Category: Dear Kids

65. Who Owns Art

65. Who Owns Art

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Last year, I wrote a lot about trying to understand the balance between our initial responses or judgements about a person (or ourselves, or our world) and the more complete, complex, context that surrounds us all the time. Some of those things come back in what I wanted to write about this month, but in a different way.

In a world with a surfeit of entertainment options, people infer a lot of your personality type based on what you consume. In a culture of infinite privileges, how you choose to spend your finite resources (money, and time) matters a great deal. And so, it’s not only the cultural products you like that matters, but the people who make it.

There’s a whole lot of judgement that circles around what you like. Who/what you support. Who/what you endorse with your time, your money, and your fandom.

Many people get stuck on the notion of liking something created or owned by a person who makes their skin crawl. Enjoying or endorsing the product or work of someone you disdain and disavow can feel awful. But, as I talked about last year, I hope you keep considering the context, and remember that art is owned by the audience, not the artist.

Dear Boys,

For your mom and I, the most contentious bone in this conflict is JK Rowling.

‘Harry your eyesight really is awful,’ said Hermione as she put on her glasses.

Illustration–Mary Grand-Pre

When your mom and I were beginning adulthood and eagerly offering books to your Uncle Simon and Auntie Julianna, there was no greater conduit to the world of literature than Ms. Rowling. Her Harry Potter series inspired millions, captivated and delighted billions. It spawned joyous expressions in new writings, and art, in film, television, song and community. It was beautiful.

And then she began to espouse some truly hideous beliefs about those who don’t fit neatly into one gender type.

Rather than accept that she might have more to learn, or that others might see things differently, she has doubled, tripled… centupled down on the notion that her view of people is right and all others are wrong. She has mocked people who found solace and opposite meanings in her books, and she has brought her now considerable wealth to bear to justify her views.

All this is so ugly, that some of the shine on Harry Potter has worn away.

We were still delighted when Alex asked to read them, often again and again. We were more than willing to watch the films, to share the games, and offer our own thoughts about the meaning of the series. But we also know a lot of friends who wonder why we haven’t shunned Rowling and her work yet.

This conflict isn’t entirely consumed by one author though. Soccer is filled with problematic personas. Loons winger Franco Frangapane offers a potent attack…but he also attacks people of different races. The same is true of Ross County coach Malkay McKay whose racist views likely affected his management.

Alex loving every minute

The very World Cup that has consumed the last three weeks falls in this bucket too. The hosts in the Emirate of Qatar have many fine and admirable qualities. They’ve created a small scale but globally inviting celebration of football to demystify the middle east. But they are quick to dismiss anyone who asks too many questions about how homosexual or immigrant people are treated outside of the stadia.

So for three weeks I’ve thrilled with stunning Mema Ochoa saves, and superb Ghanaian strikes, stellar American tackles and Cinderella stories from Japan, Senegal, Australia and Morocco. It’s been a pleasure to cheer the last runs of Messi and Modric, and to learn about Gakpo, Salisu, Doan, and Hakimi. But every game, every thrill, every moment is tempered by the uncomfortable reality that time spent celebrating Qatar, is time not spent promoting change in Qatar and elsewhere.

To chant for the Loons when Frangapane is on the pitch, or revel in wins masterminded by McKay, or express elation that our world has been connected in watching games seems in poor taste to many. I can’t say that they’re wrong.

From the Athletic

While all of these people (Rowling, Frangapane, McKay, and the World Cup organizers) present ideas or values that are directly opposed to what I would say or teach to you boys, the things they do and the work they create is bigger than them.

Art is meaningless without an audience. Whether it’s the crafting of a story on the page, the creation of a scoring opportunity, or a grandiose sporting event: none of it means anything unless an audience reads it, watches it, and considers it. Once it leaves the author’s hand (or foot) it ceases to be theirs alone, and becomes our collective property.

In that context, Harry Potter means what you want it to mean. The triumphs of Loons and Stags means something to me, regardless of what it means to the team’s personnel.

To some, that might seem convenient, an excuse to let me continue reading, watching, and cheering with a clear conscience. But I think it’s an active engagement: I won’t just consume and accept, I will watch, consider and make meaning on my own. I am not a docile sheep being herded towards hatred by Rowling, or Qatari billionaires. I am in charge of my own mind, and my free will allows and even encourages me to disagree.

