Deflating Your Balls

Ugh. I’m not quite sure how football has crept into my once sports-free life. Actually, that’s not true. I know exactly how it happened. I have an 11-year-old boy who is obsessed with football.

And maybe a little bit because of roller derby, and learning the art of a good block. And how to recognize a concussion or deal with seeing a compound fracture. And learning that being very tough can be very cool.

Regardless, there is only one more football game to watch this season, and it is the Big One. Kidlet is so excited. I’m moderately excited. Primarily due to the spicy chili and wonderfully-tasty deviled eggs I only get once a year. No, seriously. They are really good eggs decorated to resemble footballs.

Then Deflategate happened. Creating nothing but headaches for the NFL, Vegas book makers, and for me.

Here is my problem now: How do I talk to my Kidlet about cheating? Because, as it turns out (she says, feigning surprise), his heroes cheat.

I think he already knows that athletes cheat. He has watched enough of the 30 for 30 documentaries to see the drugs, the scandals, the falls from grace. These athletes featured in these shows get taken down because they eventually get caught cheating.  At some point, all cheaters get caught. Cheaters cheat not because they are smart. They do it because they think they are special. Too special. Too special to get caught. Too special for consequences. These people believe that the rules of both the game and the society do not apply to them.

But there is always a karmic price for cheating. I heard an interesting thought on a podcast the other day. One of the podcasters voiced his opinion that the reason the Southern United States is still battling the devastating effects of poverty, racism, and inequality was that—up until the Civil War—the South was cheating. They were building a robust and stable economy by cheating with slavery. While the Northern States were developing industry and a foundation of sustainability, the South was cheating. And they are still paying for it. That is an interesting notion, isn’t it?

My little nephew cheats at UNO. Every time I play with him. I know he does it, but I play with him anyway. Because, sometimes, I cheat too. If I get stuck in a video game, I don’t hesitate to Google the solution or cheat code. I’ve done that both with and for the Kidlet. I’ve cheated on one or two school tests. I’ve cheated at pub trivia once or twice. And I won’t lie. Those instances of cheating didn’t really detract from the experience of earning trivia points or that B+. I’m pretty sure cheating actually enhances the thrill of UNO for my nephew. He gets a Cheater’s High.

I’ve been cheated on in relationships. Quite a bit, really.  I have to wonder if these men who have cheated on me cheated at UNO when they were nine. Actually, I don’t have to wonder. I know that they did. I know that they still do. They cheat on taxes. They cheat at poker. They cheat and cheat and cheat. Is all cheating created equal? Maybe. Probably.

So what do I say to Kidlet about cheating?

I need to tell him that sometimes people cheat because expectations are too high. And I need to let him know that I will never get mad about a bad grade on a test if he can promise me that he tried his best. And that if he didn’t try his best, my disappointment at the bad grade will not last nearly as long as my being upset that he cheated. But I do need to tell him that if I ever learn he cheated on someone he was in a relationship with, the boot print I will leave on his ass will never quite go away.

I need to tell him that being honest doesn’t always feel good. Sometimes, it downright sucks.  And that it often easier for people to pretend to be someone they are not, which is absolutely a form of cheating. Or they pretend they can do something they really cannot do, whether it is winning the Tour de France or passing that AP French test.

And I need to tell him that people make mistakes. All of us do. But that one mistake can change your life forever. And fast. So when you are faced with the Kobayashi Maru, chose not to cheat. Even if you know that means you won’t win. Because both the size and scope of any mistakes you are making is mitigated if the truth is on your side.

I guess what I ultimately need to say to Kidlet is that cheating never results in anything but a hollow victory. Even the most morally loose, dead-inside people eventually recognize that whatever victory or gain they have received by cheating will be stained by the knowledge that the only reason they won was because they let some of the air out.

I understand the urge to deflate your ball a little in order to be able to catch it. I have that thought every time I touch my beach ball, once again shooting it across the pool. Letting a little air out of it will make it easier for my hand to grab that slippery sphere.

But… Letting the air out, even just a little bit, means that I am releasing pieces of my dreams. My wants. My desires.

And my truth.

Letting some air out of balls changes the very nature of that ball, if only just a bit.

Some people will always take the opportunity to cheat if it is presented to them. And yes, sometimes these guys will make it all the way to the Super Bowl. But we can all see them. We see them how they really are. Standing next to the real winners, holding their droopy balls.

All Apologies

My boss asked me this a few days ago: “Are you a Canadian?”

He asked me that because I apologize a lot. Too much. All the time. 

Canadian graffiti 

I apologize when someone bumps into me. I apologize if I get sick. I apologize when I ask to use vacation time. I apologize when I am right and someone else is wrong.

Over-apologizing is a manifestation of guilt. And I certainly suffer from guilt. When I am at work, I feel bad about not being able to be on mom duty. When I am getting an MRI, I feel guilty about missing work. When I can't make it to a school play, I feel guilty. When I do make it to the play, I feel guilty.

So, I apologize.

Last Saturday night, the Derby girls were having their end-of-year party. It was a costume party with a superhero theme. I've always been more partial to the super villains. They are just more interesting. So I put together an awesome, sexy Darth Vader costume.

I spent an hour getting ready. As I did, the snow started to fall. And it continued to fall. And it dropped about 3 more inches. And then froze to the road. I tried to drive to the party. My poor little car was sliding all over the road. And my poor little eyes couldn't see anything through the combination of wet roads and storm darkness. So I missed the party and stayed safely home.

