us. I reassured her that while this was so, that she was safe, and she hugged me and went into the building a little more serious than normal.
Yesterday morning, I was checking texts, as I was getting ready to head out the door, and there were two from another counselor and my boss about the very sudden, horrible death of one of students, a sweet-faced girl from what I could recall, (and I didn't have her as one of my students, but felt gut punched for this girl and her family and friends), from a unknown cause. We went into crisis mode, offering services to the dozens of students who came into our office or were in classrooms, and other counselors came to help, who had a connection to her, through her church or through a neighborhood connection.  We set a room aside, and we offered them some comfort or consolation, I hope, as there were tears and vulnerable stares of grief. During the time when announcements are made, there had been plans to have our "moment of silence" for 9-11 remembrance, but on this day, the decision was made to announce this sad loss, as we moved 9-11 to Monday. Tears flowed, and there was an air of somber weariness throughout the day.
And, I realized that we did what we had done on 9-11: we had continued living while carrying the grief with us, tucking it gently but firmly away, as it could not deter us from moving forward to what was ahead.

I Didn't Know The Job Was Dangerous When I Took It. I Would Do It Again.

As  the first two weeks have swiftly completed themselves, with a massive gathering called a pep rally to conclude it, and a Labor Day weekend ahead for some rest and grilling, I thought I would give a quick rundown of what a counselor might do. And, where I have come to where I am now.
When I reached a crossroads of my career a few years ago, as I had coached for 15 years, and we had just welcomed our 4th bundle of joy to the world, the choice I had to make was threefold: stay as a teacher, after a period of great activity and variety with what goes with coaching and teaching; go into administration, as many coaches have done before and trade coaching a game to watching students watch a game and not necessarily have more time to spend with my family; become a School Counselor and get an office and more of an 8 to 4 job (so I thought), with the duties that I thought would largely consist of doing schedules and listening to a few problems, here and there. Now, clearly you can see why I went the counseling pathway, as I viewed it much more favorably. And, I do believe that I have made the right choice, without question. But, little did I know, what would go into my average day and the adventures that were ahead of me, as I went through my classes at TAMU-Commerce.
Counseling classes in college consist of much theory, history, and then some practical listening skills honed, as I was assigned to work with other counselors, recording our efforts for posterity. (Those tapes WILL resurface when I run for President, I am sure.) I learned how to be still, focus on the person in front of me, interject appropriate comments, keep a supportive affect, and worked diligently to avoid "closed ended" questions. I was very fortunate to be hired during the time I was taking my classes, so I was able to put into practice my training on the listening part and  the sitting quietly in conversations with students, while others had to rely on sporadic exposure and balance their teaching jobs. I had to go from a very directive personality to a much more empathetic manner, and this I am still working on, on a daily basis.
Yet, there was a wide gap in my expectation and the reality of my job duties. I was very lucky to have a great set of mentors and veterans to work with, in a district that is considered to be one of the top in the state and an economically upscale place in Midlothian. From inside I discovered that there is a whole layer of life going on, and that perfection and women vacuuming in pearls was Beaver's world, not mine.
My job has included helping new students transition from their previous school, quite often in flight from a divorce or financial downturn. "Temporary residency" is a term in high demand at our school.  I have had two students die at the hand of drunk drivers, and I went to classrooms to tell the news, 7 times in one day, and offer support, and then attend the funerals. I drive by the roadside cross and graduation teddy bear of one everyday.
 More and more students need school supplies, and I work to get them what they need or communicate to teachers their plight.  There are students who have tried to harm themselves or others, and there have been painful phone calls to make, facilitating treatment outside  the school. Truancy and misbehavior and dropping out are daily occurrences, and my job is address, correct and prevent those, the best I can, or I try to help with the next move, when they leave us. Parents have set in my office and pleaded for help, or they have viciously verbally attacked teachers or their own student. In some cases, more and more, it seems, parents have simply walked away or abandoned their children, and more students "couch surf" than ever.
There is constant paperwork to complete, with schedule changes frantic and complex the first month of the year, and then again to start the second semester. Transcripts must be checked and re-checked, and graduation plans finalized, with my math skills called into use to determine the appropriate "plan." I have convinced several to hang in there for another semester or even an extra year to finish. I have lost several others. Testing begins in October with the PSAT and TAKS retests, picks up steam again in the 4th Six Weeks, and then culminates in May with AP and the new EOC exams, which I can't fathom how they are going to fit. This often involves sheer manual labor, with movement of tests boxes, counting of materials, packing and rolling giant carts. Test anxiety creeps up during testing with some students, and we also wrangle those teachers who aren't at their best during the mundane moments.
Special nights during the year include orientation for freshmen, graduation path/separation anxiety for seniors, and a College and Career Night with 80 plus schools. We go to classrooms to do guidance on testing, on credits, on planning, on goal setting, on the PSAT, PLAN test, and we play a GPA game. I have been in charge of the ASVAB, the military qualification test, for the last 4 years, and we give the ACT on certain Saturdays and the SAT on two others. Recently, we have had added two nights of football game supervision. We speak to the faculty on different required issues, such as bullying and dating violence. We also help them with follow-through on CPS reports. There are weekly meetings to attend as a staff.
Things come to a grinding halt, some days, and I have to crank the Pandora to keep my adrenaline up. So, where does this leave me, as I ponder the question of did I make the right choice?  My small, still voice tells me that I am chose the right thing, when I do the one thing I was really trained to do, listen.

