One morning, during a boiling little league extravaganza that watched us being blown away inning after inning, my stranger-dar went off. An elderly African-American gentleman was sitting and watching the game and he’d make little comments regarding stance and how the children were holding the bat. I smiled to myself as it occurred to me that he was a former coach watching the game and that none of these were his grandchildren. He was there for love of the game.

As I listened to his comments, men came up to him, one after another, with looks on their faces such as one might give a celebrity. Slack-jawed, excited, awed and amazed. “Do you remember me?” They addressed him with such reverence and each of them took the time to sit with him, reminisce, and then tell him how much he meant to them and what they were doing now. Some pointed out their own children in their brightly colored uniforms and, with smiles, let him know that their kids didn’t make the same baseball mistakes they did. No, sir.

What I saw was pure respect for this man. A man who’d coached little league for over 20 years, he’d tell me at another game. Some of his former players are doctors and lawyers and a few played in college. When the game was slow, he’d shake his head and look at me with an impish grin, “Don’t they know a hit is as good as a walk? What are they waiting for?” I laughed and agreed. At this stage in little league, there are few pitches worth hitting, but when they are there, I sure wish they’d go after them, too. The games are an hour and a half long and the parents are there diligently. Show us some action!

He still comes to the ballpark because he loves the games, he loves the kids and when he’s there, people treat him like a celebrity. He made a difference! Not a small difference, a huge difference. For 20 years he was a coach to some special kids who got to have him as a teacher, a role model, a friend, a counselor, a surrogate parent and a cheerleader. He wiped tears, encouraged them, taught them fundamentals and sportsmanship and left a lasting impression on these people that they haven’t forgotten.

They treat him with awe and they respect him. How many of us have adults that we revered as such when we were growing up? That we treat with such honor when we see them? He has at least 3 come up to him every game and he treats every one of them like they are the only one who has ever done it. He still makes them feel special.

I feel special just to be able to watch what he does and how he’s affected them.

How are you making a positive impact on the lives of children around you? Will they revere and respect you in 20 years? If not, what can you do to change it?

And sometimes…we don’t need more than that. Sometimes, as people, we just need enough. So for today, I offer you my enough. Each of you makes me smile, think and realize things about myself that I would not otherwise realize. Thank you for enough.

I spent some time this evening reflecting and pushing myself out of my comfort zone and letting myself talk to others and be myself again and what I realized is that my struggle is not singular. If I’m having a bad weekend, someone else reading this is struggling as well. I want you to know that even if your heart is breaking, your body is aching, your mind feels lost and you feel fragile…you are not alone and someone cares deeply for you. The things that happen are hard and heart-breaking and stunning, but they are not the end for you.

Continue to grow and love and move forward. I’m going to try to do the same along with you.

However, it flickers. Oh, how it flickers. Like a flame just looking for a little encouragement to grow, it flickers and sparks and waits for the opportunity to shine. Unlike many adults, children don’t necessarily need to shine in front of others or with the purpose of recognition, or even allow their flame to grow at all. Sometimes, they just flame away without even thinking about it and move on. Such simple love and kindness.

I’ve seen this happen repeatedly in my life. Often during my time with my son and his friends and during my time in the school system. A few weeks ago, I saw it during a warm evening at the ballpark.

I was standing in line for one of the forty or so gatorades I buy every year at the concession stand when I saw him: the blonde little boy in front of me who was patiently waiting his turn. He couldn’t have been more than 8, at most, and was clutching three dollars. It was a school night and his eyes looked tired and sad. It was approaching 9 and he must have been at one of the early games and stayed for a sibling game.

I saw his eyes scan the menu. Hamburgers, Chicken (our stand serves Chik-fil-a!), hot dogs, french fries, sodas, energy drinks and many various candies. His little blonde head nodded slightly downward as he looked at the canisters in the front of the stand. Air heads, $0.25. Ring pops, $0.75. Tips for good service, please. Condiments. Napkins. Forks.

