The Athlete

I really never thought of Duncan as being athletic. Growing up, he tended to run like a cartoon character. His legs spun, but he just didn’t get much of anywhere. His hand eye coordination was so poor his pediatrician prescribed video games. He was, and still is, all legs and arms, and yet still has an extremely long torso. He is, in a word, gangly. 

For all of that, it really didn’t surprise me when he decided to join the cross country team in 7th grade. Duncan has always loved to run. I was a little worried, ok a lot worried, about his asthma. The concern turned out to be justified. He spent more races with concerned paramedics following him than any other kid out there, but with a little extra medication, Duncan stopped collapsing across the finish line, not that the paramedics stopped following him.

With a lot of prodding and coercion by his coaches, Duncan joined the track team, mostly to stay fit for cross country. He claimed that track was boring, all you did is run in circles, you never really went anywhere. Perhaps the best part of track was that his coaches began to push him. They couldn’t understand why someone with such long legs and big calf muscles wasn’t faster. The potential was there.

(As an aside, the most surprising thing that happened was Duncan losing his stick legs during his first season of cross country. This kid has HUGE calf muscles.)

This attitude continued over into his second season of cross country. His times weren’t what they were, even though they did improve. His asthma was mostly under control. The coaches began to push. They wanted his performance to match his heart and potential. Duncan was an incredible teammate. No matter how tired he was or even if he hadn’t run yet, he always cheered on his teammates. They returned his loyalty by working with him. The coaches said he could be faster, so darn it, they were going to help. It turns out that Duncan’s problem is form. He doesn’t use those gangly arms and legs as well as he should. Not enough movement, not enough speed. The payoff to his and his team’s hard work came in their team scores. Eisenhower 8th grade boys always placed in the team standings, and Duncan always helped make that placement. At the end of the season, one of his coaches encouraged him to keep working, keep improving, and that he truly had the potential to be a great runner.

I had long gotten use to thinking of Duncan as a runner. He loves it and he thrives when he runs. The switch to athlete was harder and came as a surprise. Duncan has decided to wrestle. His announced reason is to stay in shape for track this year and cross country in high school. Truthfully, I think it’s because he enjoys the feeling of being part of a team and the thrill of competition. I am still adjusting to all of this. 

The closest Duncan has ever come to wrestling is horsing around with his cousins, especially my sister’s five boys. If you’ve ever seen him being mauled with love, you’d understand why everyone is so shocked. Duncan, however, is having a blast. He walks like a zombie and moans like one too. He is showering more than he ever has in his entire life, sometimes more than once a day. He’s tired and he’s happy. Duncan has become an athlete. 

It is not easy to explain the change in thinking. After watching his hard work during cross country and track, it is easy to see that runners are athletes and some of the hardest working ones at that. A shirt we saw at one of the cross country meets sums it up: “My sport is your sport’s punishment.” Perhaps the difference now is that Duncan is branching out and embracing so much more than just running. I can no longer think of him as being a runner only. He is reaching out to try more and do more, developing more skills and talents. The end goal for him may still be improving his running, but his love for sports as a whole is shining through.

It should be obvious that our whole family will support him no matter where this new path leads him. (His sister is undecided about the wrestling meets though. She has reservations about a sport in which the uniforms make the participants gender so glaringly obvious.) Wherever this journey takes him, I am proud of Duncan for pushing his boundaries and exploring who he is and who he can become. Sports are only a small part of this and only Heaven knows where the path leads, but I bet he makes great time.

Legacy

In a week and half, my daughter, my oldest child, turns 18. It is a momentous occasion. She will officially leave her childhood behind and start down her own path in life. Up to this point, I’ve had some say in her life, the ability to guide her way. My role is about to diminish. This milestone has caused me to contemplate the legacy that I’ve given my daughter, the foundation for her life to come. The old saying goes that we give our children two things: roots and wings. Combined, this is the legacy that we leave our children. We let them know where they come from and the courage to find out where they want to go. Or at least as parents, that is what we hope to do.

From the first moment we are handed those tiny infants, there is one universal truth that every parent seems to embrace: we are doing this wrong. I read a Baby Blues strip were the Dad emotionally declares that people have multiple children in order to fix all the mistakes they made with the first one. While I don’t quite agree with the whole idea, I do know that it is easier to identify what I have done wrong as a parent then what I have done right. I haven’t taught them organization. My housework skills are so-so and I definitely don’t enjoy it. While I have a testimony, I’ve not always been a pillar of church activity. I haven’t taught them to save or budget. And I’m positive they will look elsewhere for marital examples. This list is just a few of things that, as a mother, I know I’ve done wrong. I’m sure that there are more, I’m positive there are more.

That is not to say that I’ve only given them a negative legacy. They are both readers and learners. I know I’ve done that right. They both have a love for their extended family and a desire to know their ancestors. I hope they both know how much I love them.

If I could start all over, I know what legacy I would want for my children, what gifts I would give them to face the challenges ahead.

· Faith: This is the foundation for everything else. It begins with faith in God and faith in yourself. Without it, you are adrift and at sea.

· Charity: The pure love of Christ. Life is so much happier with a charitable and loving heart.

· Knowledge: Not just having it, but the desire for it.

· Service: The world is a better place and you are a better person when you serve.

· Hope: Life isn’t easy, but hope can make it bearable and doable.

· Basic life skills: Just the how to’s in life. All those simple small things that are necessary to take care of yourself and one day, your own family.

· Self-worth: Always know who you are and where you’re going. If you remember that, you can do anything.

· Family: Whether your birth family, your extended family, your ancestors, or those you find along the roads you travel in life, cherish your family. Hold them close. They are part of you and your strength.

It seems like a small list, but these are the big things, the things I want my children to see as their legacy. This and one more small thing, my love for them. 

Legacy, what we receive from our parents and give to our children. It is their roots and their wings, the foundation to build their lives on. In turn, part of the legacy we give them is passed on to their children and their children’s children.   

On your 18th birthday, if I’ve given you nothing else, please know that I love you and that I am proud of who you are. I see great potential in you. If you take nothing else with you, take my love and faith and fly.

Ramblings

*Playing Skip-Bo and wondering why the computer annoys me so much. 
  Stupid strategy often makes me the winner.
  So why grouse and complain at all?

*Selling books is bitter sweet. 
  Some were of no worth to me, dry, boring, disapppointing. 
  Others were great adventures languishing on shelves. 
  How to price hours of pleasure and dreams?

*Ever notice that Phineas and Ferb's mom has the same hairstyle as the bass player from Love Handle?
  And should I worry that I even noticed?

A Beginning

Writing is such a powerful thing.  It is something I love with all my heart.  It is also something that I have become reluctant to do.  I'm not sure if it is fear of failure.  I was an avid writer till I lost my teaching job a few years ago.  It seems that I lost a lot more at that time.  I have been feeling that loss very poignantly lately.  There is an empty place in my soul, a place usually filled by words.

A forced vacation has given me the chance to see a new possibility.  I can accept that hole or I can refuse and seize on to the opportunity.  I've never been a quitter, at least not a long term one.  So this is my choice:  A new beginning.  I am allowing myself to write and fail or write and succeed.  Actually, the very act means success. 

Roads have always been symbolic of choice, whether Robert Frost's Road not Taken, or Bilbo's road that goes ever, ever on.  I have chosen my road and the first step is now.