Girls Just Want to Have Fun, But Do They Get To?

Having two young daughters of my own, I have begun to develop a growing terror at what their experiences may be like in high school in several years, based on what the ugly underbelly of the average day holds for many girls I work with in a different setting from the classroom, where they can flow in and out and often seemingly blend.
Having coached girls for 15 years and seen them transform into young women, I learned of their insecurities, their body image issues, but was often amazed at their fierce loyalties, their innate toughness, the emotional and physical toll that they were willing to submit to in order to not let down their teammates, their families, and even their silly old coach. They were willing to get smelly, dirty, even bloody in their quest to be great, and I was enthralled at watching them transform into tough minded physical specimens of young womanhood. Confidence and power and fulfilment was what I got to see so many times.
Now, dealing with and meeting with the "others" on my campus, I , witness more and more the frailty that comes with their daily life as females. Sexual harassment, bullying from both boys and other girls in a dozen different ways, impossible standards of size or beauty, and generalized anxiety that comes from being 1 in a 1, 000 or so seems to overwhelm too many. In the last year, I have had conversations or helped girls deal with issues with anxiety attacks over testing and college, frustration and anger with a father who "only feeds me because he has to", a hopeful addition through foster care to our school after a long time being expelled for violence against a teacher, and a dark-eyed knot of anger flaring from one who made threats about a gun being brought to school. Pregnancies occur from all kinds of financial backgrounds, and there is optimism but also white-eyed terror from what is to come. Girls "cut", they find themselves in tenuous and dangerous relationships out of a craving for affection, and they sometimes are kept in a state of suspended animation/puberty by fearful parents, and I relate to that last one too closely. For what the future holds, I can not enable a rosy hue, a secure end, nor shield them completely from harm.
My best effort is try and normalize the situations with these girls, be in the moment with them, and hope that that when they ride out the storm, that they aren't too battered to continue forward. That in this brave, new world, only a few generations from a set pathway for females, that they embrace the opportunities in education and career that so many are now able to grasp. That their armor is forged from within and is of unbreakable strength. That they don't just survive but thrive.

Prayer In Schools? As Long As There Are Tests, There Always Will Be.