So I will, and I hope that you boys do too. There’s a lot of beautiful things in this world, even though there is also a lot of ugliness. You decide what you see and what you do with it. That’s your power. Use it well.

Freiburg, Freiburg, Uber Alles

Freiburg, Freiburg, Uber Alles

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In our first round of posts, inviting in eleven teams, there were a few cases where the choices were obvious.

Living in Minnesota made the Loons an easy fit.

The family crest atop the Ross County badge was, again, easy.

My own link (albeit minimial) to the legacy of Grenoble’s academy, and players and history was obvious.

But some were trickier.

In particular, while I knew a good deal about your Grandmother Di’s Serbian roots, we had said very little about the other side of her family. It took e-mails with great-great aunties with a passion for geneology and a bit of educated guessing regarding regional links to first an outpost in rural Russia and then Nebraska to figure out that they likely came from the Schwarzwald (the Black Forest).

There are a few lower level teams in that area, but with few ways to know precisely whence and where your ancestors were from, it made sense to look at the biggest local team as well: hence Freiburg.

The more I read, the more sense they made: a crest with a mythical mascot, a team without a lot of cash but a lot of loyalty, a group of great strong women who made their own way, a community built more on sustainability than showing off, a manager who saw himself more as a teacher than a professional tactician. Freiburg felt right, and so, I adopted them on your behalf.

Dear Boys,

I had no idea what was coming our way.

Freiburg has not been indomitable. But they have been quite good. Their march towards through the German Cup this year set them up to play in the most high profile match of any team on our roster of favorites.

In a rare turn of events, our family was able to clear our schedule and sit down together to watch the fun. I was on the edge of my seat, Alex was curling up next to me, even your mom was gung-ho to see what the small time squad could do.

Across the pitch from them was RB Leipzig, a squad who also lacked a major tournament pedigree or their own gold-encrusted history, but who had some things Freiburg did not: financial resources and lofty expectations.

Freiburg took the lead when little discussed Maximilian Eggestein sliced a shot through the box and into the net. Leipzig roared back to take control of the match, dictating the pace and threatening the goal repeatedly. There were more than a few tense moments until a much more high profile star (Charles Nkuku) equalized, and even more tense moments as the game wound on through regulation, and an hour of over time, and into the excruciating pain of penalty kicks.

There have been many statements about how foolish it is to end a game with the delicacy and duration of soccer with the visceral finality of penalty kicks. It’s like ending baseball games with home run derbies, or gridiron games with field goal challenges. It’s like letting the serious questions of what you do and how you live be decided by the flip of a coin.

I feel that way a lot. Because it seems like teams we love lose on penalty kicks a lot.

And thats what happened to Freiburg.

By that time Owen was dozing, and Alex was distracted, and your mom was running an errand, and I was sick to my stomach. Sick because a team I chose almost by default meant so much to me in that moment. A team that represents a part of the world I’ve never visited had me utterly enthralled, and I felt for them as I felt for your Uncle Simon losing on Penalties in Montana league soccer, or for you boys when you lose a close game.

But at the same time, Freiburg also offers a different point of view. Yes, I felt sick to my stomach, and that must be nothing next to the players and staff and fans who have invested over a century of their life in the club (rather than my minimal concern). But I’ve never gotten the sense that Freiburg was furious about the result. I’ve never felt unwelcome as a new fan. And I’ve often felt that there’s an appreciation not for what we wish happened, but for what did happen. Freiburg fans appreciate that this was a magical run and a glorious moment, and even without a nice shiny trophy: it was special.

That’s why Freiburg has come to mean so much in so short a time. They are philosophical, considerate, and enthusiastic all at once. They feel the big emotions and see the big meanings, but don’t fail to appreciate the little bits either.

I haven’t always been a Freiburg fan, but I am so glad to be one now.

I am not German, or from the Schwarzwald, or personally invested, but I know that part of that region contributed to our family, to your mother, and to you. I’m so grateful to see that and to learn from it every day.