Then I promptly posted an apology to Facebook. I said I was sorry that I was missing the party and unable to deliver the plates and napkins I had promised. What I should have posted is: It's too dangerous for me to drive. I'm staying safely at home. I hope you all drive carefully. But that isn't what I wrote.

Once, when I was skating with a group of Fresh Meat skaters, my toe stop came off, tripping me. I took down three other skaters on my fall to the floor, including Biz, the Fresh Meat Mama.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm so sorry," I said as I scrambled to retrieve my toe stop before it rolled into another skater's wheels.

"There's no sorry in Derby," said Biz. "Just don't be an asshole and you will never need to apologize."

 

People have taken notice that I apologize too much. That hurts me both socially and professionally. But, there is a much more important reason that I need to break this habit. My son is inheriting my apology disease. Kidlet is apologizing too much. And I don't want him saddled with this burden.

I will talk to him tonight. proposing that we work together to break this bad habit that we both have. Here is what I plan to tell him.

We need to stop mindlessly apologizing. It makes sincere apologies hollow and meaningless. We need to stop saying sorry. When we need to apologize, we need to say I'm sorry.

We should not apologize as a form of politeness. We should instead say what we actually feel: That is so sad. We should say what we actually need: I need to interrupt you to tell you that I need that immediately. We should acknowledge what actually happened: Oh, you startled me. I didn't see you there.

When someone does something considerate, we should say thank you instead of sorry. Thank you for helping me with that. Not Sorry you had to do that for me.

We need to protect the integrity of a true apology. There is no point to constantly saying sorry. When something isn't your fault, don't apologize. When it is your fault, fix it. It really should be as simple as that. 

Kidlet and I need to help each other by pointing out our habitual sorry statements when they occur. We should become aware of when we mindlessly toss out a sorry. When a true apology is necessary, we both need to work on saying I'm sorry. Once.

I am going to do my best to not have to apologize. I will try to stop mindlessly saying sorry. And when I do apologize, I will do it with deliberate thoughts and feelings. And I hope--with all my heart--that my son can do that too.

The Marvels

I've experienced a lot of marvel in the last couple days.

I had an appointment with my Neurologist. My most recent MRI showed that the Avonex is doing its job. The films showed that my brain lesions are in a calm state, meaning that they are not actively progressing. So that's something!

Halloween was fun this year. Kidlet dressed up as Captain America, and I was Wonder Woman. I was informed by The Cap that we cannot be seen together, since he was Marvel and I was DC Comics.

My skating mojo has been off. Ever since I came back from vacation, I've been having some trouble. I think it's a combination of a week without being on my skates, my feet being quite shredded, and a bit of scheduling bad luck. But, in the last couple days, my skating is on the upswing. I'm seeing myself improve. And that is marvelously encouraging.

Pursuit and Happiness

Kidlet is making out his December gift list. He has the unfortunate luck of having a birthday smack dab in the middle of the Holiday Season. One of the things he asked for was the new Skylanders video game. (Let’s not tell him he won’t be getting it. We are trying to cut down on screen time. He’s getting books.)

But, knowing me well, he sweetened his sales pitch for this game with the following bit of information:

“Mom, they have a character named Roller Brawl!”

Yeah, I’m going to need to paint my helmet like that.

Kidlet has also pointed out other places he has found Derby Girls. One place was in my favorite kid’s show Phineas and Ferb. If you haven’t had the great pleasure of watching this Disney animation, you should make some time to do so. I won’t even tell anyone if you don’t have kids. It’s a great show.

In an episode called “Crack That Whip,” (See, right out of the gate. Great title.) Betty Jo Flynn and Hildegard Johnson rekindle their roller derby rivalry. Betty Jo, grandmother of the titular characters, and Hildegard draft their grandkids to skate with them, pitting the smitten Candace against the boy she is crushing on. Skating ensues.

I am a little surprised—but tickled pink—that Kidlet is enjoying my Derby journey. But he sincerely is loving it. He writes about it in school. He talks about it to his friend. He throws around terms like “derby tough” and “hip check.” And I smile every time.

I like that he is seeing his mom as determined, strong, and daring. When he watches me give myself my shot, he is thinking that I am tough, not that I am sick. He loves to see bruises on my legs because I let him believe that they are from derby, not from Avonex.

I’ve said it before, but Kidlet is the reason I can never, never quit. He has too much faith in me, and I cannot disappoint him. I cannot let him see me stop something because it got hard. He knows that I am strong and fierce. And he knows that I will always stand by him, behind him, and, if necessary, in front of him.

But, more importantly, he will see that the coolest things are often the hardest things. The most amazing experiences are often the scariest. Being brave does not mean never being scared. It means doing it anyway.

When our family was in Mexico, one of the activities that Kidlet tried out was the trapeze. He got into the harness, climbed the ladder, and swung on a bar that was 30 feet in the air. I asked him about it later. He said, “I’m really glad I tried it. Now I never have to do it again.” He tried it. He is so brave.

I dig that kid. So, in the immortal words of Candace, see you on the track, chump!

The Best Motivation Ever

Kidlet wrote this in school. It came home in his backpack.

My mom is awesome.

1. She is in roller derby.

2. She is very strong, mentally too.

3. She is very nice, but if you are on the wrong team, you are in serious trouble.

Wow. Just wow. I can never quit Derby. I can never quit anything. I owe it to Kidlet to always keep trying and to stay strong.