The emotions are certainly all over the place for most of us, and I am no different.
Grateful that we are "essential employees" and will have paychecks coming in. Many, MANY aren't so lucky.
Fearful that we are "essential employees" because with 3 auto immune diseases and Hub's health also compromised, we are more susceptible.
Helpful because I can sew, and have sewn 104 masks for support staff at our local hospitals, and furious that I even have to do this because of the lack of supplies.
Proud that I can bring medication, food staples, paper products, etc. to those that truly need it, and frustrated that everyone still comes to the mail box to greet me and I have to remind them of the 6 feet rule.
Comforted that Oldest get it, is staying home, engrossed in 5 hours of school work a day, video conferences with friends and the occasional 15 minute outing to the grocery store or bank ATM.
But today, it's depression. Because despite the warnings, gentle nudging, the yelling, Youngest isn't getting it. He's been grounded from the car because we can't trust where he's going. We've been to family therapy, it's not helping. And while he's not as stupid as to be hanging out in large groups, he's still hanging out with his girlfriend and one or two friends. His friend that comes over to work out lives a street over. They wash down the equipment and wear gloves. He doesn't come in the house. His girlfriend was in Florida for a bit, I'm sure NOT practicing social distancing, and came back. She was at the house hours later, and of course I had no idea she was here until I got home from work. At that point whatever cooties she was carting were all over the house. It's been nearly a week since he saw his other friend, which is great because if either of them were sick we'd know by now, but no... he had to make plans to see her today, spreading his cooties as well as the cooties of his girlfriend along with him. He's 18 and I'm out of ideas on how to handle this. He goes to work and argues his points of contact there are way worse than one or two friends. It's like we're all in kindergarten and lost ten minutes of recess, but there's that one kid that keeps acting like a little sh!t and extending the penalty time.
My kid is that kid.
I feel like I've failed as a mother. I KNOW I raised him better than this. He used to care about others, but now I wonder. "I think you're overthinking this" is all I get. I'm not overthinking, it's math. Basic MATH. It's one thing for us to go to work, where we can calculate the risks, mitigate the hazards as best we can. But adding extra factors in, that's just stupid.
We are all bored. (Well, not me, home is my favorite place to be, I can always find a project) We ALL want to hang out. But we CAN'T. We. Just. Can't.
I ran basic numbers, compared our state to Italy based off population percentages. Folks, we are 1,600 confirmed cases OVER where Italy was when they did their mandated stay in place. And we are still at a soft lock down here. And this is just our state. Our state that has hundreds of people coming into it to "vacation" in their summer homes while they quarantine. Our state that can barely handle the residents we have here full time, let alone vacationers.
The feeling that we are doomed is overwhelming today.
And yet, our house has to carry on as if nothing's happening.
And even worse, our house is carrying on with one person doesn't think anything's happening.
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Saturday, March 14, 2020
To Quarentine Or Not, That Is The Question...
The thing about the Coronavirus is that we will never know if we overreacted, but if we stand by and do nothing we will know immediately how bad it could be. They closed all of the Colleges here so of course, Oldest is home. His school will go to remote learning on Wednesday for the remaining 3 weeks of classes. He learns best in a classroom so it will be a learning curve for sure.
The public schools also closed here, which means Youngest will also be home for at least 2 weeks. I suspect it will be longer. He will also have to log into his Google classroom account to finish his assignments, which truthfully will take him all of an hour to blow through. He has picked up hours at work as many of the daytime staff can't work now because they have small children home. It works for him, and it keeps him busy which works for me. It doesn't however, allow him social distancing, which is what everyone is debating on social media now.
When the State declares the shutdown of schools to stop the spread of the virus the idea is that those kids will stay home and ideally their parents as well. Which, to be honest, just won't happen unless you close down everything else. Being Saturday, technically we aren't even a day into this yet, and already kids are being dropped at the mall to wander for hours. Parents are scheduling sleepovers. Kids are getting together to hang out in parks, playgrounds, or despite the chilliness, the beach. And everyone is chiming in about what we should do and what we shouldn't. Do we treat it like a vacation or do we force them into a homeschooling program that the students nor the parents are remotely equipped to deal with? Do we hold up in the house or send them out with a bottle of Lysol and a fishing pole? The scenarios are endless and everyone has an opinion.