As we get closer to the school year starting, I had an occasion to watch an episode of MTV's True Life on a lazy Saturday, and there was a feature on a young athlete, who had decided to forego home schooling to pursue more opportunity in the local public school, and under questioning, he believed that he would be fully equipped to handle the "worldly atmosphere". His story is not an unusual one, as at last count, there were about 300 thousand or so students in Texas who were homeschooled at some point, and many were for religious purposes. Keeping away from the evil influences in the public schools seems to be a driving force. This often puzzles me, because in my experience, religion and religious belief are alive and well on public school  campuses, despte the claims that banning "prayer in school" has led to a banishment of God Himself.
In my school I have observed that there are no less than 4 groups that meet before or after school to pray, to sing, to hold mini-worship services, from different denominations or in an all-inclusive manner (Christian) that is open to all. Every day there is a moment of silence that is clearly seen by all as a time of quiet prayer, and this is enforced quite consistenly across the campus. There is a Baptist backed mentoring group that works with "at-risk" students on a regular basis, and I have seen many community religous leaders come and eat lunch with students in the cafeteria. Bible Literacy is taught as a popular elective, and there is a religous service, Baccalaureate, for graduating seniors just before graduation.
It was my experience as a coach that most teams wanted to pray together before games, although I felt it my responsibility to step outside the room or away from the circle where it was taking place, so as not to condone it and make anyone that didn't share mutual beliefs to feel uncomfortable or judged. The nature of that reality, of course, was that every single student that I ever coached, always took part, regardless of their beliefs or lack of them, so that they felt connected or didn't want to risk being singled out.
I will confess that when I am speaking with student or parents and death occurs or there is great tragedy such as a cancer diagnosis, I try to assure that I am keeping them in my thoughts, when they know it means prayers. It is an intrinsic part of who I am, and I don't feel that spirituality, commonality, is threatening to those students I work with, although they may be coming from a place far away from that. They seek a connection beyond a physical presence more often than not.
Would all this be different if I worked in a school that had many Mulsim or Jewish students or both? That is a question that intrigues me, and I wonder when and if that might occur in my career. I know that our demographic is ever shifting, as a more Catholic presence is among our student body. Many don't come from any place of belief or church affiliation. The question for me, and this is a daily challenge: does my light shine? Mother Theresa may say it best: I know God will not give me anything I can't handle.  I just wish that He didn't trust me so much. 

Teach Your Children Well? Of Course, But It Isn't News.

As teachers get ready to report after a long, hot and busy summer, I wanted to clarify a few things about our profession, which I consider to be the most noble and quite possibly currently under attack more than any other. Every day near the end of the school year, it seemed, there was a news story about a criminal act regarding teachers, mostly of a sexual nature. Of course, the precious mission that teachers have often heightens the spotlight, and I wince knowing that one teacher who acts from a place of evil in their heart tarnishes the thousands who toil so hard. With full disclosure, I will say that I have seen my share of miscreants. And, then there are those who do our profession a grave disservice by not operating at full capacity. (I have been guilty of this, especially during the busiest times of seasons when I was coaching.)
I don't say this to inflame but to acknowledge that not all teachers are created equal, and not all have a purity of heart and a sense of purpose that drives them. I have known slack jawed yokel coaches who try to only push PLAY and pedophile alternative certification "second career"  wannabees who wear too much cologne to school. Some have wanted immediate gratification and thrown their hands up at the grind and the dedication it takes and rely on others for their lesson plans, and ease through their days on texting or going online to chat about the movie they are going to see. I worked with a lady who stayed drunk most of her days and muttered and slurred instructions and was confused by another teacher for an eccentric custodian, and I knew a prominent coach who dallied in "aides" early in my career who washed his car and appreciated his attention. An instructor long overstayed her welcome and began to curse at students and staff, and another bodyslammed a student who teased him one time too often. Dress code violators, slackers at putting in grades or turning in lesson plans, habitual "tardy to the party" ditzes, these have all made my acquaintance. AND, they are the vast exception to the rule.
Most coaches I have known have been diligent disciplinarians and been the mainstay of their campuses, taking on all learners and making a real difference in the classroom. Most teachers I know that have been through alternative certification programs, including my own wife, bring a fresh perspective and a meticulous work ethic quite often that carried over from their first careers as engineers or retired members of the military. They stay late, arrive early, go the extra mile or TWO, as we say at MHS, and they have a tremendous capacity for heart and humor and a love for their jobs and their students. Most are continuous learners, volunteer for committees, go to events to support their students and work tirelessly to make sure students feel cared for on a daily basis. MOST are wonderful examples to their students that goes far beyond lesson plans.
They spark interest, they inspire, and they are the foundation not only of their schools but their communities, and they will leave lasting legacies far beyond a single school year. Their moments are sweeter upon reflection, with time, and they are more precious because often they do it without ever truly knowing the fruits of their labors. They go on year after year, not making the news anywhere. Quietly, they breathe deep and go into the summer.  And, then they rest, recharge, sleep a little late, and they come back and do it again.

