I was reading the book, Every Moment Matters by John O’ Sullivan when I came across this passage:
Far too many coaches think skill is the aggregation of various techniques that are then applied in a linear fashion back into the competition. That fundamentally misunderstands the fact that skill is something that requires context to develop. You cannot separate it from context. You need problems to be solved in order to develop skill. In a practice with no game-like activities, with no defenders or direction to force decision-making, there may be technical development, but there is very little skill development. And without skill development, there is no transfer.
As I read this passage, I thought about the implications it had on my parenting (which is weird, because I chose this book so that it could inform my coaching).
I am a father. I am not so much a helicopter father, but I am an asshole parent. I am that guy who will not let his kids do “whatever the other kids are doing.” I am that guy who creates hard-line expectations for his children that have consequences if not met. I am the guy whose children are the last in the class to have the latest technology/social media platform. I am their father; it is my duty to protect them. To say that I do not enjoy wearing that badge would be an outright lie; I wear it as a badge of honor.
Until I realize that there is a fine line between protection and shielding.
The book continues,
Transfer is the ability of a learner to successfully apply the behaviors, knowledge, and skills acquired in a practice environment to the competition. If training environment does not mimic those game conditions or if it poses decisions and scenarios that are no encountered in a game, then transfer does not occur.
In the parenting realm, this means that if I am applying discipline to my children for them to be able to transfer lessons into real-life situations, that is a pat on the back for me. But, if I am applying discipline that shields them from transferring lessons into real-life situations, then shame on me. I would be blocking the side of the discipline that promotes learning.
The hope is for my children to find themselves in a situation and mentally go through this checklist before making a decision:
Perceive the situation.
Conceive of possible solutions.
Decide on the best solution.
Deceive their opponent, if necessary.
Technically execute their best solution.
Asses their choice and prepare for the next day.
Is there a right or wrong answer when it comes to handling situations, no. There are only positive and negative consequences based on their decisions and actions. Hopefully, when they are conflicted, my likeness can pop on their shoulder and point them in the right direction.
Retirement could be epic. I am looking forward to retirement, but I have 4 kids and may not be able to retire until I am about 72. Primarily because of the cost of health insurance.
It is way cheaper to eat healthy down here. You can buy a ton of vegetables at the local market for very little money. I am pretty sure my wife and I are the colors of the rainbow.
I need the sun and heat. The winter months get really long in the Midwest – especially if you are a teacher. I was so much happier when I took a walk. I was much more content, and my sanity was intact.
Birds can be assholes. It has been a long time since I was awakened by the sounds of birds. At first, it was delightful. Later in the trip, it became just plain annoying. I like birds, but I am pretty sure they were arguing with each other at dawn.
I need mountains. I am from Alaska, and it has been 20+ years since I have been home. So I have not seen an actual mountain in a long time. Until this trip, I had forgotten how happy I am driving through rock formations. I definitely took that for granted.
Snowbirds. Many people travel to Arizona for the winter months. I am definitely taking notes these snowbirds are definitely living life correctly. There is only so many -20 says I can stand before I snap.
Damn them Kids. I love my kids, but I have to get away from them. Do I miss them? A little. Do I feel bad about leaving them? Hell. No. I would love to take the kids along on an airplane, but they will have plenty of opportunities to travel with their peers. If the choir is taking a trip to Philadelphia, they’d better fa-la-la their asses onto that flight!
Super-light packing. If there is a way to wash my clothes, then I pack the following: cargo shorts, walking shoes, a ball cap, shades, swim trunks, jeans, sweatshirt, and a t-shirt. Most of which I will be wearing. The rest should fit in a backpack. If it fits, it ships.
Rock-Grass. I suppose you can spend your money on better things than watering your grass. So, why not replace your lawn with colored landscaping rock – makes perfect sense!
Life is too short. There are times when you are faced with your mortality. This trip was a wake-up call for me. There a lot of people who are 55+ in Arizona. It was refreshing to see so many of them going on about their lives: hiking, golfing, biking, etc. It reminded me of how quickly time passes and how important it is to not sweat the small stuff.
Vacationing is always better with a partner. Having a wingman (or woman) is invaluable. It would be best if you had someone who is down to do whatever. Someone who is on the same wave as you are. Who not better than your significant other. This is not something that I just picked up in Arizona, but it is nice knowing that your trip is going to be awesome.
Here is the thing, gentlemen. I have an attitude problem. I am very quick to get offended and I am the type of person who will use confrontation in order to resolve it. So, when I say this, I am coming from a place of caring and understanding.