As I mentioned two posts before, I am stocked well. I went out as soon as I knew Oldest was going to be home until August as he'd already eaten though the house. With a bit of hunting I was able to find everything we needed to feed us for about 10 days. I've also mentioned, with Youngest working at a grocery, Bonus Son working at a specialty grocery, and the husband and I both working for the Post Office we will all be heading to work regardless, leaving us all in contact with the general public.
So in a family like ours, how does this social distancing thing work exactly? I am in an office of roughly 60 people, have a route of 650 homes (so around 1,200-2,000 people?), go to the grocery every day and run errands (maybe an additional 50 people) and so, on a good day I there's a high probability that I come in contact with 200 people a day.
Today though, as I said, I've already stocked the house so my daily grocery trips won't happen for a few weeks. Today's errands were the vet and a drive through oil change so I contacted 4 people total there. I picked up Youngest, but only talked to him, got gas for the car, but wiped the handle before and after pumping. And I had the day off. So aside from my family I have talked to 4 people today. FOUR. I did not hide in my house, or go without, but I cut down my number of contact considerably.
Tomorrow is Youngest's birthday and we will be going out to dinner. We are going early to limit the number of people around us, and taking 3 of his friends. Yes, our contact number will be higher, but again, no where near our 200 average per day.
If I'm speaking honestly, I don't even feel bad about still going out and about. Because I am doing my part in cutting down my contact, without going insane. Our lives are still going on, and I still want to feel as if I am living it, while making conscious choices to be safer.
And that's the best we can do right now, right?
Well, that, and spare a square if need be.
The public schools also closed here, which means Youngest will also be home for at least 2 weeks. I suspect it will be longer. He will also have to log into his Google classroom account to finish his assignments, which truthfully will take him all of an hour to blow through. He has picked up hours at work as many of the daytime staff can't work now because they have small children home. It works for him, and it keeps him busy which works for me. It doesn't however, allow him social distancing, which is what everyone is debating on social media now.
When the State declares the shutdown of schools to stop the spread of the virus the idea is that those kids will stay home and ideally their parents as well. Which, to be honest, just won't happen unless you close down everything else. Being Saturday, technically we aren't even a day into this yet, and already kids are being dropped at the mall to wander for hours. Parents are scheduling sleepovers. Kids are getting together to hang out in parks, playgrounds, or despite the chilliness, the beach. And everyone is chiming in about what we should do and what we shouldn't. Do we treat it like a vacation or do we force them into a homeschooling program that the students nor the parents are remotely equipped to deal with? Do we hold up in the house or send them out with a bottle of Lysol and a fishing pole? The scenarios are endless and everyone has an opinion.
As I mentioned two posts before, I am stocked well. I went out as soon as I knew Oldest was going to be home until August as he'd already eaten though the house. With a bit of hunting I was able to find everything we needed to feed us for about 10 days. I've also mentioned, with Youngest working at a grocery, Bonus Son working at a specialty grocery, and the husband and I both working for the Post Office we will all be heading to work regardless, leaving us all in contact with the general public.
So in a family like ours, how does this social distancing thing work exactly? I am in an office of roughly 60 people, have a route of 650 homes (so around 1,200-2,000 people?), go to the grocery every day and run errands (maybe an additional 50 people) and so, on a good day I there's a high probability that I come in contact with 200 people a day.
Today though, as I said, I've already stocked the house so my daily grocery trips won't happen for a few weeks. Today's errands were the vet and a drive through oil change so I contacted 4 people total there. I picked up Youngest, but only talked to him, got gas for the car, but wiped the handle before and after pumping. And I had the day off. So aside from my family I have talked to 4 people today. FOUR. I did not hide in my house, or go without, but I cut down my number of contact considerably.
Tomorrow is Youngest's birthday and we will be going out to dinner. We are going early to limit the number of people around us, and taking 3 of his friends. Yes, our contact number will be higher, but again, no where near our 200 average per day.