He looked carefully back to the menu and then to the canisters again and softly said, “French Fries, please.” The boy at the counter said, “Sure, kid. Anything else?” The little boy looked down at the canisters again, looking hard at the ring pops, and I saw him swallow. “No, no thank you.” He handed the concession stand worker his two dollars and waited for his french fries. They came promptly. He smiled, said thank you and deposited his $1 in the tip canister.

Generosity of spirit can be found in the most unexpected places. I am a lucky woman to find it in so many.

When AJ had his Kentucky incident, I didn’t think. I smacked Leon to get his attention and then I ran. I haven’t ran in years, but I ran to him. I couldn’t help him or make him better, but he needed me and I needed to be with him.

When the people we love are in trouble, we react quickly and emotionally.

Recently, I was watching footage of the Dallas motorcade with JFK and Jackie and I reacted to it rather strongly. Warning: Graphic language coming.

I’ve probably watched the grainy footage from Dallas 100 times in my 30 years. I’ve noticed many things about it and have looked at it from various mental angles. However, this particular time, when I watched it, what kept coming back to me was that Jackie reacted quickly and instinctively to keep Jack safe. I have no idea what the state of their marriage was. By all accounts, it was not the most functional, but whose is? However, she recovers from shock quickly and scrambles to the back of a moving car to grab pieces of his brain matter and then pulls him down to keep him safe.

Brain matter isn’t like a finger or a toe. You can’t sew it back on. Once Jack was hit and it was exposed, it was gone. He was gone.

When the people we love are in trouble, we react quickly and emotionally.

It wasn’t rational to scramble across a moving vehicle when bullets were flying around her, but love motivates people to do things they wouldn’t otherwise do. It gives us strength to do things that we don’t know we can.

I’m in awe of its power. Always and completely.

I’m serious.

30 is coming soon. So, for those of you that have been wondering, that makes me the grand age of 29. In the South, women don’t tell their age. Luckily, I’m a transplanted Northerner who is attempting to be Southern, but who talks to much to make that happen. I’m also not afraid of aging, which I think is anti-cultural for this area.

Recently, in this blog, my friend, QT, made the comment that I was “What? All of 23 years old?” I grinned and laughed it off. I took it as a compliment, and who wouldn’t, but at the same time, I realize that growing older doesn’t have to scare me.

Part of this comes from the realization that my 20′s never felt typical to me. I’ve already discussed that and I still feel the way I felt then.

30 feels like a gift. The opportunity to be the woman I want to be in a manner that is comfortable, rather than struggling. Instead of finding myself, I’ll be defining myself. I found a white hair on my head the other day and celebrated that I will be having white hair (which will be gorgeous with my fair skin) instead of dishwater gray.

30 is the new 20 is the new…who cares?

I am deciding who I am in the next decade.

I am so excited.

And you get to come with me. The party happens soon! Who wants cake?

This story, though, is about a high school teacher who did something extraordinary in a moment of frustration.

I was either a sophomore or a junior in high school and taking a required history course. I’ll call my teacher Mr. Smith, but he has an extremely distinguished name and he has done so much for the small community that I grew up in, that if you googled him, you’d find him. I’m not sure he wants to be found. He’s a small treasure to be sure. But this is my memory, not his memoir and so he is Mr. Smith.

Every day, Mr. Smith came in and tried to teach a room full of students, who were taking a required course, that history is fundamental, important and interesting. For the record, history is interesting to me, but I was 15 or 16 and had other things on my mind. However, I did look forward to Mr. Smith’s class every day. His personality was such, that you felt like you were in on some secret knowledge by listening to what he had to say.

However, our environment wasn’t the best. We didn’t have air conditioning in the school and we had old school radiators in the classrooms. Often, in the summer, it was sweltering and in the winter it was freezing. It was hard to concentrate and when the school had big events, like homecoming, prom, or big sports events, students had a hard time focusing on their education.

The day I’m thinking of was one such day. As usual, Mr. Smith had poured his heart into his class, and, for whatever reason, we couldn’t focus. I remember feeling more tired than usual and being irritated that the class wouldn’t be quiet so I could zone out a bit. After 15 minutes of attempting to gain our attention, I saw something that I had never seen before and I never saw again.