A Year In The Life

It's drawing closer and closer...that first day of school will be here in less than three weeks, and soon it will all begin. My experience has led me to believe that the year is to be planned for, and that a good, steady pace is essential. Burning too bright can lead to disaster.
The school year definitely has an ebb and flow to it, as well, while I am thinking of that easy "9 months" that educators work, with a pace that is never a consistent flow, but rather short, dramatic bursts with long ennui and a dash of hysterical glee thrown in for good measure. The year starts with such promise in August with new clothes, new rules, new campuses for so many, and there is an excited, frantic quality as kids flow in seemingly forever and promptly get lost on their way to their homeroom. Schedule changes abound as students figure out that the summer assignment WAS necessary to be successful in P-AP or AP courses or if the reality sets in that they may have already taken that particular course and been succcessful enough to gain credit. We deal with the invariable "teacher hates me", and sometimes it is too true, or the all important lunch schedule takes first precedence, so the con begins to get the same lunch as their "boo".
Finally, things solidify, and most students are at least mildly successful, and then the WALL of expectations looms suddenly on the road for too many, as assignments are due the next day, projects require more time than HALO, and the test that wasn't studied for becomes a 13 or 42 or 56 (which is bragged about), and the failures start to pile up. An October break brings fried foods at the fair and some breathing room and a dash of excitement, but it is a long time to Thanksgiving, and the PSAT does not thrill or amuse. Thanksgiving does come finally, and  MISD's choice to have it weeklong is almost criminal in  that it allows for a completely stupifying time. The first day back is a running in mud experience that goes on forever, and it can be a day of great transition, as I have seen marriages break up, grandparents die, jobs get lost, and addresses change at a pace barely equaled by the beginning of the second semester.
Finals this year will come before Christmas again, and I get the feeling that there is a bit of panic amongst the staff to get all done sufficiently before the break, which is two weeks of bliss and wonder and a rest of weary bones and psysches. Oh, and the celebration of the birth of Jesus.
Breaks come much less frequently in the second half of  the year, with Spring Break a storied time of excess and sun, and I hear that students sometimes have fun, too. There is a warmth and ease of the pace on the campus, and then there is a melee in the cafeteria with fists thrown and  hair pulled, as girls can and do fight over shiftless boys. Police get involved on the modern campus today, and I have seen Tasers and handcuffs make an appearance. I saw a principal walk back behind the police who had two under control carrying what looked to be a small dog but turned out to be a torn out weave.
 Many shut down and get their excuses ready to try and avoid summer school, while Seniors try to make their final push a meaningful one and some fall short, but most make it out the door, with a firm push from their teachers and counselors. There is a hubbub and papers fly and tears flow and screams of mirth are heard, and another year ends, with just a whiff of satisfaction from most educators but a sense of relief pervades.
And, then, as the sun sets in a stadium full of 8000 adoring people for the 500 plus who have survived and sometimes thrived, and speeches are made, and then the lights go out, so the fireworks can start, and young men and women run like kindergarteners in the dark to grab a friend and a view, I gain strength and peace and think of future years ahead with a calm resolve.