Softball season is over.

It’s another milestone in my daughter’s life.

Each sport she plays seems to come and go so quickly (except soccer… which drags on… and then drags on some more).

I’ve said it before, time (and her childhood) are moving by at a breakneck pace.

And yet, I don’t seem to age.

Maybe it’s good genes.  Maybe it’s dementia.

When her last game ended, she was presented with the traditional Medal of Participation.

If you play… good or bad… you get a generic softball necklace (see picture).

This keepsake will undoubtedly get shoved into her bedroom drawer of abyss.  This means it will never be seen again (until we kick her out of the house and reclaim her room as our new office).

The medals are nice, but they seem so temporary (it’s possible many were lost on the trip home).

This isn’t how my generation was raised.

When I was a kid (the 80’s… or the golden years as I like to call them), winners were given trophies and everyone else got nothing (and they liked it).

Now we have to make sure everyone feels good about themselves.

Wins and losses take a backseat to feelings and self-esteem.

This has always seemed odd to me.  Life used to be simpler.  Twenty years ago you could easily identify who won the game.

Now everyone is treated the same.

Call me crazy, but there was something to be said for one team parading a gigantic trophy (usually plastic) around the field while the 2nd place team stood off to the side and cried their eyes out.

It was simple and straightforward.

If you wanted a trophy, you had to practice.  And work.

Then practice some more.

It was what made America great.

The people who worked the hardest got the biggest rewards.

But things are different now.

I’ve always felt it was wrong to reward kids simply for participating.

I don’t do this often, so pay attention.

I may be changing my mind.

Maybe.

Yesterday, I saw one of my daughter’s teammates at the grocery store (a full 48 hours after their last game and the awarding of the Medals of Participation).

Much to my surprise she was wearing her medal.

And she was very proud of herself.

Really proud.

Not because she was the best player or the team who won the championship (sadly, she wasn’t and they didn’t), but because she played.

She participated.

And she has the medal to prove it.

So maybe… just maybe… I’ve been wrong.  Maybe participating is more important than winning.

Maybe.

Comments: 11
Tags: lottery, Medal of Participatin, softball, the 80's

Coach John Wooden has passed away at the age of 99 (1910-2010).

He is considered to be one of the greatest basketball coaches of all-time.

More importantly, he is considered to be one of the greatest teachers of all-time.

Sometimes great teaching takes place in a classroom.  Sometimes it takes place on an athletic field (or court).

Both take exactly the same gift.

After his coaching career ended, he said, "I have not for one moment regretted retiring from my teaching position at UCLA. I use the word teacher purposely, because I’ve always considered a coach to be a teacher."

Here is a list of some of his other "Woodenisms."

"Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out."

"Never mistake activity for achievement."

"Adversity is the state in which man mostly easily becomes acquainted with himself, being especially free of admirers then."

"Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are."

"Be prepared and be honest."

"You can’t let praise or criticism get to you. It’s a weakness to get caught up in either one."

"You can’t live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you."

"What you are as a person is far more important that what you are as a basketball player."

"Winning takes talent, to repeat takes character."

"A coach is someone who can give correction without causing resentment."

"I’d rather have a lot of talent and a little experience than a lot of experience and a little talent."

"If you don’t have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?"

"If you’re not making mistakes, then you’re not doing anything. I’m positive that a doer makes mistakes."

"It isn’t what you do, but how you do it."

"Ability is a poor man’s wealth."

"Failure is not fatal, but failure to change might be."

"Consider the rights of others before your own feelings, and the feelings of others before your own rights."

"Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do."

"Don’t measure yourself by what you have accomplished, but by what you should have accomplished with your ability."

"It’s not so important who starts the game but who finishes it."

"It’s what you learn after you know it all that counts."

"It’s the little details that are vital. Little things make big things happen."

"Talent is God given. Be humble. Fame is man-given. Be grateful. Conceit is self-given. Be careful."

"The main ingredient of stardom is the rest of the team."

"Success comes from knowing that you did your best to become the best that you are capable of becoming."

"Success is never final, failure is never fatal. It’s courage that counts."

Source: CoachWooden.com

Comments: 4
Tags: John Wooden

The End.

Actually there is more to this blog than just the title, but there doesn’t have to be. 