Mr. Smith lost his temper. In a big way.

He slammed his book down on the desk and wailed on us. This was our education and we couldn’t be bothered to be present in his class. He’d put quite a bit into his work that day and this information was going to be on our next test. However, we were being rude and insolent and he’d had enough. So, he was going to sit down and he wanted to know which of us would be willing to teach the class, because he wasn’t going to do it.

There were crickets in that classroom. No one said a word. Mr. Smith had never raised his voice, let alone throw a temper tantrum.

I looked around and 2 things occurred to me: 1/no one was going to volunteer 2/I was just enough of a smart-aleck to do it.

I raised my hand, stood up and went to his overhead projector. I heard him say “Jillian, excellent. It’s good to see that someone is willing to step up for all of you. I look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

This is a fatal flaw within myself. I still do it to this day. If a teacher asks a question, and no one in the classroom will answer, I will try, even if I fail miserably. I can’t stand letting the teacher hang or letting the class hang. I’m working on that first-born responsibility mentality.

Honestly, I don’t know what kind of job I did that day. I knew the material and I did my best.
After class, Mr. Smith came up to me and said, “Jillian, that was impressive. Have you considered being a teacher?” I told him I hadn’t, but that I enjoyed it. He let me know he was impressed with my moxie and appreciated what I had done with his class.

I never saw him lose his temper again and the class was attentive from that point on. My self-esteem received a great boost that day.

Last Spring, I taught my first undergraduate class. I carried Mr. Smith’s words with me every day, especially on the hard ones. Most especially on the days my class was inattentive or the class was hot or cold.

Teachers…mentors…who has changed you life?

One thing that Leon’s article was missing was something that I realized he probably didn’t value the way I did. Rather than asking him to write about it, I decided to write about it myself, thus adding value back to it and giving myself more bang for my blogging buck. What? I’m honest.

Here’s the deal, though. Leon didn’t get this the way I didn’t understand why he almost peed his pants over the Chick-fil-a jokes: I didn’t connect to it on the same level he did. Leon has an unnatural love of Chick-fil-a sandwiches, so the jokes were tear producing for him. Ralphie took some time to talk about serious topics as well as comedy, and one of them was self-image.

His main comment on this was that our culture sucks in that we put all of this emphasis on looks. Women essentially wear makeup for other women and that as long as men are getting laid, they rarely care if you wear it. If they do care, there are bigger issues, etc. You can fill in the jokes there. He made fun of everyone, including himself. But, for 5 minutes of that show, he told every woman in that audience how beautiful they were and you know what? I think we needed to hear it. I know I did.

It doesn’t matter who is telling it, we need to hear it. Yes, I know “you should be able to feel beautiful on your own without someone telling you.” Well, I’m telling you that the idea of that is an idealistic one in this society. Shoulda woulda coulda.

The bottom line is that some people feel amazing about themselves and I think that’s awesome. They have managed to have an ideal sense of self that we all strive for and I truly think that they are amazing for getting there. That sense of self was helped to development by many people who made that person feel secure during development. Not everyone had that security and not everyone has been able to or chose to nurture that sense of self in that way. Most of still keep plugging along trying to hit the caboose of the self-esteem train just for a couple of minutes a year.

Where am I going with this? Hang on, I’m getting there.

So, after my Sunday night Ralphie boost, bless his little heart, I was feeling a little better and it was on to Tuesday night Gender Roles. We did an interesting exercise. It’s something that can be used to help people find their archetypes (symbolic images in folklore and those present in our current subconscious such as heroes, warriors, etc.). For me, while we did the exercise, I was able to embrace part of myself and find a warrior subtype that I connect with: I am an Amazon.

Yep. I’m a tall, big-boned, blobby-bodied, goddess who is stronger than she looks both physically and emotionally. I’m able to be rough and tumble and do what I have to do to protect what’s mine and, at the same time, be emotionally in touch with those around me and be sensitive to their needs. During our active imagination, I realized that I am more independent than I realized and that I’m more ok with what I look like and who I am than I thought I was.

