Dragons devour Tigers

Yes, the sun did rise Saturday morning. The beast did awaken. And the Mighty Green Dragons did roar.

They also fed.

They fed on charbroiled tiger.



Okay, you know I'm kidding here. Just having some fun. But the truth is the Mighty Green Dragons did play Saturday against the Tigers. And even though in this league there is no official scorekeeping, no standings are kept, and coaches are specifically told the point of the game is fun, not winning and losing, it was impossible not to notice that the Tigers did not score a single goal in 40 minutes of play, while the Mighty Green Dragons had half a dozen by halftime.

In my pep talk before the opening kick I told the Dragons we wanted to do two things - do our best and have fun. Not to beat down the other team, not to go out there and win the game - do our best and have fun.


Less than two minutes after the opening kick, taken by the Tigers, Chris scored the first of his two goals, the first goal of the season for the Dragons (yes, as the coaches son he got to be one of the four starters in the opening game). And from there, well, one of my two pre-game objectives had been met - the kids were definitely having fun.

As a parent, much less the coach, it's almost impossible not to be aware of how many goals your kid scores. Chris had two in the first half, I know that. But I'm not sure how many the Dragons had at the end of the half - it was at least six and probably more.

At halftime I told the kids I was proud of them for playing hard and doing their best. I asked if they were having fun and they all said yes.

The second half was more of the same. Chris didn't score, but one boy on our team had four goals himself. As a team we must have had another four on top of that. I'd love to say it was the skill and preparation of the coach. I'd love to say it was the strategic game plan put in by the coach. But the truth is, the kids ran hard, played with enthusiasm - and maybe the ball just seemed to bounce their way. When the game mercifully ended the score, if it had been officially kept, would have been something-teen to zero.

When it was over I gathered the Dragons on the field to lead them in the post game cheer. You know it - "1, 2, 3 - Good Game Tigers!" The kids all shook hands with the Tigers, and parents from both teams made a 'tunnel' for all the kids to run through.

I was wishing I hadn't torn up my knee. While it was so much fun to be out there, coaching the team, coaching my son, I couldn't keep up with the action on the field as much as I wanted to. At this level, the coach is on the field, following the action and calling out encouragement to the kids on the field. The coach has to tell which player to throw the ball in from out of bounds, who gets to do the goal kick, and tell each child where to stand every time there is a stoppage of play. Crutching my way up and down the field made that more challenging.

But I wouldn't have missed this for anything.

And though I write this as though the 'Dining on Roast Tiger' is the thrill of victory, it really is about participating with my son in something he loves. He is excited to have me as the coach of his team. I'm excited to participate with him, to show him that I want to share these experiences with him.

As we gathered for our post-game treat, one of the Dragons asked me, "Coach, did we win?"

"You know, Steve, we didn't keep score," I said, "But I think we did win.'

"Oh," he said, "that's good.'

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

"Yeah!"

"That's great, Steve," I said. "See you at practice Thursday!"

He ran off. I'm glad he had fun.

But I guarantee you he didn't have as much fun as I did.

It's fun to be the coach.

And it's great to be The Family Man.

Game on

Tomorrow morning the sun will rise.

Just another Saturday morning.

The sun will rise over the mountains, keeping our home and others along the eastern bench of our valley in shade in the early morning. The sky will be bright blue as a beautiful early spring day dawns in our fair city. The half-million or so residents of the valley will rise and go about their business - some to work, others to play. All in all, it will appear to virtually everyone another normal Saturday morning, welcome not only for the start of the weekend but also for the return of fair weather after a cold, dark winter.

Yet this particular Saturday will be different.

For tomorrow a mighty beast will awaken. A creature will be unleashed; a creature whose power and might this valley has never seen.

It will appear in a city park, a normal city park where families will gather with their children to enjoy a wonderful spring morning. Among the many youth soccer fields set up in the park on this fine day, the beast will emerge, prepared to devour all who stand in its way.

Yes, the Mighty Green Dragons will take the field in the city 4-6 year old youth soccer league.

Youth soccer will never be the same in our town as the Mighty Green Dragons have their way over all who would stand before them on this and seven subsequent Saturdays.

Mommies, spare your children from the carnage.

We are the Mighty Green Dragons. Hear us ROAR!

It's great to be The Family Man (aka coach of the Mighty Green Dragons)!