If you’ve been around the strange animal (“The Senior”), the title is pretty self-explanatory.

Seniors don’t have a clue.

About anything.

This is painfully obvious to just about everyone (especially their parents).

Everyone recognizes this fact, but the Seniors.

They think they have it all figured out.

Actually, they know they have it all figured out (if you don’t believe me, just ask them)

The only thing holding them back are those annoying adults.  Those people who surround them with only one purpose…to tell them what to do and how to act.

Who are “those people”? Teachers, administrators, coaches, mom, dad, and every other old person they’ve encountered since they first stepped foot in kindergarten. 

All of those people with their annoying advice, experience, and perspective.

Constantly trying to warn them about the challenges life has in store for them.  Trying to alert them that the world is about to smack them upside the head (and Seniors… consider yourself lucky if you only get hit in the head…). Trying to tell them life gets more complicated after high school, not less (sad, but true).

Seniors don’t want to hear it.

They don’t want anymore advice.

They don’t want to hear any more stories about how life used to be “in the good old days”. 

Enough with the guidance.

They want out.

Out of high school.  Out of their houses.  Out of the towns they grew up in (no matter how big that town may be… it’s still too small and there’s nothing to do).

They want sweet sweet freedom.

And they want it 6 months ago.

They want to make their own decisions and be in charge of their own destinies.

As we established earlier, they have all the answers.

What they haven’t figured out (yet) is they don’t know any of the questions.

I feel relatively confident speaking about this phenomenon because I was once a Senior.  Man was I stupid (and by stupid, I mean more stupid than now).

Comments: 5
Tags: graduation, high school seniors, kindergarten, seniors

The Evil Spawn is 9 years old (at least today she is 9… when I wake up tomorrow she will be 27).

During this stage of her life, I am required to be somewhere watching her do something at least 3 nights a week.

Different seasons bring different sports.

Every season brings on a case of bleacher butt, but that’s an entirely different blog.

Soccer (ugh), basketball, golf, and softball all have a place on the family calendar.

Sometimes I coach.

Sometimes I get lucky and don’t have to coach.

Summer means softball.

It also means I’m not that lucky.

I’m coaching.

Every practice presents a new challenge.

One night it’s parents.  Another night it might be me spending 30 minutes trying to figure out why half the girls didn’t bring gloves (yet they NEVER forget their pink helmets, pink batting gloves, and pink shoes).

On a bad night I might stand in the outfield and wonder how mosquitoes get as big as cats.

Normally, I just wonder why I agreed to coach.

Coaching little girls must be similar to childbirth.

A few months after the painful parts, your mind goes blank and you forget what a horrific experience it was.

But it’s not all bad.

Once in a while something happens and I’m thankful I was there to see it.

Or hear it.

Like tonight.

I told a young lady to go play first base.

She was so excited.

She pointed and said, “Last year they (coaches) never let me play here!”

I said, “First base?”

“No”, she said, “On the dust.”

“On the dust?”, I responded.

“Yes, here on the dust” as she pointed to the ground.

Then I got it.

She never got to play in the infield.

Or now as it’s known.

The dust.

Coaching is fun.

At least until the next labor pain.

Comments: 4
Tags: coaching, pink batting helmets, pregnancy, softball

The idea for this blog came to me after reading a comment left on an entry called “Perception”.

It got me thinking why educators and schools are sometimes the last to know they may not be as perfect as they want to believe.

I’m not judging, I’m just saying. 

This is an easy trap.

It can happen to administrators, teachers, custodians, cooks, school boards, parents, athletes, students and entire school districts (is there anyone I didn’t insult???).

Most of us like to believe we are self-motivated (if this was true, I wouldn’t need an alarm clock… or a scale).

And most of us are motivated.

Up to a point.

Then not so much.

The point our self-motivation fails us is when things get really hard.

It’s difficult to do things that are uncomfortable (or new).

I think this is one of the reasons it’s taken so long for technology to be taught by classroom teachers.

It can be hard (ie: new).  And confusing.  Even worse, it opens up the possibility the teacher may not be the smartest person in the classroom.

Many of us also believe the organization in which we are members is far greater than it actually is.

If you are involved with a group of people who are consistently telling each other they are great, you start to believe it.