(For another, better edited and locally voiced reflection on Freiburg and the club’s meaning, watch this excellent documentary from Copa 90 on that same match)

On Plops, Injuries, and Good Things

On Plops, Injuries, and Good Things

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I truly enjoy sharing what thoughts you boys have, even if your future selves might rather I not log your childhood musings quite so publicly.

Dear Boys,

This year, with the pandemic more clearly behind us, and with vaccinations empowering your anti-bodies, taking you to games finally became a possibility. I was delighted to take you, thrilled to have some quality personal time just papa and a boy.

You really liked gummy worms.

That was your major take away from soccer matches: that’s where gummy worms come from.

If there’s one thing you noticed about the play on the field it’s that–sometimes–people plop down.

Owen in particularly seemed taken with the collapses and injuries (both genuine and simulated), and while it seems an odd thing to learn from, I feel like there is a lesson there. (This whole blog could be renamed “odd things to learn from” but I digress)

On a blustery summer’s day, Owen and I watched the Loons play the Houston Dynamo, only to see winger Franco Frangapane fall to the earth just as we prepared to leave the match.

We paused, Owen bouncing on my hip to look out and watch the ensuing free kick, a shot that came ricocheting off of Emmanuel Reynoso’s foot, and then Fabrice-Jean Picault’s backside, and thence into the net.

Good things can come: even from ouchies.

It’s easy to assume that if something hurts, it’s bad.

If something isn’t fun, it’s bad.

If you don’t like something it’s bad.

It’s a common thread of critique, complaint and general dissatisfaction. At a time when you can have just about anything you want whenever you want, learning that something that seems bad can lead to something better is important.

Maybe Owen was already primed for that lesson after discovering a new found passion for that hallmark of toddler obsession: Frozen.

The whole movie hinges on characters loathing something that hurts or causes pain, and rushing headlong towards what gives them pleasure. Elsa hates having ice powers. Her parents get her to hide them. She tries to avoid it with everything she has. Meanwhile her sister, Anna, aka Owen’s new favorite stuffed friend, stops talking to Elsa. She jumps head long into an engagement with a man she had met just moments before and who she can only describe as “dreamy”.

But the rush for pleasure put Anna at risk (her suitor turns out to be a duplicitous dinkwad), and the ultimate salvation comes courtesy of Elsa and her powers. Her powers are what makes good things (Olaf, the aforementioned dinkwad’s come-uppance) possible.

So I suppose it was appropriate that Owen spent the match with Anna in his hands, even for the Wonderwall chants.

I hope you know, that gummy worms are great…but so are plops.

KISS

KISS

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I have taken Alex with me to matches throughout his life. Even at under a year old, he was wrapped up in a baby carrier, being toted through a stadium filled with shouts and screams all so he could be present for the events.

Dear Boys,

And yet, he mostly slept or cried.

In the years since, he’s become more of an afficianado. He will ask to watch with me from time to time. He truly enjoys wearing his Loons gear, and he’s even started attending and adoring soccer training at pre-school: Soccer Shots. (Quoth the coach: “Alex shows growing ability at scoring goals!)

So heading back into the stadium this year, the first year of confident-Post-COVID attendance, I was hoping to see if he had developed a more refined appreciation of the game: more understanding of nuance and interest in both what happened with the ball and what happened away from it. The match didn’t disappoint: Luis Amarilla netted twice, Bongokuhle Hlongwane got his first goal at home to raucous applause, and the opposing Portland Timbers matched the Loons every step of the way. Surely, I thought, this will create a deep and multifaceted love of the game in Alex.

Alex’s take away: the gummy worms at the stadium are really good. And celebrating goals is fun!


It might sound like I’m making fun, but the truth is, I really envy how clearly Alex can see things. I want to hold on to that idea, I want to come back to it again and again.

As someone who can make absolutely everything overwrought, I need to remember that Alex’s approach is often the best. Keep it Simple, Son.

(Okay, that’s not the usual acronym, but I’m actively trying to avoid name calling, even towards myself)

You can worry about the pace, or the marking strategy. You can worry over the expressions you use and whether or not you have anybody reading your work.

In all that worrying, in all that cogitating, you can lose sight of the thing that you actively want to do.

Score goals.

Write.