Screw you, Jenny Craig. Screw you, Weight Watchers. I’m an Amazon.*

* And of course, due to cultural norms, I feel the need to defend my newfound Amazonian nature with an “I promise I’m not crazy or screwed up” comment. I’m just empowered. It’s a good feeling. And if you don’t like my Amazonian status, good. Find your own archetype and we can be archetypal enemies. It’ll be like Heroes Quest! Man, I used to love that game. Or Dungeons and Dragons (that one, not so much). Anyway, I’m an Amazon! But not the crazy kind.

How is it that the idea of a movie can make a person smell buttery popcorn to the extent that the can almost feel the oil on their hand? I haven’t had a horse as a pet for 20 years, but when we go to the fair, the smell of horses instantly transports me to that place.

We didn’t go watch fireworks on the 4th of July, but we could hear them from our home. The sounds of the booming moved me back to childhood and a time of magic connected to those bits of gunpowder.

Long before I understood how they worked, I believed they were magical pieces of clouds from the sky that lit up based on my thoughts. I’ve always been something of a dreamer. When the fireworks stopped, the thunder and lightning started and a rainstorm came in.

I closed my eyes and the magic continued.

Yes. Our senses are amazing things. They influence our perceptions so much. We can fool ourselves into believing whatever comforts us or makes us happy. It’s hard to remember that at times we are sad or discouraged, but it’s there.

Believe.

What I know is that I am, by far, not the worst out there. It’s not to say that I should be saying anything at all. I shouldn’t. At the same time, I feel compelled to right wrongs when I see them against our team, even when our coach is content to let them slide. It’s part of the advocate in me and it’s one of the ways I stay genuine to myself. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying it’s how I roll.

We have hit tournament time, for our age bracket, and AJ’s team was the best going in to the tournament, so the pressure is on. Over the weekend, we had our first game and both teams played fiercely against one another. It was a fantastic game and I enjoyed watching it ever so much. What I did not enjoy was the almost cat-fight that I experienced between a mother from our team and a mother from the other team. It caused my tension level to increase as I’m sure it did to the other bystanders, as they were loud enough for everyone to hear.

Oh, and the bickering started before the game did.

These two have a history insomuch as we have played this team before and they got into it as well. They are both intense parents who love their children greatly. They are also vocal, outspoken folks who put the pressure on their kids, and the rest of the team to do a good job. It can be a great motivator. It can also cause people to wilt under pressure. Luckily, for the kids, they took it out on each other, instead of the kids. They started off yelling at the kids, then the umps, then at each other, repeatedly. The rest of the parents looked at one another with uneasy expressions and I think I’m not the only one who wondered if we should ask them to leave.

At one point, one of the moms asked the ump to remove the other mother. The ump ignored her.

I’m in for a lifetime of this.

As a parent, I’m conditioned to protect this little cub. He’s mine and I will do what I can. But in this arena, it really is just a game, and unless someone else really hurts him, I’m gonna have to try to bite my tongue until it bleeds because I will not embarrass my son like that. These games are about him, not me, and the minute I live vicariously through him, it takes the fun out of it for both of us. And everyone else involved.

Tina Fey's glasses help define her as a professional

Dorothy Parker once said, “Men seldom make passes. At girls who wear glasses.”

As a proud glass-wearing member of society, I’m wondering what gives her the idea that men are dissuaded by a good pair of specs? Frankly, I think they provide character and lend intrigue to a woman. Without them, I feel almost naked. My glasses are one more way for me to give myself a little bit of mystery.

And, let’s be honest, without them I have a bit of a moon face. There is the awful truth. It’s out and now I can’t take it back. Moony face moony face.