If I'm speaking honestly, I don't even feel bad about still going out and about. Because I am doing my part in cutting down my contact, without going insane. Our lives are still going on, and I still want to feel as if I am living it, while making conscious choices to be safer.
And that's the best we can do right now, right?
Well, that, and spare a square if need be.
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
Baggage...
I supposed most of us start collecting our proverbial luggage somewhere in our teens.
Self esteem issues go in the carry on.
Insecurities? Front pocket with the double zipper for expansion.
Bad relationships? Main compartment, preferably with the plastic insert incase of spills.
By the time I reached my mid twenties I had a full set of hodgepodge mismatched luggage that I carried around, plus the diaper bag for the two toddlers I had in tow. Truth is, I had more than my share of emotional baggage. Way more.
Over the years I have unpacked some, given some away, and repacked. By the time I had reached thirty five I upgraded to matching emotional baggage so while I was still carrying it around, I at least looked like I had it all together. Which of course, I didn't.
And like most, I have to carry this baggage everywhere, weighing me down. Truth is, I've carried this emotional baggage so long, most days I don't even know I have it until I get stuck in the doorway. Like three years ago when I was called for jury duty.
We have several court houses, and I always get called for the furthest away. It's hard to get to, in a super sketchy area, with one way roads and loop de-loops that confuse the heck out of me, and to top it off, you have to pay for parking. I know because my ex dragged me into that particular courtroom twice a month for years. Years folks. YEARS. Now, for those who don't remember, my ex-husband has been dead now for nearly 9 years. One would think I'd have unpacked that baggage long ago, burned the contents, and sent it off to sea. But alas, on that day of Jury Service, I sat in the parking lot emerged in a full on panic attack over just the thought of going into the building. I eventually worked my way through it, walked in, and realized I needed to be in the building across the street, which while a welcome distraction, still left me scrambled, attempting to pick up all the contents of my emotional mess, resembling the busted open bag on the airline turn style sloppily held together with security tape, grannie panties hanging out for the world to see.
That was three years ago and yet, when I got the notice to serve in the mail it all came right back to me. With a bit of embarrassment, I called and had it switched to a more local courthouse. I was actually looking forward to my day in court. He's been gone for nearly nine years and we'd only been in this courthouse a handful of times. Clearly I had moved past it all, unpacked that bag and left it unattended in some random lobby, right? Nope. I found myself catching my breath as I just passed by the probate door. My chest was heavy, but I pushed through, waiting it out in the jury pool, making small talk with a kindergarten teacher seated next to me. This would be fine, right? I could do this.
They called us up to the superior court room and informed us that it was a criminal case, expected to last 5 days or so, involving domestic violence. Which was fine, I could be impartial, right? It wasn't until the judge called me to side bar when it happened.
The zipper on the emotional bag I carry let go and my whole past spilled out all over the podium. I had to be asked several times to speak loud enough so the mic, not 12 inches in front of me, could pick up what I was saying. The judge asked about my restraining order, and I unraveled. At the mention of my kids being kidnapped for a time by him I heard the DA audibly catch her breath. I also noted that just to serve jury duty I had to switch court houses. Inevitably, the question had to be asked, "Do you think, that despite the abuse by your ex-husband after your divorce, you can be impartial in this case?"
And in that moment, I honestly didn't know. I really wanted to be, but I can't guarantee my emotional baggage wouldn't explode on the turn style for all the world to see.
I was excused by the judge immediately. No side bar, no wait over there, no additional questions. And while some would see this as a win, I felt pathetic. Like I had somewhat failed the system, like I had failed myself. It was only after I was home and had thrown myself into a right brained project (finishing up a communion gown for a 9 year old) that I was finally able to let go of the tightness in my chest. It makes me mad though that I can't seem to unpack this part of my life. I want to serve as a juror, to do my part. I love the process of our justice system despite the fact that it failed me so, so many times in the past. And yet, the sight of the stand, officialness of the officers, the smell of the wood, triggers me right back to those days.