In short, just be. And Alex already understands that.

Keep it simple, son.

Shine, Don’t Burn

Shine, Don’t Burn

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(Originally drafted in May, and published now because…well…the reason is in the post)

I try to be honest with you boys as much as I can. To be genuine, truthful and direct about what happens when you’re living so that you can have some guide to getting through what’s going on.

You are wonders. You are marvels. You are joys, and I am forever blessed to be your father.

I am tired. I am spent. I don’t have much left to give, and I worry–almost every day–that I am about to let you down.

I am not unlike most parents. I am a great deal like many teachers in the age of COVID and rising pressure. I am burning out.

Dear Boys,

I say this not to plea for pity, or provide a guilt trip, but just to say: this is who I am, this is what I am navigating. Going in to school in the morning, I feel a heat in my legs and my cheeks and my scalp. I am worried that students will push and prod when I am least prepared and I will break.

Coming home at night, my feet itch, my skin crawls, my teeth grind, and I imagine bed time battles that I’m not emotionally ready for. I don’t blame you for not wanting to go to bed, or for begging for one more story, or one more game, or one more song. You are finding the pleasures of the world. You’re going to be excited to ask for more. I just don’t know if I can say no, even though I know I ought to, or if I can hear your cries and frustrations without taking it personally.

I know that in writing this, things may seem insurmountable. When you find this and read this years from now, you may wonder how I found a solution to it all.

I didn’t.

I just continued on.

The Madrigals

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t always pleasant. But it has happened. (At least, I hope it has.)

The inspiration for this came, as it so often does, from family.

Owen’s adoration of Encanto means that, in addition to twirling nightly in his preferred Isabella purple night gown, we sing the songs almost hourly. So I am well familiar with the lyrics in the final song: “All of You”

“Look at this family, a glowing constellation.

So many stars, and everybody wants to shine…

But the stars don’t shine, they burn…

The constellations shift,

I think it’s time you learn…

You’re more than just your gift.”

–Lin Manuel Miranda

I’m not sure if you know just how hard that lyric hits me. I’m not sure how much of that lyric or the familial trauma undertones you understand, but it really does matter to me.

MacKenzie Crest

The same sentiment comes out in our family crest. The stag is familiar, it’s emblazoned on our local Ross County Kit. But the crest is more than that. The MacKenzie clan crest is a mountain on fire, and a credo in Latin: Lucero Non Uro…”We shine not burn”.

The MacKenzies are not the Scottish equivalent of the Madrigals, but I like to think that our forebearers understood some of the same purpose.

You can burn up your starlight. You can give and give and give until you’re spent. You can live your life like your hair is on fire, believe me, I feel like I’ve been doing it for years now.

But that’s not the point. It doesn’t serve you. It doesn’t serve those you love. And it isn’t what is in your nature.

You’re more than just your gifts. You’re more than Owen’s dancing, or Alex’s curiosity. The Madrigals are more than super-strength, or life-giving nourishment, or shape-shifting. The Staggies are more than impressive soccer players. The long-gone MacKenzies were more than defenders of an endangered king, or farmers, or revolutionaries.

I might feel burnt out at the sound of a school bell, or a son’s stomping feet, but I am more than that feeling. I am more more than that role. I feel it…and other things. I do it…and other things. I don’t have to strain to make it work. I don’t have to burn to prove that I’m trying.

I shine by being me. You shine by being you. The Madrigals, the MacKenzies, the miraculously saved Stag-Wearing Ross County side: all of us do our best at being what we are…because there’s power and strength and beauty, just in being.

By just being, each and every day: the Staggies survived a difficult campaign. The MacKenzies have seen their future borne out in you. The Madrigals are reunited and restored. And you bring joy to the world around you.

Leaving things late

Leaving things late

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After a glorious summer of scintillating soccer, the Loons losing streak put the playoffs in peril.

I’m no stranger to late rushes to finish a job. You can’t be around students for most of your working life and not see frantic efforts to complete assignments, tests, even prom date arrangements.

There’s nothing wrong with late work. and nothing inherently better about quick completions. If nothing else the make or break moments force you to do something you can always benefit from: focus on the present moment alone.