With my glasses, I feel smarter, more confident and, in some ways, invincible. I certainly can see, and that helps a lot. I didn’t need glasses until I was 21. I was doing support for a well-known blogging site and was spending quite a bit of time on the computer. Things began to go blurry and I started having some severe headaches. When my eyes were tested, they pronounced me with astigmatism and sent me on my way with a pair of retro shaped shades and a comment to come back yearly. And so I have.

I keep trying to make the pictures of me without glasses work, but frankly, they aren’t me and they just don’t. Being myself is sexy. Being myself is real. Besides, without my glasses, I can’t see what’s happening around me anyway, so it wouldn’t matter if someone was “passing” or not. I’d imagine it’s similar to the concept of beer goggles. I like being able to see. I think that’s sexy.

“Yes. No. I don’t know, maybe.”

Color me confused because this is not the reaction I would have if I was in my last week of school. Most of his classmates cannot wait to get out of school. Earlier in the week, he’d asked me if he could get his teacher, Mrs. C, a card and I’d said yes. After Leon came home from work, we headed to Target, to get some necessities, some non-necessities and the card for Mrs. C.

Immediately, after arriving at home from the store, AJ began digging in the sack for his card for Mrs. C. I asked him to write her a short note and then sign it. When he showed it to me, I immediately saw why he was so sad to be leaving school.

Thank you for all you did for us this year. Your the best teacher. In the world. don’t leave But say goodby .

(all spelling errors, punctuation and smilies are AJ’s)

He asked me to not take a picture of his writing, but even the writing looked sad on the card. He looked at me and whispered that he “didn’t want to leave Mrs. C” and that he would “miss her so much.”

I’ve mentioned before that this particular teacher made a huge impact on my child. The knowledge that he has is that he will either have a teacher that understands him and his learning style or he won’t. I think there is quite a bit of fear that he will have a teacher that doesn’t and that he will be in the same position he occupied in K-1, where the teachers often misunderstood him.

As a mom, it’s time for me to step in and remind him that he was lucky to have this teacher while he did and that she was precious. However, we’ve learned that he is capable of putting forth a great effort and making some amazing changes in himself that serve him well no matter who he has as a teacher. He will still be in the same school and this teacher will be loving and supportive of him regardless of whether or not he is in her classroom. We will say goodbye gently and lovingly and remember what she has taught him about himself and life and tackling challenges that seem insurmountable. I cannot thank her enough for teaching him something that I could not teach him at the time.

It truly takes a community to raise a child. I’m thankful for the one in which I live. They are wonderful people.

These things don’t change as we get older. When we hit about 12, Piaget, a development psychologist said that we begin to develop the capability for abstract thinking and moving beyond that concrete thought. I agree with Piaget because I have personally experienced this phenomenon and seen it with my eyes. I’ve taught it and shown it to my students and watched them be convinced of it’s truth. However, what I recognize is that the want and the need is still there to experience hands on proof for the things in life that comfort us.

If you feel attracted to someone, they want proof that you are attracted. How can I say this delicately? I don’t want you to walk up to me and show me your proof. Please don’t. You go to jail for those kinds of things. However, a comment as such is a good indicator of that unless it’s something like “Baby, dem clothes are looking mighty fine but dey be looking better on my floor.” I know you get my drift, here.

If you care for someone, they want proof that you care. A kind word or gesture is well received and I’m not talking a pep talk or false compliment. Something genuine that speaks to who they are as a person.

If someone feels insecure, they want to know that they can trust you. Trust is so hard because the question is, really, how do I give someone that in a tangible form? It’s so hard to earn because it’s a series of acts, rather than one act and a single act can negate all of the series.

My reason for bringing all of this up is due to my own feelings that came about after I received feedback from my students this semester. Finals were this week, May 5, and I had just given them an incredibly hard cumulative final. This was my first semester teaching undergraduates, which was daunting by itself, but I was also teaching Gen Psych. The thing about Gen Psych is that it is such a broad, diverse subject with so much material to cover that you never get everything in that you need to in a semester. Students often believe that you are an expert in the field when, in reality, I know alot about psychology, but I’m not an expert. I will be a lifelong learner.