None of us want to think we need to continually improve, but we do.

We all need help to accomplish great things.  To do our best.  To do things we could have never imagined.

It’s impossible to push ourselves to our limits (if that was the case the Marines wouldn’t need Sergeants).

Most of us think we are working as hard as possible.

We believe we are improving on a daily basis and giving at least a 110% effort (except on Fridays and days before holidays… those don’t count).

The truth is we probably aren’t.

That’s where we need help.

Other people (or outsiders) can recognize areas in which we need to improve.

That’s why we need coaches, bosses, mentors, and professional development.

We may not want people telling us we aren’t as great as we think we are, but it’s definitely what we need.

Comments: 13
Tags: alarm clocks, Marines, mentors, professional development, school administrators

People continue to ask me about 2 things:  how’s Buddy the Dog and have I learned to swim?

My answers:  spoiled/sleepy and no.

The dog needs his own fan club and I still sink like a rock

If you are scoring at home, I’ve completed 4 swim lessons.

That’s 4 straight weeks in a pool.  This smashes my old record by… well, by 4 weeks.

The good news is my coach/teacher no longer has the mortified look on her face like she did the first time we met.

I wasn’t exactly what she was expecting when I came out of the locker room.

She seems to have moved past the fact that I’m approximately 4 decades older than most of her students.

And I don’t wear a diaper.

At least not yet.

The look on her face has transitioned from disturbed to disappointed.

She’s done her best to teach me how to swim.

Sadly, her best hasn’t been good enough.

I went into this thinking swimming would be easy.

You jump in the pool, you float, you flop around, and you swim.

How hard could it be?

Turns out it’s kinda hard.

Maybe it’s easy for most people.

Sadly, I’m not most people.

She does her best to coach me up before I take off for the bottom of the pool.

She tells me exactly what my head, hands, arms, stomach, hips, legs, and feet should be doing.

She’s very specific on what I should be doing with every part of my body.

Then she says just relax and sends me off (turns out drowning isn’t that peaceful of an act). 

I get about 10 feet away and I think… “I’m tired… time to sink.”

And I do.

But just to the bottom of the pool.

I always stop there.

She thinks I need to practice between lessons.

I would, but I don’t actually own a pool.

Since all I can do in a pool is sink, it’s never really seemed like that great of an investment.

She said it would also help if I was bigger.

I said “Taller people float easier?”

She responded “No, fat people do.”

I think I’ve found my sport.  My calling if you will.

Evidently, I will be able to swim if I get fatter.

Seems odd.  One would think that fat people would sink more quickly.

But she’s the coach.  Whatever she says goes.

Time to go practice by taking a couple laps past the refrigerator.

If I want to be a great swimmer, I’m going to have to pay the price.

And the price seems to be ice cream.

This blog is in no way making fun of people who have weight problems.  It is completely making fun of my inability to do what every small child in America (or the world) can… which is swim.

Comments: 4
Tags: Buddy the Dog, chocolate ice cream, swimming lessons

It’s possible I’m not going to win the Father of the Year Award anytime soon.

Or ever.

Actually it’s not just possible, it’s pretty much a mortal lock.

It’s not because I call my daughter “The Evil Spawn” in a moderately well-read blog (although that certainly doesn’t help my cause).

It’s because I coach her basketball team.

One would think this would put me in the finals for the Father of the Year competition.

Actually coaching 3rd grade girls in anything should at least get me in the Fast Past line to Heaven (this would be a Walt Disney World/Religious reference… so it’s painfully obvious I’m so not a good person).

I’m trying to do the right thing.  I spend time with the Spawn.  I’ve taught her how to dribble.  I’ve taught her how to shoot.  She’s even scored several baskets (always followed by a slightly creepy celebratory dance she evidently learned from her mother’s side of the family).

I don’t mean to brag, but we’ve won most of our games (4-1 baby!!!).

It seems to me things are going pretty well.

Except there’s one small problem.

Or maybe it’s a big problem.  I’m really not fit to decide at this point.

When I coach her, I only see her mistakes.

And there are lots of them.

Again, I’m not really fit to decide this either (in fact, I really shouldn’t be around children).

