As Children Find Their Way...With Apologies to Cheerleaders Everywhere

As a middle school and early high school student, I desperately wanted to be a cheerleader. I tried out at least four times, and each time felt the crushing disappointment so familiar to the adolescent heart. During the summer between 9th and 10th grades, I practiced diligently with my big strong male partner, Glenn Babus. He made the squad. I did not.

I got to participate in recreational cheerleading (hint - I am the tall one in the middle) but at some point...

I got to participate in recreational cheerleading (hint - I am the tall one in the middle) but at some point...

I made peace with the fact that I was better on the softball field.

I made peace with the fact that I was better on the softball field.

When one of our daughters started participating in gymnastics at a young age, one of her big brothers said, “Mom, you know that gymnastics is a pipeline to becoming a cheerleader.” I don’t think that was his particular desire for his little sister, though years later, he said, “Mom, let her do whatever she wants to do.”

She started young

She started young

There are stereotypes about cheerleaders. Sometimes they prove to be true and other times, not at all. Several of my best friends through the years at one time jumped up and down and cheered on her team. They are all lovely and compassionate women.

Our oldest daughter is in the process of visiting high schools and figuring out where she will land next year. We recently visited the place she is most likely to attend. I have heard specific “mean girl” stories about one or two cheerleaders who represent this particular institution. Though our girl claims to be focused on academic matters, the possible desire to try out for cheerleading also comes up as we discuss different places she may attend. She is tiny and flexible and is a solid tumbler.

She has been thrown up into the air by big brothers for years.

She has been thrown up into the air by big brothers for years.

I have some mom friends who seem to believe that in smaller or more faith-based schools, the cheerleader climate is different. In my experience, pecking orders abound in large and small, secular and sacred spaces. I also have witnessed that we of faith sometimes kid ourselves by throwing the "God's will" card when in fact it may just be "my will." 

Deep in my heart, I have multiple reasons that I would prefer for my daughter to choose a path other than cheerleader. They range from concussion fear for a child who has already experienced one in quite a dramatic way to queen bees and wannabes concerns to personal preferences around all of the many activity options in high school. But when I cut through all of my fears, desires, and perspectives, the bottom line is that I want her to choose her own path and her own passions. Even if they make me squirm…

I remember when one of our sons was choosing his college. He had great interest in an institution that on the surface represented some values that I do not share. From my perspective, it projected a glittering image full of glitz and gimmicks to attract its students. At a certain point, my husband said to me, “OK. He is getting closer and closer to choosing this college. Are you going to throw a veto card?” My reply was, “no.”  I am so very glad that I did not.

He did go to this place, and it offered him several great opportunities: tremendous internships, small classes, and profound relationships. And as he experienced the part of that school that concerned me most, he made up his own mind. He decided that he too did not value that particular aspect of this place. I imagine that if I had thrown my veto card and insisted he choose another pathway, I would have interfered with his very own learning and maturing process. Today as I was running this story by him, he said, “Tough decision for a 17 year old, but I think it was the right one, just for different reasons than I would have ever thought.” There was no reason at all for Mom to step in and try to influence his decision.

I am doing my best to take the lessons I have learned as a mom into this next phase with our daughters. It is time for them to make choices and experience the natural benefits as well as consequences of their decisions. My husband and I will offer coaching and guidance and support all along the way. Whether or not my daughter tries out to be a cheerleader will ultimately be up to her. Either way, I will walk alongside her.

I would love to hear your stories of when you considered interfering with the choice of someone you love but refrained. Or of a time when you did and wish you hadn’t. Our children and those we love have so much to teach us.

FEAR in Parenting and Politics

I was scrolling through Facebook and came across a statement by my friend Tom Revak – “Fear is the ultimate cancer in any relationship.” It resonated with me and seems to be a descriptor of so much that I am observing and feeling these days.

Last night I was sitting at a restaurant with my two girls. For some reason the topic of grounding as a discipline method came up.  One of my girls asked a very astute question. “Mom, with kids, does it work better to scare them with a punishment or is it better to get them to do things because of a good relationship?” She doesn't consciously know this, but that question pretty much sums up one of the core paradigm shifts for me as a parent.