The lesson of this post: Live to see another day.
This is a line that could save your life, your career, or your marriage.
I was driving home with both kids in the van when a car cuts across two lanes and almost puts me into a snowbank. Being the person that I am, I follow the car for another mile before the car pulls over and a young man gets out. Two things become obvious at this point:
I can kick his ass for sure.
I am going to kick his ass for sure.
So what did I do?
I drove away.
First, I don’t know what this guy may have had on him. He could have had a weapon, and if he did, what was I prepared to do about it — especially with kids in the van?
Second, I knew that I could kick this kid’s ass, but then what? Sure, I would have immediately felt better — until the consequences hit. People are not built like they used to. They admit wrongs and take their deserved lickings. He would have gone to the police, and I would have been arrested for assault, which may have resulted in the loss of my job and/or career. That would have messed with my money; and doing that is a no-no.
Third, he could have retaliated in an unforeseen way — always a bad deal.
Fourth, what example would I show my kids? That if you can overpower a person who offends you, kick their ass? Let me be clear; if there is a person who threatens the well-being of you and/or your loved ones. Kick their ass, enjoy kicking their ass, and make them remember it so you don’t have to kick their ass again. But, if what the person did was only offended you, keep walking.
So, what is my point?
It is super easy to get mad, threaten violence, and even act on that violence. But, in the end, where does that leave you? Always hurting yourself. When people get in trouble for violent acts, it is often because of a split-second lapse of judgment. By the time their wits are about them, they realize that they did something that they are unable to fix or take back. Don’t take the easy way out. I am not saying that you will not want to, I am saying try your best not to. In any given situation, you have more to lose than they do.
Previously, I had written about my pet-peeve of complaining about a situation without having a call to action. I discussed how the mentality that “somebody should really do something about that” is far too commonplace in our society. Individuals should get off of their butts and do something, rather than talking about what others should do.
It seems that I have arrived at one of those instances where I need to put my money where my mouth is. It is time for me to take the next step in being involved in my growing community. It is time for me to take the reigns and become a leader that envokes change and accepts constructive criticism.
It is time for me to run for public office.
No, I am not running for Mayor.
But I am going to run for a position on the City Council.
Never in a million years did I think I was going to run for office. However, as the years have gone by (and my house became more crowded), I realized that a person has to get involved in the community to improve it. So, I have worked to build our community and make an impact. But I want to make a more significant difference. A seat on the City Council can do that.
Running for office is not about me. This is about having the ability to make a powerful difference for the good of the community.
I want to improve the overall economic health of the community.
I want to be a person who actively listens to the community and votes with their considerations.
I want to create opportunities for our children to grow up in a community that gave them every opportunity to become successful citizens.
We live in a wonderful city. I want to help make it even better.
So, there I am. Sitting alone in the living room when an argument breaks out between my two daughters. My dear, bold, wife has informed them that their room is a pigsty, and she would like it clean. NOW.
“These are all her clothes!”
“These are all of her books!”
“That is her side of the room!”
All of this culminates in:
“If I had my own room, it would be spotless!”
Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t believe that bullshit for a minute. Instead of worrying about one room, I will now have to worry about two separate bedrooms, two separate attitudes, and two separate sets of excuses. Ultimately, this will result in too many glasses of wine at night.
But, being that both of my daughters are as tall as I am, and have appetites the size of two high school middle linebackers; they should probably get the chance to prove the inevitable, right?
Here is my point:
Nothing is my own.
My child is taking over my beloved office, and she has requested that I clear the walls of all pictures, relics, and memories (probably so that she can put up posters of the latest boy band — heaven forbid).
I sit down after a hard days’ work with a plate of food. All of a sudden, I am the most famous person in the house. “What’s that?” “Can I have some?” “I am hungry.”
(Or, if you are my youngest, you just grab whatever you want to any person’s plate).
I want to go to the gym, but my child needs me to take them sledding/to the park/ to an event/ to get something for school/ to get something from school/etc. Me time? What me time? What the hell is that?
Just when you think that you are ready to call it a day, you hear a cough, a gag, and…puke. Now it is a quick change of bed and bath time at 2 in the morning. Work is going to go so well tomorrow morning.
Imagine. You finally get enough money squared away to replace all of the cabinetry in your kitchen. You get the work done, and when completed, you love what you see — custom cabinetry that is exactly like you envisioned it. Now imagine one of your little cherubs finding a permanent marker and playing Pablo Picasso using the cabinets as a canvas.