Dear Boys

It’s an immensely valuable skill: one that can seem at odds with meeting all the expectations of scheduling and planning and executing vital plans to complete projects. But in reality, if you are present, truly present in the moment, you are living your life to the fullest.

Mender in a more acrobatic moment

Owen summed this up beautifully as we watched the game. Loons’ right wing Mender Garcia, stopped running and sat on the pitch. He was one of many who had paused play in the middle of a strenuous and stressful competition. More than a few fans were tired of the breaks in play. We heard grown men around us complain and moan about time wasting, or bad calls, or angling for a foul call.

Owen took a look at this and gave his opinion, “I think he just needs a break.”

I loved that idea.

I loved the notion, that a professional athlete might be, at core, an over-sized two year old: taking a break when he needed it. The biggest difference was that the professional athlete could sit down in frustration, or fatigue, or injury without flailing his legs and calling everyone a poop-butt.

Only the player knew for sure why he was doing it. He’d likely never tell the fans. I hope that in that moment, Mender got what he needed. He certainly seemed to be ok, but uncomfortable. I hope that he could feel where his body was at and what it needed. I’m sure that he found some of the strength he needed to continue on, at least until he was replaced about ten minutes in to the second half. But no matter what else, I hope that he had a moment to work through the pain and just be where he was and know what he was doing for one (relatively) quiet moment.

Zen and the art of Gummy Bears

I saw that same feeling creep over Owen as he munched on gummi-worms and admired the extra long tv screen above the end line. He watched the action on the screen, drinking it deeply. In all the noise and pressure and everything else, he just enjoyed his gummy worm, and the beating of the drums, and simply let it be.

The Loons ended up making the most of the moment. I don’t know as any of them would tell you that they did it because they were truly present in the moment. I doubt that they would blame their losing streak prior to this match as the result of ignoring the best practices of Zen philosophy. But this isn’t about what literally happened, that’s all in the box score. This is about what we learn, and in the midst of the break in a losing streak, and a sunny afternoon chewing gummy worms with my son, I felt more than ever how important appreciating that one moment really is.

66. Where you’re supposed to be.

66. Where you’re supposed to be.

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For the first time in over two years, your mom and I went away. Away from you, away from home, away from all the lingering routines and history of home and all the plans and preparation that goes into a day in the life of us and you.

One of (the many) things made harder by the pandemic is living in the moment. So much of our time is spent missing the way things were of strategizing and imagining ways to navigate the world safely.

Being parents amplifies that even more because you boys aren’t in a planning place yet. If you could choose, every day would be pajama day and every meal would be chocolate and fruit. So it falls to us to remember what worked before, and what needs to happen in the next week (or more realistically, next two hours).

I’m not complaining mind you. I’m happy to help you by handling the past and the future. I’d just like to join you in the present more often.

Dear Boys,

Knowing your love of foxes I figured you’d like this painting from one of their shows.

That’s what came to mind last weekend. Your mom and I went to see our favorite band: Cloud Cult. Possibly the most philosophical band of the modern era, and for sure the only one that incorporates live painting into every show. The crowd was kept small, the spaces held separate, and still it was wonderful.

The band has a lot of songs that question what we do, how we do it, and how we are often torn between our memories, our plans, and our present. And as I sipped on a cider and sat next to your mom, I tried to set aside my busy brain for being present in the moment.

That’s a surprisingly difficult thing to do.

Busy brains know how to be busy, and they do it without really being asked. It’s true as we go through our day to day life, and it’s even true when we watch a simple soccer match. Lots of fans aren’t there in the moment, we’re casting our eyes to the standings to explain a shift in fortunes, or at the broader story to predict what’s next for a beloved coach or player.

A more efficient Oaxaca…who cares why?

I’m a part of that practice. I can’t help but look back at where Alebrijes de Oaxaca was at throughout last season and marvel at where they are now. How have they done it? Was it promoting Juan Portales to captain? Was it changing managers? Shifting styles?

Ultimately finding the answers to those questions is satisfying, but with or without the knowledge, it’s a pleasure to watch the players in their explosive kits embrace and cheer one another. It’s fun to hear the stadium roar again and feel like great things are possible. Knowing why it’s happening is fine, but ultimately, it’s great that it is happening at all.