Extraordinarily ordinary

I recently received the following anonymous comment to a post I wrote a few months ago:

“Ordinary and extraordinary are relative words. For you a house, a happy family and a steady job is an ordinary life. Ask the boat people desperate to come into the USA what an extraordinary life is, and chances are they will ask for maybe a fraction of what you take for granted in your everyday life. Or closer home, ask the dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane - for her, yours is the kind of life she can only live in her dreams.”

When I first read it, I felt bad.

The more I thought about it, the less bad I felt.

But I would like to take this opportunity to explore this idea a bit more.

First, I stand by my post. I am an ordinary man. There is nothing about me that is particularly unique, special, or remarkable. I say that not in a self-deprecating way. I think I have pretty good self esteem. I like myself, I’m proud of who I am. When I look in the mirror I think, other than being old and a bit heavier that I’d like, I’m a pretty decent guy.

My wife and kids love me. I’m reasonably intelligent and hard-working. At every job I’ve ever had, when I’ve moved on people have told me they’ll miss me. So I must be making a positive contribution with my labor in those places I have worked, and gotten along with my peers in the process. In other words, I don’t stick the knife in someone’s back to get ahead.

I go to church on a (somewhat) regular basis. I give a bit to charity. When the neighborhood kid comes to the door selling something for a fundraiser, I buy it.

I live in a modest home in a middle class neighborhood, indistinguishable from any home within 5 miles. Yes, I do have a hot tub and a camping machine – things not found at every house in my neighborhood, but not as uncommon as you might think.

My point in all of this? For where I live, in the time I am living, this constitutes ordinary.

As the anonymous commenter noted, ordinary is relative. I agree with her or her on that point. The ‘boat people’ or the ‘dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane’ would, no doubt, gladly trade places with me and count themselves extraordinarily fortunate.

I’ll take that one step further. It’s my unscientific opinion that if it were somehow possible to quantify the lifestyle of every single person on earth, I would probably be in the top 20% in terms of material possessions and overall quality of life. I don’t mean this in a bragging way. I’m just assuming that my USA middle (perhaps upper middle) class life, in purely economic terms, provides more security, comfort, material resources and opportunity than 80% or so of everyone else on this earth.

Surely, you’d say, that is more than ordinary.

And measured in those terms, I guess I’d agree.

What I was trying to accomplish in the original post was less about material possessions and more about achievement. I began by describing the time I met Peter Jennings, a man I admired and respected. I believe he was an extraordinary man.

Extraordinary is Abraham Lincoln. Mahatma Ghandi. Madame Curie.

Albert Einstein, born many years ago today, March 14.

Pick your hero – we all have them. People who are extraordinary stand above the rest of us – not by the things they have, but by the things they do. They influence more than the lives of family and friends – they change the world, or contribute something meaningful to society at large.

Last time I checked, I hadn’t done anything like that.

In my post I said, “My little life, pedestrian as it is, suits me just fine. There are those moments, and I’ve shared a few in this blog, when the very ordinariness of my family life is extraordinary to an exponential degree. A hug from Chris. A giggle from Tommy. A knowing glance from my wife. Each one, exceptionally ordinary. Each one, exceptionally extraordinary. And absolutely priceless.”

Where I take issue with the comment is the ‘take for granted’ part. I think I conveyed that by calling out the things that mean the most to me as priceless. Not what I own, but what my family gives me.

Sure, it helps that we are economically comfortable. But I don’t take that for granted either. I’m sitting here tonight, one day removed from surgery to repair my ACL and MCL. My knee, quite frankly, hurts like hell. I won’t walk without crutches for about 4-6 weeks, and I won’t jog for four months. Yet I am grateful that I have health insurance. I’m grateful I live in a place with quality healthcare. As I limp around the house, I’m grateful I can walk to the bathroom – unlike my mother, who spent the last 25 years of her life in a wheelchair, unable to use her legs due to an accident in her own home.

I will be the first to admit I am fortunate. I’ve done nothing to deserve what I have. And I could lose it all tomorrow. As I mentioned in this post, I’ve seen a few examples of how quickly fortune can change.

No, I’m not a boat person. I’m not a ‘dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane’ – in fact, I don’t even know what that means.

What I am is ordinary. And very grateful to be exactly that.

You know, by now, what I say.

It’s great to be The Family Man.

Snow Men Again

We’re continuing the skiing instruction with Chris and Tommy, and we’ve been making great progress.