Back in junior high, I decided to try my hand at organized basketball. It was the sport that I grew up around. The Dream Team was big at the time, and everyone in my neighborhood of us would go to the local park for a pick-up game where we would pretend to be one of the members. In my eighth-grade year, I was excited to try out for the junior high varsity squad.
This was going to be my year!
During tryouts, I would hustle for every loose ball, grab every rebound with authority, and make every type of impossible layup that I could to impress the coach. When tryouts were over. The coach said that he would deliberate and paste a list on the locker room floor. I left out of there feeling like I conquered the world — of course I made it!
Until hours later, when I, along with another friend and teammate were summoned into the head coaches’ office:
“Well, I am going to come right out and say it, you two are at the bottom of the varsity list, so I will give you a choice. You either can choose to be on varsity squad were you may not play very much — if at all, or you can play junior varsity as an 8th grader, where you will most likely start. I will give you a day to think about it.”
Both of us looked at each other and said in unison,
“Nope. We don’t need a day, We’ll play junior varsity.”
Truthfully, we did not give a shit which team we played on, we just wanted to play basketball.
Towards the middle of the season, I started noticing a guy sitting awkwardly in the bleachers after halftime of each home game. He would sit with his back on the above bleachers with his elbows pulled up, chest level rested on them — like he was sitting in a Laz-E-Boy. He was lightly swinging a bottle of Diet Coke in one hand, his legs were crossed, and he was wearing a red and light blue jumpsuit. The expression on his face was as if he did not have a care in the world.
Who in the Hell is this joker?!
Whose dad is this?
Each home game, I would often make jokes about the awkward, guy white-haired guy who sat mid-bleacher.
Until one day, one of the varsity players overheard me.
“Dude, that is Chuck White. That is the head coach of the East Anchorage Thunderbirds!”
I will take this time to add context —
The East Anchorage Thunderbirds are a storied team coached by a legend. They literally were the “New York Yankees of Alaska” — everyone loved to hate us. We are talking about a team that not only won the basketball boys state championship almost every year but also had players going to play college ball somewhere in the country. As far as anyone in our school was concerned, making a Thunderbird roster was making it out of any kind of negative environment that you were in.
And so, I found my mission: play junior varsity this year, impress the coach with my play while I had him in the audience during the second half, and make a Thunderbird roster when I got to high school.
And, wouldn’t you know it, my sophomore year, I, along with four others made the team.
Let me be clear, there were significant benefits to making the varsity team. You received:
A practice jersey with shorts,
Travel sweats with your jersey number,
A travel jacket and pants embroidered with your name and number (the same red and blue ones that I would see him wear when in junior high), and,
Team shoes. Yup. As a sophomore, I had arrived.
What I did not realize was, making the team would be the easiest part of this journey. In the three years that I was on the squad, Coach White would continue to teach me lessons that I would carry with me for the rest of my life.
Although you are small, you can still be mighty: I have no idea what Coach saw in me when he decided to put me on varsity sophomore year. I couldn’t shoot well, my free throw percentage was garbage, and at 5’11”, I played post — where everyone else was 6’2″ and up. Years later when I asked coached why he chose me, he said, “Just because you aren’t six-foot-five does not mean you can’t play like you are six-foot-five.”
Coach them hard, love them harder: A majority of the tactics employed by coach would not be accepted by parents today. He expected a lot from you both on, and off, of the court. If you were not able to perform, keep promises, or take care of responsibilities, he did not have time for you. Being part of his team meant playing your part a system that required maximum time and effort; not everybody was cut out for that system. But if you stayed around long enough, you knew that you were part of a brotherhood – something that was bigger than you.
A measure of a man is not by how much he uses profanity: Although this is true, I do use a lot of profanity still (Sorry, Chuck). Many would watch this man become splittingly mad (seriously, splittingly). But he would never curse. He would stomp his foot or hit his chair, exclaiming, “GOD BLESS IT!” But cursing was beneath him.
Although people are not perfect. It does not mean that you cannot expect it from your athletes. He would always say. “I know we can’t be perfect all of the time, but we can darn sure work towards it.” Coach paid attention to every detail, which is why his teams would execute every offensive and defensive play with precision.
If your athletes make mistakes, it is the coach’s lack of preparation: Coach did not take too kindly to losing; we barely ever did. But he knew that when we did lose, we were not prepared physically, or mentally. So he did everything he could to help us get another victory.