My past is part of what makes me, me. I accept this, embrace it (mostly), and draw strength from it when I need it most. But I can't help but wonder what I'm missing out on by carrying this particular piece of luggage around. Because I have to tell you, it's exhausting being subject to an unexpected surcharge.
Self esteem issues go in the carry on.
Insecurities? Front pocket with the double zipper for expansion.
Bad relationships? Main compartment, preferably with the plastic insert incase of spills.
By the time I reached my mid twenties I had a full set of hodgepodge mismatched luggage that I carried around, plus the diaper bag for the two toddlers I had in tow. Truth is, I had more than my share of emotional baggage. Way more.
Over the years I have unpacked some, given some away, and repacked. By the time I had reached thirty five I upgraded to matching emotional baggage so while I was still carrying it around, I at least looked like I had it all together. Which of course, I didn't.
And like most, I have to carry this baggage everywhere, weighing me down. Truth is, I've carried this emotional baggage so long, most days I don't even know I have it until I get stuck in the doorway. Like three years ago when I was called for jury duty.
We have several court houses, and I always get called for the furthest away. It's hard to get to, in a super sketchy area, with one way roads and loop de-loops that confuse the heck out of me, and to top it off, you have to pay for parking. I know because my ex dragged me into that particular courtroom twice a month for years. Years folks. YEARS. Now, for those who don't remember, my ex-husband has been dead now for nearly 9 years. One would think I'd have unpacked that baggage long ago, burned the contents, and sent it off to sea. But alas, on that day of Jury Service, I sat in the parking lot emerged in a full on panic attack over just the thought of going into the building. I eventually worked my way through it, walked in, and realized I needed to be in the building across the street, which while a welcome distraction, still left me scrambled, attempting to pick up all the contents of my emotional mess, resembling the busted open bag on the airline turn style sloppily held together with security tape, grannie panties hanging out for the world to see.
That was three years ago and yet, when I got the notice to serve in the mail it all came right back to me. With a bit of embarrassment, I called and had it switched to a more local courthouse. I was actually looking forward to my day in court. He's been gone for nearly nine years and we'd only been in this courthouse a handful of times. Clearly I had moved past it all, unpacked that bag and left it unattended in some random lobby, right? Nope. I found myself catching my breath as I just passed by the probate door. My chest was heavy, but I pushed through, waiting it out in the jury pool, making small talk with a kindergarten teacher seated next to me. This would be fine, right? I could do this.
They called us up to the superior court room and informed us that it was a criminal case, expected to last 5 days or so, involving domestic violence. Which was fine, I could be impartial, right? It wasn't until the judge called me to side bar when it happened.
The zipper on the emotional bag I carry let go and my whole past spilled out all over the podium. I had to be asked several times to speak loud enough so the mic, not 12 inches in front of me, could pick up what I was saying. The judge asked about my restraining order, and I unraveled. At the mention of my kids being kidnapped for a time by him I heard the DA audibly catch her breath. I also noted that just to serve jury duty I had to switch court houses. Inevitably, the question had to be asked, "Do you think, that despite the abuse by your ex-husband after your divorce, you can be impartial in this case?"
And in that moment, I honestly didn't know. I really wanted to be, but I can't guarantee my emotional baggage wouldn't explode on the turn style for all the world to see.
I was excused by the judge immediately. No side bar, no wait over there, no additional questions. And while some would see this as a win, I felt pathetic. Like I had somewhat failed the system, like I had failed myself. It was only after I was home and had thrown myself into a right brained project (finishing up a communion gown for a 9 year old) that I was finally able to let go of the tightness in my chest. It makes me mad though that I can't seem to unpack this part of my life. I want to serve as a juror, to do my part. I love the process of our justice system despite the fact that it failed me so, so many times in the past. And yet, the sight of the stand, officialness of the officers, the smell of the wood, triggers me right back to those days.
My past is part of what makes me, me. I accept this, embrace it (mostly), and draw strength from it when I need it most. But I can't help but wonder what I'm missing out on by carrying this particular piece of luggage around. Because I have to tell you, it's exhausting being subject to an unexpected surcharge.
