The Last Game

The Palominos won their final game, 1-0.

That means their season record was 4-1-1 with 17 goals scored against 5.

This from a team that started out 0-19-1. Those are distant memories now. Today, they are winners.

Afterwards, their young head coach made a lovely, modest, congratulatory speech, which I recorded, and which I would like to post here, if only I could figure out how to. But, in the middle of his speech, the camera started jiggling and went out of focus.

I'm just hoping no one saw the tears in the cameraman's eye.

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Last Practice Call

Just like that, it's over. Transitions when you have kids are never gradual. One day they are little; the next they are big.

They graduate, they move up, they move on.

I have not been looking forward to the end of the eighth and final season for the Palominos, my daughter's soccer team. It's been a tight-knit group of girls, who after seven losing seasons, are closing out the team's short history with a winning season.

We already know that part, we just don't know whether they also will go out with a bang...a final win.

Their head coach made practice fun tonight. At the end, everyone, including him, got a team jacket as a souvenir of their wonderful team's year together.

He liked his -- first time he's ever had anything to wear that says "coach."

Tomorrow, 10 a.m. The Palos' final game at Beach Chalet. Then all of this moves into the stuff of memory.

So it goes.

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Upsides Succeed Downsides; Just Keep Walking

My entire week turned around on the basis of one email message, from an old friend. It landed in my inbox with the subject line "One-Liner."

In it she just sent me a big hug.

The context was a confluence of anxieties had started to overwhelm me. Of course, trying to handle two audits, with all the frustrations of dealing with banks and credit card companies that seem incapable of producing accurate records on a timely basis, hangs over my household like a massive black storm cloud.

But there are many other worries these days, including how the kids are doing in school; terrible financial pressures; certain health concerns; and many of the things that we all have to cope with as we age.

The hug from my friend wiped these away and brought a big smile to my face. First, I love her and have for so long that when she does something like this she lightens my load and gives me hope as few other people can do. She probably doesn't know that.

Most of us under-estimate the effect we have on others. I certainly do; a lesson I've learned too many times to be excused for ever forgetting it.

Yet I do.

She's the same way. A modest person, now around a decade older than when I first met her, noticing her sparkling eyes and quick smile and dark curly hair.

When I was a younger man I had very dark brown hair, almost black (for a Caucasian). During that stage of my life I was mainly attracted to light-haired women, particularly blonds and redheads.

As an older guy, with grey and then white hair, I seem to be mainly attracted to dark-haired women, especially those with black hair.

This makes me think our relationships may be based in part on finding ways to counter-balance ourselves as living creatures, always subject to change. At the end, we need one another. And whenever we reach out in kindness, to offer a hug, we do good.

***

After receiving my virtual hug, my week suddenly turned positive. I started ignoring all the crappy parts of my life and focusing on all of the beauty around me.

Of course, time with my kids and grandkids came first. I actually get some real hugs from these folks, which is probably one of the main things human beings need -- physical contact and comfort -- to keep going.

Then, some other positive stuff started happening, especially on the professional front.

I'll share that when I can...

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Mom

It's Mother's Day. My 13-year-old daughter and I got up early to buy her Mom some flowers, muffins, and tropical fruits for breakfast in bed. One of her brothers went out and got her a latte. Her other brother had had a sleepover with friends at my house and was still asleep while we shopped.

Hours later, I was helping the sleepy one with his math homework. Once again, I relived the oft-experienced parenting lesson of math. Stay patient, persistent, and remember that it's all logical.

The latte brother put on his sunglasses and mixed his Mom some music on some blank CDs I'd gotten him at Walgreen's. Our daughter worked on her project, which involves constructing a 3D representation of the concept of atheism. (Maybe I'll photograph that one to better explain what she came up with...)

The choice of atheism on her part was interesting. She had options. She could have chosen a religion. Although we've rarely spoken about the idea of god or gods, my sense is she is developing a scientific rationalism as her philosophy, one closely aligned with her vegetarianism and opposition to cruelty to animals.

For my part, I never wish to argue with those who believe in a god. It seems like a nice way to find comfort in this confusing world, and of course they may well be right. Maybe there is some sort of supernatural presence out there. I'm the last one to know. Plus the ritual of prayer is good, on many levels.

Prayer implies humility. I pray daily even though I am not sure what entity I am praying to. I'm praying, simply, to preserve hope and to request protection. I hope this an okay thing for an atheist to do.

As far as I'm concerned, belief and faith have always been good things as long as they don't become excuses to impose your ideas on others. That missionary impulse is utterly unacceptable. Simple humility at the wonder of life is lovely.

***

My mother believed in God. She was a Christian. She found comfort in her religion, and I was always happy for her that her faith was helpful.

The photo above was from before I came on this scene. My Dad is behind her in the photo, during a visitation in World War Two.

Sometimes, people ask why and how I became interested in teaching memoir writing. It happened early in 2002 when my Mom started taking a "life story" course in Michigan. Half a year later, she passed away, but not before leaving her four kids some priceless memories.

That's why I teach memoir writing.

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