The “Our Father” prayer: He was careful to never participate with us. But he knew how important prayer was. So, every game, he would give us our pre-game talk, then quickly leave so that we had our moment of prayer.
Not to give a damn what other people thought: I have never seen a person who was hated, but loved; respected, yet revered; accepted, but feared. I thought those things could not go together. But they can. And truth be told, I don’t think he gave one damn who was on what side. I watched him chew a ref out, get kicked out of a game, then joke around with the same referee 15 minutes after the game had ended. He never took it personally.
Fake Hustle. This is something that he would yell constantly. (the other thing he would do – call you by your mother’s name while your mother sat behind you, laughing).
Every tough guy has a soft spot: East High teams were known for their defensive schemes. You had to be able to interpret a crazy numbering system he had and be able to carry out any directives to perfection. This system, when done correctly, made our team one of the most feared in the state. This meant that players had to be in their top physical condition in order to keep up with these demands.We ran.A lot.And after we ran, we ran some more.
But there was a way out of running — his daughter showing up to practice. We had finally found his kryptonite. She was the same age as I and would often go to the practices waiting for her father. When she did, he got a big smile on his face and eased up on the crushers. During classes, we would often beg her to show up at the end — before conditioning, of course.
It doesn’t matter if the other team knows your plays, winning is about execution: Anyone who has played for or against a Coach White team knows the plays 2 High (or 4 High), 4 Low, Kentucky, Open and Basic (there were a few others, but it really didn’t deviate from there). So why did they work? How was he so successful? Because there was a lot of autonomy in those plays. There was always an option B, C, and D if A did not work. He played chess while the opposing coach played checkers.
I could go on and on with the lessons both big and small that I learned from Coach White. But, I was not the only athlete that had the privilege to be under his care. Upon his passing, hundreds of men gave testimony to his caring, nurturing, and tough-as-nails discipline. His 914 wins, 18 state titles, and 81 percent winning average pails in comparison to the impact that he left on so many young men. He gave 45 years of coaching and mentorship to a community that so desperately needed it; his wife gave a piece of her husband and gained many sons; his daughter and son gave a piece of their father and gained many brothers. Learning of his death was a sad day for many. A pivotal figure in our lives went to heaven. What a gift he gave us all. Rest in paradise, Coach. We love you.
Junior high sucks so far. First of all, why do the hallways of the school smell like teen spirit, angst, armpit, elbows and toes, and Axe? Every time I walk into a junior high school, I wonder how the custodians are going to clear the building of that smell. Do they open all of the doors and windows to the school for an hour before school starts and for an hour after school ends?
Nope. That odor is in the paint. Yup, definitely in the paint.
Like seriously, what is going on here?! First of all, my loving, innocent child is now doing everything to not noticeably be my child.
She rolls her eyes at me;
she sucks her teeth at me;
she is constantly mumbling under her breath after I tell her to do the smallest task;
and, she has become a parenting guru — often stating how other parents “do not treat their children this way.”
This child is literally walking around my house as if I don’t pay for shit – like I am not her lifeline – like I am only her landlord, and she is my tenant. She barely looks up at her phone when discussing anything with us.
Yes, the phone: The social connection with the virtual outside world that is ironically keeping her from physically connecting with the actual outside world. It is like pulling teeth to get her to part with that thing.
When an actual person talks to her, like, I don’t know, her mother and me; she stays fixated on the phone, smiling. The only time I get a response is when she looks up at me — usually with a scowl.
Screw it, she should move out. That will show her.
Shit. That is illegal.
Wait. Is it?
The chores are always half-assed completed. For example:
“Hey, can you put this in the garbage in the kitchen for me?”
(looks up from her phone, the one I pay for, sucks teeth) “Fine. Whatever.”
Where do I find that item that was supposed to be in the garbage? Oh look, it is on the damn counter!
Next to the garbage can.
She’s trying to kill me.
Yup, that’s it. She is trying to kill me. She wants my blood pressure to go through the roof. She is trying to make me have a cardiac arrest. That has to be it – because there is no viable reason why she would be doing this to me, right?
There is a positive. My child is sweet to me when she wants money. Yup, money is definitely a motivator. I can get her to do a lot of chores for a dollar.
But she wants a $10 bill? Oh, hell, no!
Ope, there we go. I am the biggest asshole in the world again. I can hear her saying it under her breath.
And really? The entire world? All the people in this world, and I am the biggest asshole?