It’s interesting to me how the boys’ personalities are and are not reflecting in their approach to skiing and their progress. Tommy, the defiant one, the boy who will swing his little fist at you for the slightest perceived transgression or slight, is a cautious, deliberate skier. He goes back and forth across the hill slowly, carefully, really carving his snowplow turns. He listens carefully to our instructions and asks for feedback – “am I doing it right, Dad? Like this?”

Chris, the sensitive, considerate, thoughtful boy, flies straight down the hill, barely turning, on the very edge of control. He cares little for instruction, barely acknowledges it, and is all but dismissive of any attempt to help him.

Since my last skiing post we’ve skied every Saturday and Sunday. We’ve progressed from the rope tow to the chairlift, and we’ve stopped using the ‘racer-chaser,’ the vest/leash device that allows a parent to ski behind a child and keep them somewhat in control. Both boys have mastered the art of the snowplow and can proceed down the easiest green run at our favorite ski mountain. MBW will closely follow one boy; I’ll follow the other, calling out instruction and/or encouragement, as the boys navigate their way down the hill.

Today was going to be our best day yet. In the morning we swung by the local ski shop and bought helmets for everyone – the boys, MBW and me. The boys had noticed helmets on other skiers and thought they were ‘cool’ – something I didn’t expect, but decided to capitalize on. I’ve been concerned that on the green runs served by the chairlift the boys might get hit by someone who’s lost control or is going too fast. Though I’ve never worn a helmet skiing, I think it’s a good idea, and we decided to lead by example and wear them ourselves.

The weather was great as we hit the slopes.

We posed for a photo near the top of the run before heading off. Chris and Tommy picked up right where they left off, skiing with confidence, having fun. The first run was a great success.

The second run started off a carbon copy of the first. Chris led, with me close behind. He smoothly skied the first section of the run, which includes a short but reasonably steep section (for green runs) and headed out to the flatter section. Spying a rise on the side of the run, he headed in that direction, off the groomed portion toward some trees. As he went up the side of the rise he began to lose momentum, so I moved to come up behind him, straddle him, and set him back on the right course. Just as I reached him, my skies wide apart, he turned sharply to the right trying to get off the rise. I turned as well, scooped him up in my arms, but my left ski did not follow my right and we crashed.

As we went down I shielded Chris as best I could, holding him close to my chest. My left knee wrenched hard as my binding did not release. Chris took a face full of snow, but otherwise was unhurt. He dusted himself off and said, “Let’s go, Dad!”

My left knee would not support my weight.

MBW and Tommy were beyond us now, having somehow passed us on the slope without seeing our crash, well on their way to the bottom of the run.

I tested my leg again, hoping somehow I could get down the hill with Chris. The pain was too intense, and I was concerned I’d fall again, perhaps do more damage.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” asked Chris.

“I’ve hurt my leg,” I said. “I’m not going to be able to ski down. Do you think you can follow the trail down to the lift and find Mom?”

“Sure, Dad,” he said with confidence. And off he went.

I wound up riding down the hill in a sled pulled by the Ski Patrol snowmobile. The Medical clinic at the ski resort gave me the happy news – torn ACL and MCL. My ski season is over, and I have orthopedic surgery and several months of rehab ahead of me.

The irony, as I sit here in the La-Z-Boy recliner, ice on my knee in a full length splint, is the safety precautions we took just today. Helmets! We’re the leading edge of safe skiing! Responsible parents modeling correct behavior for our kids! And here I am, a very experienced skier with many double black diamond conquests to my credit, tearing my ACL and MCL on a green run. Excuse me – turn away if you’re offended by profanity, but I have to say it – A FUCKING GREEN RUN.

I’m so disappointed for Chris and Tommy. They had been doing so well, having so much fun, really enjoying the activity and proud of themselves for their improvements. Now the ski season is over for all of us – the best part of the season for beginners/young kids. The weather is nicer this time of year, the snow still good. But MBW cannot take both boys by herself – what if something similar should happen to her while she had both boys? No, we can’t take that chance.

At least we’ve made progress for building on next year. And in a few weeks, soccer will start. Chris has signed up, and as I mentioned in this post, I’ll be his coach.

Which, incidentally, the meeting for rookie coaches is next Saturday.

I’ll look great hobbling in on my crutches.

It’s great to be The Family Man.