As is often the case these days, I had to begin my answer with this formula: “With your brothers, I did “x,” but now I believe it is better to do “y.“ So I answered her honestly, “Well I have tried both. With your brothers, I used a lot more punishment, but with you, I have come to believe that a strong, connected relationship is a healthier and more effective way to go.” She asked a follow-up question. “Would you ever ground me?” This led to a discussion on natural consequences and when grounding might fall in this category.

As I look at the weekend headlines, instilling fear toward people seems to be one tactic of our new president, particularly on the topic of refugees and others of Muslim faith. Trump’s argument for an immediate immigration freeze from a number of Middle East countries (with the very suspicious absence of several countries that have in fact been a source for terrorists BUT also are places where Trump has significant business investments) is full of scare mongering rhetoric. He appeals to our base level fears of protection and survival.

Unless we are of Native American descent, we are all from a line of refugees and foreigners from “other places.” Over and over and over again, within the Christian scriptures is the call to care for orphans, widows, and foreigners, aka strangers or refugees. They are portrayed as the most vulnerable within society. I feel sad and angry that many of the loudest religious voices in our country are silent or dismissive of this call. Thankfully, others are speaking up.

I agree with my friend Tom that “fear is the ultimate cancer in any relationship.” It is true in the parent/child arena as well as any other human interaction. We can shift the fear dynamic as we take time to listen to the stories and dreams of people different from ourselves. We can transform a relationship within our family when we do the same. When any authority figure uses fear tactics to try and control or dominate, relationships suffer.

As both a parent and a political being in today’s world, one of my go to verses is this one from I John: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.” Though creating fear is sometimes expedient and effective for a while, it takes a lot more courage and strength to pursue the path of love. I choose love in both parenting and political perspective. I hope that there are many others who desire to join me.

 

On Inauguration Day

On inauguration day I woke in the wee hours of the morning feeling unsettled and a bit disoriented.

Around 5 AM, I rose and headed to a favorite spot. I lit a candle in the dark. I meditated on “look for beauty.” Several recent instances came to mind, and I wrote them down.

 

I turned to the quotidian tasks of being mom. As my girls entered the kitchen, I confessed, “I feel melancholy, I feel sad” on this inauguration day.

My daughter stated her oft-repeated sentiment, “I am going to tell my kids I had nothing to do with this election.” Her generation offers me hope.

I sat down and I began to write, because that is my habit and my refuge.

My heart and mind turned toward a planned walk with a neighbor and her baby. Each time I look into the face of this baby girl, hope soars. I returned to the words of an author who spoke out loud my own heart so beautifully.

On inauguration day, the gray and dreary conditions outside echo the melancholy within. It was my turn to drive the carpool today, and so I did. My church is situated along our route and the chimes reverberated just as we passed by.

I stopped at a community gathering spot and got something warm to drink. I headed home, re-lit my candle, and set myself up by the fireplace. Rather than tune into radio or television, I choose quiet and stillness on this day.

On this inauguration day, I grieve, but not without hope. There is much work to do.

****

PS I highly recommend the above linked writing by Rachel Held Evans on 2016 and the risk of birth. Lovely.

 

The girl in the polka dot dress

Last night, my girl wearing a now tattered and torn polka dot dress, twirled in it for the last time.

 

A hand me down dance costume among many, for some reason this one became the most loved. Beginning at the age of three, it was worn hundreds of times and for many an occasion. Sometimes she could get her more tomboyish sister to join in the dress-up fun, but the polka dot dress was the one she almost always chose.

Maybe it was the twirlability of this garment that drew her again and again to put it on. Or maybe it was something else - the feel of the material, the sparkly red trim, or the polka dots. Which of us can fathom the magic that is present when a childhood object becomes our very own velveteen rabbit?

Her petite frame squeezed one last time into this polka dotted space. Today, I fold up this dress and place it back in her memory box. Maybe someday another little girl will embrace this now frayed and worn childhood costume.

As my girl declared that this was her very last trick-or-treating Halloween, I once again felt the co-mingling of joy and sorrow along this journey called motherhood. Her choice of costume is deeply symbolic. One last dance with a swiftly passing childhood.