Overall, my experience was astounding. I learned more from them than I believe they learned from me. I watched them grow and change in so many ways over the course of the semester. My worry about being a new instructor waned some as I drifted into my groove and learned more about my class. Every now and then, though, my doubts would come back to haunt me that maybe I wasn’t a good enough teacher and they would be better served by someone else. Just like everyone else, I needed that tangible proof that what I was doing was working and I was effective.

As I graded their papers, I hoped for strong grades and that they would all earn the final grade they wanted in the course. Overall, the majority of my students had As and Bs and I could not be more proud of them. My course was very, very challenging and I expected a lot from each and every one of them. They worked hard and they should be proud of themselves. After I finished my 4 hours of grading, I finally took time to savor my feedback. I was prepared for some nastiness after the final I’d just given them.

There was not a single bad comment about my teaching. There were some complaints about things that were beyond my control in the classroom setting, but overall, they rated me as “one of the best” teachers. There were so many edifying comments that, when I was finished reading, I was close to weeping. One said that he or she wished all of his/her teachers were just like me. Another said they would miss me, another loved the class, etc. There were more but I want to hold them in my heart. They feel too personal to share.

Yes, we all need something tangible, don’t we? I want to say that I’m so mature and comfortable in my own skin that I don’t need the reassurance, but it sure feels nice. Humans sure do respond well to kindness, don’t they?

April 18, 2009
I want to heartily thank the person who decided to flush the toilet/start the dishwasher/start the wash machine while I was in the shower this morning. At that point I was still so asleep that I was cleansing myself with one eye closed and was in the middle of a deep condition for my back length hair, which takes approximately the same amount of time it would take me to read Moby Dick and slay the beast myself. I would like to take this sidebar to remind you that Karma is a fierce mistress and I will be courting her with a passion until she shows you the error of your transgressions.

April 20, 2009
The other day I was driving to school and I saw a really large African American man who looked completely “ghetto.” He had on his head-kerchief, his football jersey and walked with a swagger that would scare an U.S. Ranger. I drove up behind him and noticed something hanging from him hand. I looked off to his side and saw the smallest wiener dog I’ve ever seen in my life. As I drove in front of him, I watched him in my rearview mirror. He was cooing at that little dog like it was the most important thing in his life and dragging it along behind him while the poor thing tried to pee. Ah, love.

What made it clear that I was in trouble was the awful fatigue that settled my bones. An hour after I woke up, I wanted a nap. Three hours after I woke up, I craved a nap and nothing I did would rid me of the need. AJ lovingly told me that I looked like the Scream mask while I slept. He didn’t know it was the “scream mask,” he just made the face, scrunched up his eyes and made a large OOOOO with his mouth. Little snot. At least he didn’t comment on my snoring.

For our anniversary, one of my gifts was a Nap set. I was dubious as to the use of this item, as when I nap, I enjoy my huge, King size bed and my own pillow, but Husband does a good job with gifts and I was waiting to see how this one fared on a day like today.

When the “nappies” (not a diaper for those of you who use that terminology) came on me, it started slowly. First, my feet were freezing. Then, I slowly lay down on the couch as Husband made room for me amid all of his lawyer-ly work stuff. The blanket came out amid a case of the shivers and the pillow slowly followed. I don’t remember much beyond that point. As AJ said, “the scream” was very much in effect.

It strikes me how, when we’re sick, we lose all the facade that we put out there on a regular day. Life goes back to basic things: sleep, food, bathroom breaks, and cuddling on demand. There was no disagreement as to what we were doing over the weekend because I didn’t care what they did. I was silent on the couch. My husband probably cherished that silence, as it is rare. AJ got to go to a friend’s house without having to do chores first and stay much longer than usual. I slept the sleep of unknowing, uncaring and just wanting to feel better. What I ate was no longer important and frankly, I didn’t care if I ate. How I looked was not in the slightest important, though was funny to my 8 year old. The dogs were caring and concerned and stayed beside me, as did my Husband. He checked on me every little bit with ibuprofen and making sure I didn’t need anything.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad day, after all.