On second thought, maybe she is right, but that is not the point.
Holy shit, we are not even halfway through the year!
In the financial world, return on investment refers to the ratio between net profit (over a period) and cost of investment (resulting from an investment of some resources at a point in time). A high return on investment means the investment’s gains compare favorably to its cost. As a performance measure, return on investment is used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or to compare the efficiencies of several different investments.
Recently my wife and I have come to terms with the fact that, because we have kids, we will not:
a) live forever. As a matter of fact, we think the “kids make you live longer” research is bullshit,
b) never get enough sleep,
c) never have the nest egg in our bank account that we desire.
So, we both figured. Fuck it, maybe we should throw caution to the wind a little and invest in our kids’ experiences. Perhaps we should show them some things that might be in the history books instead of them being told about it in school. We did set parameters:
We will not clear out our bank account;
We will not spend any of our retirement;
We will not borrow money from anyone or any entity.
We scrounged up the little money we had in investments from when I was younger, budgeted the funds that we had, and picked up some odds-and-ends jobs. But, most importantly, we had to redefine what an investment meant.
When I was younger, with not much money, I started to dabble in things such as ETFs, bonds, and futures, I loved looking at ways that I could grow my wealth. I would read the prospectus of different companies (who the hell actually reads those), look through the tickers on all of the financial networks, and check out the financial history of prospective companies that I could invest in. I was really hardcore!
But as I got older, I started to question how long I would hold these investments. I began to wonder what an investment really was. Especially after having our first child and needing a bigger house, a more dependable car, and diapers. God! Diapers!
Is a child an investment? In what? Futures?
What is the rate of return? When do I start to account for profit or loss?
How will I know if the current rate is running in the positive or negative?
The answer: You don’t, and you never will.
A child is a super heavy, crazy large investment. One that is hard to analyze or compute your return on that investment. Sure, it is all nice and dandy to say, “Every child is a gift that will last a lifetime,” but it is really freaking hard to keep telling yourself that when your rate of return is rolling their eyes when you have a simple request. Or, when your precious investment breaks a different investment because they won’t stop bouncing the damn ball in the house as you told them not to do 100. But, I am not angry.
Not that angry…
Now that we have decided to invest in family, what does that look like?
Basically, it looks like us saying yes to a bunch of expenses that we would normally say no to. It looks like we are going to spend our money on experiences rather than things, which is good, because it allows me to go into the house and announce, “Okay, we are getting rid of your shit! We are minimizing! Round up the stuff you plan to donate!
My wife says, “You will need someone to push that wheelchair to the home, you know?” I hope that is true. Yes, I hope they are good people. Yes, I hope they give me grandkids, but I would be lying if I did not admit that I would love it if they would place me in a charming home and come visit me every now and then.
Where have I been? Yes, I know, I have not written a post for a while.
I took a break this summer. I took some “me” time. I did this for one primary reason:
I am selfish.
I don’t feel ashamed.
I don’t owe anybody an apology.
I needed time.
I am a husband, I am a father, I am a coach of many disciplines, an educator, a doctoral student, I am a school board member, a committee member, a writer, and a very active community member – I wear a lot of hats.
I do it gladly – I love being busy, I love having projects, and I love giving myself to others.
But, unfortunately, I burned out.
I found out that I was pulling myself in too many directions, which made me less effective in all other aspects; but most importantly, I was not an effective father or husband. And that is not okay.
So I put all of my responsibilities aside. I walked away from everything.
Except for family.
Family is essential, and we must place emphasis on spending as much time with them as possible. Kids grow up, parents work, significant others get busy. It is too easy to let the time fly by due to everyday “business of life.”
I refused to let that happen. So, I made a conscious decision:
I traveled with family.
I lived with reckless abandon.
I learned a lot about my kids’ lives.
I reconnected with my wife.
It was awesome.
The moral of this story? We all get super busy with life. Make sure you take the time to see what is around you; not just what is in front of you. We are constantly reminded that we do not have very many years on this earth. Make sure you take the time to reflect on what is essential and what is sacred. If there is something that you want to do; someplace you wish to see; someone that you want to spend time with – do it!
I know what you are going to say, “Not everyone has the time and/or resources to cast responsibility aside…”
…And I will gladly call bullshit on that statement… mostly because it is the easy answer.
Yes, we only have 16 hours in our day. A good portion of that day is taken up with employment. But that still leaves us time to practice the things to which I am speaking – we just have to make it a priority.
Just make sure you fill your own bucket first.