Friday, March 6, 2020
It's An EPIDEMIC!!!
I'm SO NOT a doomsday prepper.
There's no more than 10 canned goods in the pantry at any time here. I have 3 gallon jugs of water in the freezer downstairs more to offset the cost of freezing the few things in it than to have in an emergency. I do however have a stockpile of the husband's medication, but that's has more to do with a miscommunication with CVS than our need to hoard it.
And yet, I have a pile in the basement of toilet paper, paper towels, Lysol wipes, hand soap, newly purchased cold medicines of our choice products, and 4 cases of water.
Damn that coronavirus.
This week they closed all 12 of our schools down to "properly clean and disinfect all facilities and school busses" because ten days ago 17 people came back from Italy from a foreign exchange program, and no one thought to preemptively keep them home for a bit just to be safe. Not to mention the 17 that went from the middle school as well. And yet, here they are spending god knows how much money cleaning, which, in fairness, should probably be done on a semi regular basis during flu season anyway. All of this, because one student from the trip is now sick with an undisclosed illness.
Here's the thing, we are not high risk for dying of this. It has a 97% survival rate. We are in relatively good health and are rational people. I also believe that this virus is already EVREYWHERE in the United States. Why? Because most people present as a cold. A COLD. How many people go to the doctor with a cold? None. The flu went around the wrestling room a while back, many of my coworkers came in over the last few months sounding like death, and none of them actually went to the doctors to get a diagnosis. I just wiped down the mail truck, like I do every Tuesday morning, with a Lysol wipe and carried on, just as Youngest dosed with Dayquil and cough drops and went to class. And even if anyone had gone to the doctor, they wouldn't have been tested properly because it wasn't on the radar to test for the coronavirus.
So yeah. All those idiots saying there's nothing to worry about, we don't have an issue here, are just stupid. It's here. It's been here. And the people buying masks, knock it off, you're diminishing the supply for the people who actually should be wearing them.
Which brings me back to my stockpile. I think it's ridiculous that I even have to do it but seriously the shelves are wiped clean already folks. Wiped. Clean. And while I don't clean all the time top to bottom, when we get the flu or a cold here, I wipe everything religiously. I change out toothbrushes, and in some nasty cases of the stomach bug, even change out the toothpaste. I wash the towels and sheets with Lysol laundry sanitizer and spray everything not washable with Odorban. I do this simply because I don't want it to go around the house over and over, because let me tell you, we are not good people when we are sick.
We all have a specific medicine that works best for us, so I just restocked that in case we get sick again. Not because I wanted to spend a small fortune in CVS but because the stores are being wiped clean by crazy people.
I also only stock the house for 3 people now, which means if Oldest has to come home early from College, or Bonus Son needs something, I need to have stock for five. And if the high school issues quarantines, Youngest will eat literally everything we have in the cabinets.
So here I sit, waiting for a virus that's likely laying in wait on the oranges I bought 4 weeks ago at the wholesale club, with 14 boxes of cereal, 17 canisters of Lysol wipes, and enough TP for the football team to go crazy all over town. At least it won't go bad, and if in 5 months I still have it all, these two will be the best stocked kids in college.
There's no more than 10 canned goods in the pantry at any time here. I have 3 gallon jugs of water in the freezer downstairs more to offset the cost of freezing the few things in it than to have in an emergency. I do however have a stockpile of the husband's medication, but that's has more to do with a miscommunication with CVS than our need to hoard it.
And yet, I have a pile in the basement of toilet paper, paper towels, Lysol wipes, hand soap, newly purchased cold medicines of our choice products, and 4 cases of water.
Damn that coronavirus.
This week they closed all 12 of our schools down to "properly clean and disinfect all facilities and school busses" because ten days ago 17 people came back from Italy from a foreign exchange program, and no one thought to preemptively keep them home for a bit just to be safe. Not to mention the 17 that went from the middle school as well. And yet, here they are spending god knows how much money cleaning, which, in fairness, should probably be done on a semi regular basis during flu season anyway. All of this, because one student from the trip is now sick with an undisclosed illness.