If you give this moment your fullest attention

We’ll just keep going forwards with no need for going back.

Cloud Cult. “Time Machine Invention”
The straw that stirs the scotch

It’s also relevant at the individual level. The last month has been the golden age of Regan Charles Cook. The Staggies’ winger has been a powerhouse throughout the Scottish premiership even though Ross County remains a relative afterthought.

That stunning showing is the kind of thing that sets tongues to wagging. How much longer will he keep it up? If he does how long until he gets to move up to a better, more influential club?

While those questions of the future buzz around, it doesn’t help us to appreciate what it is. Regan Charles Cook is kicking butt. His speed, his enthusiasm, his mere presence has made County highlights a joy to watch.

Turn off the phone and throw away the clock,

and the endless things you think you have to do.

The water’s warm and the sun is shining,

and I just wanna spend some time with you.

Cloud Cult. “Days to Remember”
Like being Papa Tiger

There’s so much out there in the world. We often search everywhere we look for explanations. Or extrapolate out what we know to make predictions. Your little brains strive so hard to understand, and I love helping you with that quest.

But sometimes the answer is: what is, is what we need right now.

I don’t know why we’re here, and I don’t know how

But I’m here with you now, I am here with you now

Cloud Cult. “You were Born”
65. Sid

65. Sid

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We said goodbye to Sidney the dog this week.

Dear Boys,

He was a good boy.

He did not always do good things. But he was a very good boy.

He sometimes drove you guys crazy. Alex always wanted him out of the way and demanded the pup stay off his bed. Owen was terrified that every scrap of food on your plate would be eaten by the fluffy white vacuum cleaner.

You sometimes drove him crazy. He hid away on the couch or a chair. He was not fond of your version of “petting” (which an outside observer might call, “grabbing”). And you took up way too much of his humans’ attention for his liking. Maybe that’s why he stole your food and peed near your rooms.

But still, he was our dog. Before you were here, we helped him overcome his fear of…well…everything. Noises, people who looked at him, people who didn’t look at him, cars, bikes, bigger dogs, smaller dogs, everything. We took him into our home and for ten years we walked him, fed him, and cleaned up after him.

Some people call their pets “fur babies” as if the distinction between Sidney and you was his hairiness. Others mock pet owners, wondering how people can spend time, energy, and resources caring for a little animal in the face of serious inequalities, injustices and needs among our fellow human beings.

The truth, as I see it, is in between.

Caring for Sidney is nothing like caring for you boys. (I mean, I tried to put your food in a bowl, but you kept asking to be held and given a bottle instead. NOTE–I never did that, it was written for comic effect). The love I have for Sid isn’t the love I have for you. It’s not better or worse, less or more, it’s just different.

And loving Sid hasn’t made me less able to care for others. Love isn’t a finite resource, and if we dissect every cent spent or minute used, we miss out on the longer arc.

Sidney reminded me every day: it’s not always about the big things, and it’s not always about the little things. Just like soccer isn’t just about one trophy nor about one missed pass. It’s about connection to and love for what’s at hand.

Your grandpa sent me a note saying, “what is grief, but love persevering.” To be fair, he stole that from a TV show about superpowered people, but the principle remains valid. I’ll be sad he’s gone, but that’s because I’ve loved having him.

You may never remember him. You may remember not liking him. But I’ll remember him standing guard as your feeble baby bodies first took in this great wide world. I’ll remember him standing (and often, sleeping) beside you as if to say: “welcome to the pack, I’m here for you…and your food.”

What will persevere for me, long from now, is the fact that I felt love around Sidney. That love, the ability to care deeply about another thing, is so important. You might have been a little too young to feel it for Sidney, but trust me when I tell you: love is the thing that lasts.

64.5 The Lessons from 2021

64.5 The Lessons from 2021

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Here now is a run down of another years worth of soccer lectures (mercifully fewer as I work on talking less and listening more).

Dear Boys,,

53 Ted Lasso, the Capitol Insurrection and why it’s important to remember that before you are anything else, you are the best version of yourself.

54 Hamilton, back up goalkeepers and how you act in a crisis should show who you are, not make you what you want to be.

55 Punjab FC & WandaVision explain why it’s easy to pin blame on one person, but it’s more valuable to comprehend the context.