I could write an entire blog about her inability to fight through a screen or be in good rebounding position, but then I would really look like an idiot (if you’ve never coached basketball please disregard this sentence as it probably makes absolute no sense… other than I’m an idiot part).

I expect her to play basketball like she’s taking a spelling test (stay with me… I have a point here).  I expect her to play an entire game and not make any mistakes.  None.  Zip.  Nadda.  And whatever the Spanish word for Zero is.

In my mind she should get everything correct just like I want her to do on a spelling test (I didn’t say it was a good point, I just said I had a point).

On the other hand, I recognize when her teammates make mistakes.  And that’s okay because they are trying.

As long as they try and do their best, what more can I ask?

Her?  Different story.

I’m not sure, but this may be a little something I like to call a “Double-Standard”.

By now, you are probably on board with my theory about not winning Father of the Year.

That’s okay because you would be right.  And just so my readers feel good about themselves, I’m about to reinforce this theory.

At our last game, we started the 4th quarter down by 6 points.  That’s not a big deficit unless you’ve seen 3rd grade girls play basketball.  Then you would realize it’s like being behind by 427 points.

Occasionally, our team struggles with “scoring” (as all 3rd graders do).

Basically the game was over.

But as luck would have it, our team battled back (in spite of my daughter… again, I only see her mistakes… I may have some issues and be in dire need of counseling).

With 37 seconds left we were down by 2 points, but we got the ball back.

I called a timeout.

This was the perfect opportunity to put all of my years of coaching knowledge to work.

I could diagram a play and we would win the game.

Too bad the girls were so excited they wanted to talk instead of listen.  Turns out during a timeout with 3rd grade girls, everybody has a story.  Or they are thirsty.  Or they need their shoes tied.  Or ponytails fixed.  Or they want to wave at mom and dad.  Or they need to use the restroom (who can’t hold it for 37 seconds???).

They want to do anything but listen to my ingenious explanation of the play that will win the game.

But this didn’t stop me.  I set up a play (or at least some controlled mayhem…). 

There were two girls I was comfortable taking the last shot.  Both are not related to me (the Evil Spawn is so writing a paper in high school titled “Bad Dad”). 

So what happens?

The play doesn’t work (who’s surprised?… not me).

But something odd happened.

The Evil Spawn evidently stay calmed and used her head (maybe we aren’t related???).

The Spawn scored to tie the game and send it to overtime (which we win!!!).

The crowd goes crazy.

A creepy dance ensues.

And I don’t remember any of it.

I didn’t even know she hit the last shot.  I have no recollection of it.  I thought another girl made the basket.

I was so focused on her not making a mistake.

It was only after the game when I realized she did something wonderful.  It occurred to me when other parents (no doubt better people than me) where high-fiving and congratulating her on the big shot at the buzzer.

Oh, it gets worse.

I not only missed the game-tying shot, I missed all of the shots she made.

Evidently, she was our leading scorer.  I had no idea.

I guess I don’t remember anything.  Except her mistakes.

I haven’t read the book “Good Dad/Bad Dad” (pictured above), but I probably should.

Comments: 6
Tags: 3rd Graders, Bad Dad, basketball, Evil Spawn/Daughter, Father of the Year, Good Dad, Heavan, Walt Disney World

A single meeting can drag on for hours.  Days last forever.  And weeks seem like they will never end.

How is it that a decade can fly by so quickly?

By my estimation decades are about 10 years long (feel free to double-check my math).  That means the last ten years accounts for approximately 1/8 of my life (if all goes well).

I’m starting to get the feeling that I’m living on borrowed time (my life is half over… I hope it wasn’t the good half).

Before the inevitable happens (I’m crossing my fingers that my Evil Spawn doesn’t put me in a nursing home… or a crate), I want to acknowledge how things have changed for me since the good old days (the year 2000).

Back then:

I was a punk teacher who thought I had all the answers.  Now I’m a punk school administrator who realizes that I don’t have any answers (and barely know all of the questions).

I coached a high school varsity boys basketball team.  Now, I coach 3rd and 4th grade girls.

In 2000, I didn’t own my house, truck, a suit, or have any investments.

I believed athletes were honest (steroids), hard-working, and good people (sorry Tiger, but I’m still heart broken).

I trusted politicians.