Here's the thing, we are not high risk for dying of this. It has a 97% survival rate. We are in relatively good health and are rational people. I also believe that this virus is already EVREYWHERE in the United States. Why? Because most people present as a cold. A COLD. How many people go to the doctor with a cold? None. The flu went around the wrestling room a while back, many of my coworkers came in over the last few months sounding like death, and none of them actually went to the doctors to get a diagnosis. I just wiped down the mail truck, like I do every Tuesday morning, with a Lysol wipe and carried on, just as Youngest dosed with Dayquil and cough drops and went to class. And even if anyone had gone to the doctor, they wouldn't have been tested properly because it wasn't on the radar to test for the coronavirus.
So yeah. All those idiots saying there's nothing to worry about, we don't have an issue here, are just stupid. It's here. It's been here. And the people buying masks, knock it off, you're diminishing the supply for the people who actually should be wearing them.
Which brings me back to my stockpile. I think it's ridiculous that I even have to do it but seriously the shelves are wiped clean already folks. Wiped. Clean. And while I don't clean all the time top to bottom, when we get the flu or a cold here, I wipe everything religiously. I change out toothbrushes, and in some nasty cases of the stomach bug, even change out the toothpaste. I wash the towels and sheets with Lysol laundry sanitizer and spray everything not washable with Odorban. I do this simply because I don't want it to go around the house over and over, because let me tell you, we are not good people when we are sick.
We all have a specific medicine that works best for us, so I just restocked that in case we get sick again. Not because I wanted to spend a small fortune in CVS but because the stores are being wiped clean by crazy people.
I also only stock the house for 3 people now, which means if Oldest has to come home early from College, or Bonus Son needs something, I need to have stock for five. And if the high school issues quarantines, Youngest will eat literally everything we have in the cabinets.
So here I sit, waiting for a virus that's likely laying in wait on the oranges I bought 4 weeks ago at the wholesale club, with 14 boxes of cereal, 17 canisters of Lysol wipes, and enough TP for the football team to go crazy all over town. At least it won't go bad, and if in 5 months I still have it all, these two will be the best stocked kids in college.
Monday, March 2, 2020
For The Love Of The Game
Last Sunday we went to Oldest's college to visit.
He was tutoring another student in Calculous II while working on his laundry when we got there so we told him to just meet us at the BBQ place down the street when he was done.
I swear to you I had to do a double take when he came in. I completely didn't recognize him despite the fact he'd been home 2 weeks before. Between his time spent in the gym and his freshly grown facial hair he looks like a grown man now. After dinner we headed back to the dorm so he could get ready for his basketball game, which is what we really had come to see.
When he was little he loved basketball. Being tall for his age, and also older in his class (he's got a November birthday so he was nearly six by the time he started kindergarten) he naturally excelled at it. The husband coached two years of recreational league when they were little, two teams, different nights, it was a LOT of basketball, but it was great for them.
He played in middle school, and also on a travel team for a bit. In high school he was on the Freshman JV team, and Sophomore year made the Varsity team, but that's where it stopped. The high school coach killed his love for the game. And it wasn't just him, it was nearly the entire team, every year. More and more kids dropped out until eventually, by his Senior year, there was not a single Senior on the Varsity team. For reference, the head coach is currently being disciplined for his comments about "being sick and tired of a certain player not being able to hear him". The player is deaf. How he's still employed is beyond most parents, but that's not what this is about.
Senior year Oldest played on the rec team again with nearly all of his friends. It was wild, sweaty, aggressive, and awesome. They had ridiculous amounts of fun, while the referees couldn't figure out why all these kids weren't on the High School team. They were all good players, and their love of the game was palpable. Over the summer he played a bit here and there on the courts around town. There's a court down the street from the dorm and he played there a bit. So when the intercollegiate teams were forming and the first team was full, he made his own team.
He. Made. His. Own. Team.
We sat and watched them play. We were the only parents there. Some clearly excelled, some clearly loved the comradery. They are Engineers, not ballers. They lose a lot, but Sunday they pulled out a win, no doubt from bringing in a ringer, a friend from Oldest's high school, who happened to be visiting unannounced from a nearby College. Apparently students from every College in the city can be part of the intercollegiate teams, so provided he brings his own shorts and sneakers, he can play for the rest of the season if he'd like.