As I reflect on last night and the history of the polka dot dress, emotion wells up and tears moisten my eyes. The focus of these days is “where will she go to high school?” How did we get here so soon? You would think that as a mom with twenty-nine years in the trenches, I would not get surprised. I know where this pathway leads. Yet the speed at which a childhood goes by has once again ambushed my mother’s heart.

As I take another step toward letting her go out into the world, I hope that she always remembers how to twirl. I hope that the sheer abandon and joy that she expresses when she hits the dance floor is always accessible to her. I hope that she knows how very deep and wide and piercing and profound is the love that her mom feels for her. I dream of days ahead when there are still moments and days in which we twirl in and out of each other’s lives. 

 

Possibilities beckon

In the years and days gone by, for coming up on twenty-five years, this is a place where much Wilson family life has transpired. Especially summer time life.

It is the specific place where each of our five children learned to be competent and reasonably strong swimmers. This goal was especially important to a mom who grew up in Florida where swimming pools and oceans abound. When our sons were coming along and participating in summer swim team year after year after year, many values and lessons were learned.

Through the years, both hurricane damage and financial struggles have threatened to shut this neighborhood gathering space down. But dedicated, hardworking and creative people always found a way to open the doors on Memorial day weekend and provide a much desired respite from the months of North Carolina heat.

Right beside this tree surrounded summer oasis, there are two tennis courts. Most of the summer days of our boys’ childhoods were spent on the courts or in the pool and most often in both places. Because of the effects of a nearby creek, the courts were always cracked and almost always had grass and weeds growing up through the many crevices in its surface, yet children still learned to serve and volley on this imperfect terrain. Sadly, the unfriendly elements won the battle for this space. There are dreams and plans to reinvent this fenced in territory in days ahead, but for now there is silence where the back and forth of tennis ball connecting to racquet as well as the sounds of mostly friendly competition used to float through the air.

Our boys were more of the “coach’s award” type kids than MVP winners. I am happy that they were teachable and cooperative as they learned skills and played away their summer days.

For such a small, modest neighborhood swim club, there have been a high number of swimmers sprinkled throughout the neighborhood that earned college scholarships. There was even one guy who was part of a gold medal winning relay team in the 2012 Olympics. Charlie is kind of a neighborhood legend, and some of our sons’ best swim team memories happened when they were called upon to swim relay races with this lightning fast neighbor. As anchor, he could always bring it home.

This is also the place where our youngest daredevil daughter began jumping off of the high dive at a very young age. The lifeguard on duty encouraged and cajoled her and off she went. The bribe was a “jolly pop” - a frozen, sweet, forever 25 cent treat that comes in red and yellow and green and blue and orange and my personal favorite, white.

Despite the myriad country clubs and fancy pools in our city, the girls’ friends are always so very excited that we are heading to this particular pool. As one of only a handful of pools within our city where a high dive remains (I understand that if it ever breaks, it can never be replaced due to insurance restrictions), many hard working and handy people have figured out ways to keep this rite of childhood springboard open. It truly is a special place.

When we moved away from this neighborhood a few years back, I knew that when the soaring heat of summer came calling, I would miss the convenience of a two- block walk to this magical place. That has played out. We now drive the 15-20 minutes to get there, but the visits are infrequent enough to have become impractical. Life changes.

The other day, I drove up to this spot where I have spent hundreds of summer days. As I recalled many lovely memories, at the same time, I felt a bluesy sadness in my gut. It became clear that it is time to say a kind of goodbye to this peaceful oasis in the woods. This will be the last summer that we are formal members of this “anyone is welcome club” (well, anyone who can pay the dues).

As with so many other recent milestones and passages, it is not just about a longing or sadness around hanging out in this particular space. As I look around at the new and young families splashing around and enjoying the hot summer days, there are fewer and fewer that I recognize. “Six and under swimmers” turn into kid catchers who then post up on the lifeguard stand. It seems to happen overnight as the circle of life is played out right before our eyes. My own children are growing up and three of them are in fact grown. Life rolls on.

I, myself, feel a bit like those crackled tennis courts. A small and specific territory that is ripe to be re-made and re-purposed for days ahead. There are feelings of nostalgia about what has taken place in the past coupled with hopes and dreams about what is to come. There are endless prospects and an excitement around the choices before me. With gratitude for the past and the path I have taken, I also look forward to the shifts and transformations ahead. The possibilities beckon.