Buddy the Dog didn’t rule my house (that I didn’t own).

I was a year away from meeting the Evil Spawn.

And hearing my wife curse like a sailor during childbirth.

I didn’t have a Master’s or Specialist’s Degree.

I had never been to Florida, Texas, California, Colorado or basically anywhere.  Mainly because I had never been on an airplane, in a cab, or on a train.

I didn’t have a passport.

Or a cell phone.

We had a computer (that was huge), but it was slower than the phone I now carry around in my pocket.

I used to read the newspaper and look forward to the mail arriving.

Google, Twitter, Posterous, and thousands of other technology things were yet to be discovered.

I was newly-married (and yet my wife hasn’t aged a day in the last 10 years… yes, she reads the blog).

I hadn’t written a blog, read a blog, or heard of a blog.

My big concern back then was Y2K, not the Swine Flu.

Gas was cheap, but I never thought about it.

I spent my evenings watching TV, not working on a laptop.

I had a credit card, but no money to pay it off (because every cent went to student loans).

Any maybe the biggest thing… in 2000 I had absolutely no concept of time.  I didn’t think about the future.  I didn’t think about anything. 

Oh, how life has changed.  So quickly, in such a short time.

It makes me wonder what I’m about to face in the next decade.  What we are all going to face.

In the world.  At school.  In our personal lives.

For me, the next 10 years means I will celebrate my 50th birthday (how is that possible?), my 25th anniversary (what was she thinking?), and my daughter’s high school graduation.

My biggest hope for the next decade is it goes a little slower than the last one.

And I don’t end it in a crate.

Note from wife… Newly married?  We got married in 1995.  A half a decade prior to 2000.  Does that still qualify as “newly married”?

Comments: 3
Tags: basketball, decade, Evil Spawn/Daughter, Google, Posterous, swine flu, Travel, Twitter, Y2K

Too many of us overparent. 

We all want our kids to crawl first, walk first, speak first, read first, be the best athlete, finish first in everything, play a musical instrument, have the lead in the school play, win a pageant, be named the best-looking and funniest, finish in the top 1 in their class, and have 857 trophies (none that say “Participation”) in their bedroom.

Our society has come to believe we can control our children’s futures by controlling every aspect of their childhood.

Raising a child isn’t a competition.  It isn’t about winning and losing.  It’s about preparing kids who have the ability to make their own decisions when they enter adulthood.

To learn how to make good decisions, they have to experience what happens when they make a bad one.

A high number of activities, tutors, traveling teams, does not indicate future success in life.

We are failing our kids.

Not by failing to provide them opportunities, but by providing them far too many.

To be a good parent we need to give our children the gift of failure.

It’s okay to strike out.

The world won’t end if you’re cut from the basketball team.

You don’t have to play 75 summer softball games as a 3rd grader to be successful in life.

Eating school lunch is fine.  Mom doesn’t have to bring fast food to school.

C’s on your report card aren’t the end of the world (if you did your best).

Not being the most popular person in high school isn’t a bad thing.  It’s probably a good thing.

Being first isn’t nearly as important as being a gracious winner.  And even more importantly, a gracious loser.

We do everything in our power to keep our kids from feeling badly.

We try to protect them from:  teachers, illnesses, bad grades, tap water, demanding coaches, criticism, and high expectations.

If they fail, we feel like we’ve failed.

Except that’s not true.

We are holding them back by pushing them forward too quickly.

Parents want 3 year olds to act 5.  And 5 year olds to act 10.  And 10 year olds to act 16.

It’s too much, too fast.

They need a childhood.

They need some free time.

Kids should ride their bikes, eat dirt, drink out of a garden hose, get yelled at by coaches, pick their own teams, and solve their own disagreements.

They need mom, dad, their stepparents, and grandparents to allow them to find out what happens when you turn in a late assignment.

And it’s not having mom call and blame the teacher.

And it’s not the end of the world.

This TIME Magazine article explains this concept much better than I can.  The Growing Backlash Against Overparenting.

Comments: 12
Tags: helicopter parents, overparenting, Time Magazine, traveling teams

It’s time we get to the bottom of this age-old question that has been hashed and rehashed in teachers’ lounges for the last 100 years (or it’s just something I think about… hard to tell).