They played like man sized versions of the little kids they once were. Bigger court, higher jump shots, and louder squeaky sneakers on the highly polished Maplewood floor, but with the same love of the game.
All it takes is one coach, one teacher, one adult to ruin a kid forever. To steal their passion, drive, love of anything and everything. OR, it can take one kid, who refuses to give up on something that makes him whole, to find ten other kids to share that drive with, that passion, that love of something, and everything.
He's done an amazing job at becoming an adult. He's actively searching for grants to pay for college, forwards me pertinent emails for scheduling trips to/from home, is looking into summer sessions abroad, and taking care of his basics like a pro. As proud as I am of him for the most of his adult choices, this, letting go like a kid again and leaving it on the court, is one of my favorite choices. Which is why we traveled 90 minutes to watch 30 minutes of missed free throws, traveling, bad foul calls, horrendous scorekeeping, and man-sized recreational league gaming.
And why I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
He was tutoring another student in Calculous II while working on his laundry when we got there so we told him to just meet us at the BBQ place down the street when he was done.
I swear to you I had to do a double take when he came in. I completely didn't recognize him despite the fact he'd been home 2 weeks before. Between his time spent in the gym and his freshly grown facial hair he looks like a grown man now. After dinner we headed back to the dorm so he could get ready for his basketball game, which is what we really had come to see.
When he was little he loved basketball. Being tall for his age, and also older in his class (he's got a November birthday so he was nearly six by the time he started kindergarten) he naturally excelled at it. The husband coached two years of recreational league when they were little, two teams, different nights, it was a LOT of basketball, but it was great for them.
He played in middle school, and also on a travel team for a bit. In high school he was on the Freshman JV team, and Sophomore year made the Varsity team, but that's where it stopped. The high school coach killed his love for the game. And it wasn't just him, it was nearly the entire team, every year. More and more kids dropped out until eventually, by his Senior year, there was not a single Senior on the Varsity team. For reference, the head coach is currently being disciplined for his comments about "being sick and tired of a certain player not being able to hear him". The player is deaf. How he's still employed is beyond most parents, but that's not what this is about.
Senior year Oldest played on the rec team again with nearly all of his friends. It was wild, sweaty, aggressive, and awesome. They had ridiculous amounts of fun, while the referees couldn't figure out why all these kids weren't on the High School team. They were all good players, and their love of the game was palpable. Over the summer he played a bit here and there on the courts around town. There's a court down the street from the dorm and he played there a bit. So when the intercollegiate teams were forming and the first team was full, he made his own team.
He. Made. His. Own. Team.
We sat and watched them play. We were the only parents there. Some clearly excelled, some clearly loved the comradery. They are Engineers, not ballers. They lose a lot, but Sunday they pulled out a win, no doubt from bringing in a ringer, a friend from Oldest's high school, who happened to be visiting unannounced from a nearby College. Apparently students from every College in the city can be part of the intercollegiate teams, so provided he brings his own shorts and sneakers, he can play for the rest of the season if he'd like.
They played like man sized versions of the little kids they once were. Bigger court, higher jump shots, and louder squeaky sneakers on the highly polished Maplewood floor, but with the same love of the game.
All it takes is one coach, one teacher, one adult to ruin a kid forever. To steal their passion, drive, love of anything and everything. OR, it can take one kid, who refuses to give up on something that makes him whole, to find ten other kids to share that drive with, that passion, that love of something, and everything.
He's done an amazing job at becoming an adult. He's actively searching for grants to pay for college, forwards me pertinent emails for scheduling trips to/from home, is looking into summer sessions abroad, and taking care of his basics like a pro. As proud as I am of him for the most of his adult choices, this, letting go like a kid again and leaving it on the court, is one of my favorite choices. Which is why we traveled 90 minutes to watch 30 minutes of missed free throws, traveling, bad foul calls, horrendous scorekeeping, and man-sized recreational league gaming.
And why I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
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