56 Fighting over a Ukulele, national guard troops in the streets, the European Super League and a reminder that: when you’re afraid, know that you’re not alone.

57 Comparing different forms of the game and leagues around the world to show how equality is an ideal outcome, but equitability helps you do good.

58 Ross County’s new manager and how you don’t have to tolerate intolerance, but you should tolerate people.

59 How Rosenborg and the men’s rights movement illustrate the value of owning your perspective.

60 Olympics, jersey swaps, the end of democracy in Afghanistan and why I hope that you boys find new ways to question expectations.

61 Moana, the Loons, the Griz and why painful moments can serve you well if you walk through them.

62 Accept Failure

63 Changing schools, vaccine denial and how emphasizing that we are all inherently flawed enables us to move forward together.

64 Politics, classroom management, coaches from Freiburg to Missoula and how to stop trying to be a force for change, and instead change your force.

64.5. So…what did we learn from 2021? Well, it was still hard to write something once a month rather than once a week, but I still enjoyed it (and as you both gain greater vocabulary I need to listen more and channel my lectures here only).

Overall this year, there are a lot of things that I can see coming together and coalescing from this blog, but maybe the biggest is this: resist the gut reaction to panic, or judge, or grab for what you think you want. Instead, remember the bigger picture and appreciate where you are and who you’re with.

64. Forces of Change, Changing your Force

64. Forces of Change, Changing your Force

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A few weeks ago, while driving into work, I heard a summary of political philosophy that neatly captured what I see in society, soccer, and myself.

Put simply: everyone wants to act in response to problems we see. Progressives want to do something while conservatives want to stop something in progress or undo something that’s been done.

Dear Boys,

I’m not about to pretend which point of view I prefer (particularly in politics–hint it starts with a P and ends with “rogressive”.) But as the pundits pointed out both instincts can lead to unintended consequences.

Je pense le meme Adrien (from the Athletic)

Start with my progressive view. Like a lot of folks I want to see my teams make some changes when they struggle. That’s when I start begging for Alebrijes to switch their system, or for the Loons to sign a big striker, or for Ross County to bring in a new coach.

But those changes that many in fan bases yearn for don’t yield immediate results and fail as often as they succeed. Alebrijes might not have the players to make any system work. Adrien Hunou might not find the goal for a couple months. Your team may hire a racist…etc. etc.

The conservative approach is no less fraught. The glory days are so enticing that it’s natural to want to go back. Bring back Jessy Benet in Grenoble, increase the focus on the men’s team at Rosenborg, or undo the appointment of the manager with a few weeks under his belt (see: Tottenham Hotspur).

These too assume that everything can return to the way they were (despite the fact that context, and surroundings, and everything else has changed around them). Jessy’s got a new club. Rosenborg aren’t the league titans they once were. Tottenham’s squad isn’t the fresh faced world beaters they were a few years ago.

This is not possible

The same is true at a personal level.

The more I try to make things the way that I want them to be, the more I struggle, grapple, and grow frustrated.

Whether it’s control in the classroom, or getting you boys to brush your teeth when I want you to, the more I try to do/undo something, the less likely I am to do anything differently.

But, when I accept that things are the way they are, and my role is to bring my full self to them, the more I add to the space, add to the experience, and change it for the better.

Being present with you is so much more meaningful for all of us (and makes brushing fun). Sending love and concern into my classroom yields much more than exerting control over the situation.

On the pitch too, bringing your full self into a space can create a better, more valuable experience for everyone. Think of Coach Citowicki in Missoula, whose manners and approach have given kids at a smaller school professional opportunities and enabled a transition from one generation to the next (see Claire Howard and Camila Xu).

When you are fully present rather than distracted by what you want to make happen, you find a pleasure in what is. The Griz can see that Big Sky titles are beautiful themselves. Freiburg’s loyalty and appreciation of the understated Christian Streich has built the environment for their best season in years.

We get caught up talking about and fixating on the forces of change: how the world ought to be and what tools to make it so. We want to be a force for change in the world. But hard as it is, I believe we ought to resist that temptation, and instead of being a force for change, change your force to quiet grace.