Who has the best job in education?

I’m talking about K-12 education, so college professors who “work” 3 hours a day twice a week don’t count (let the emails begin… please include “Don’t Forget We Have Office Hours” in the subject line… ).  I can almost hear my readership on college campuses plummeting.

Who has the best job is a very difficult question.

An easier question is who has the worst job.  I could get to the bottom of this in a matter of minutes (by minutes I mean seconds).

I can ask anyone who works for a school who has the worst job, and they will all say the same thing. 

“I do.”  

Everyone thinks their job is the most difficult and demanding in education.  And the world.  And universe.  And whatever is bigger than the universe.

Since this question is easily answered, we can focus on who has the best job.

Personally, I think a job where you sit at home and blog about nothing (not in a tie, unshaven, and holding a certain unnamed handsome beagle) would be the absolutely best job in education.

Unfortunately this doesn’t seem to be an economic possibility (since this unnamed beagle eats a LOT… which is understandable because he needs his strength to… well, nap all day… and sleep all night).

To understand who has the best job in education (which isn’t easy because it’s an enigma wrapped in a riddle tucked in a conundrum), I’ve decided to break it down by position.

First up are Athletic Directors.  This can’t be the best job because fans get angry when the AD hires a bad referee.  Of course, this statement assumes there are good referees (sorry, coaching flashback).  Plus they spend way too much time in a gymnasium.  You can only lean on a wall or sit in the bleachers for so long before your back hurts.

Bookkeepers can’t have the best job because there is far too much responsibility with way too much money (hopefully they have money to worry about…).  Plus employees of the district get SO upset when their paychecks are a few weeks late.

Coaches get fired.  A lot.  And if they don’t get fired this year, it’s very likely they will be fired next year.  So they can’t have the best job because they may not have a job by the time they are done reading this.

Custodians.  Vomit and toilets (individually not too bad, but together they make a horrific partnership).  Enough said on this subject (until a few sentences from now).

Dean of Students.  This job is similar to being a principal, but without any of the good parts (this assumes there are good parts).

Lunch Ladies have to feed hundreds of children who don’t like what they are serving.  This is especially true when the food is green.  Plus, you have to wear a hair net.  Not a good look.

Maintenance Man.  No chance.  Kids break things and while that provides a certain amount of job security, it happens so frequently this job is work.

Principal.  No way.  People yell at the principal and then threaten to sue.  Vomit and/or toilets would be a step up. 

The School Nurse is out because vomit is the least of their troubles.  Illness (Hello, Swine Flu) and huge amounts of responsibility takes them out of the running.

Secretaries are in charge of… well everything.  Definitely not the best job but certainly a candidate for the most challenging job.

Superintendent.  Nope.  You can throw this job in the same category as bookkeepers.  Lots of money (if all is going well) and a ton of responsibility.  Plus, they get paid a lot, so people don’t like them.

Teachers have students in their classrooms all day.  Enough said.  I don’t think I even need to talk about the shear number of papers they have to grade.

Technology People.  I don’t think so.  If a staff member has a computer/printer/SmartBoard/projector/anything electric and it’s not working… they want the Tech Person driven out to the middle of nowhere and left for dead.  If people want you killed, this officially takes you out of the running for the best job.

Substitute teachers.  Get serious.  Students who hate school get excited when there is a sub.  Not a good sign.  It’s hard enough controlling kids when you know their names.

All of these positions have issues that disqualifies them from receiving the title of Best Job in Education.

So if not these, which job is the Best in Education?

Easy.

It’s a no brainer.

Assistant Superintendent.

This is without a doubt (like I have a clue) the absolute Best Job in Education.

Why?

Two reasons.  One, who knows what this person looks like?  And two, who knows what this person does?

They are ghosts.

Enigmas if you will.

They work for the school… or do they?

They are seldom seen or heard (again, let the emails begin… please include “You Have No Idea How Hard I Work” in the subject line).

You know who hates this person?

Nobody.

Absolutely nobody.

This qualifies them (easily) as the winner of the Best Job in Education.

No matter what job you hold… Have a Happy Thanksgiving and a Great Holiday Season!

Comments: 8
Tags: best job in education, college professors, jobs in education, swine flu