RUGator

Not the question mark kind. Of huh, that is. More like in a statement. That says too many things.

Sent in the form of an instant message; the kind of huh that I’d have to say in person in years past. And I used that word to say something that we’d both understand. Because we’d been through things.

I didn’t even know where Adam was. He lives in Chicago, but for the Thanksgiving holidays? Who knows.

After the game (Florida vs. Florida State- Gators 37 FSU 10), I’d send an instant message.

“Huh,” was what it said.

And “uh huh,” was what I’d get back (in North Carolina for the holidays).

And we both knew.

Because we never left.

Consider the following “hypothetical:”

-how much incentive is there for reporters to investigate “fishy” incidents involving celebrity athletes if the networks they work for are subsidized by companies who sponsor the athletes they cover?

Said differently,

-if company “X” is paying “X” athlete “X” dollars to use their products and that same company pays “X” network “X” advertising dollars, how motivated will that network be to uncover “inconvenient truths” about “X” athlete?

Say what you will about public figures and private lives. There is a price to be paid. And silly questions from an accidental observer.

Just when I needed it, I received this from a parent of one of my students:

As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of

school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked

at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was

impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a

little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did

not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he

constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant. It got

to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his

papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and then putting a big ‘F’ at

the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each

child’s past records and she put Teddy’s off until last. However, when she

reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote, ‘Teddy is a bright child with a ready

laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners… he is a joy to be

around..’

His second grade teacher wrote, ‘Teddy is an excellent student, well liked

by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal

illness and life at home must be a struggle.’

His third grade teacher wrote, ‘His mother’s death has been hard on him.

He tries to do his best, but his father doesn’t show much interest, and his

home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.’

Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote, ‘Teddy is withdrawn and do esn’t show

much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and he sometimes

sleeps in class.’

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself.

She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents,

wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy’s. His

present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a

grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the

other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a

rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was

one-quarter full of perfume.. But she stifled the children’s laughter when she

exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the

perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough

to say, ‘Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to.’

After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day,

she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to

teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she

worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged

him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of

the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love

all the children the same, Teddy became one of her ‘teacher’s pets..’

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her

that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote

that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still

the best teacher he ever had in life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things

had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck w ith it, and would

soon graduate from college with the highest of honours. He assured Mrs.

Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had

in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he

explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a

little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite

teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer…. The letter

was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that

spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He

explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was

wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place

that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs.

Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several

rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume

that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson’s ear,

‘Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making

me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference.’

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back.. She said, ‘Teddy,

you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a

difference. I didn’t know how to teach until I met you.’

(For you that don’t know, Teddy Stoddard is the Dr at Iowa Methodist in

Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.)

Warm someone’s heart today. . . pass this along. I love this story so very

much, I cry every time I read it. Just try to make a difference in

someone’s life today? tomorrow? just ‘do it’.

Random acts of kindness, I think they call it!

‘Believe in Angels, then return the favor

8:07 by Global Communication

Whenever I see this figure attached to anything, I think, “but it’s the .1 that concerns me.”

You know it really doesn’t matter how much we talk about the games we watch. I’m thinking particularly about this year’s ALCS between the Yankees and the Angels. But it could be any sporting event.

None us knows how these things are gonna play out. And it drives me crazy (doesn’t take much). The uncertainty. I watch the pre-game shows, listen to the “experts.” But you know what? None of it matters. It’s all nonsense because until the game is played, nobody knows anything for sure. There’s no certainty. It’s all grey. The ball still has to be pitched, hit, and maybe fielded. All bets are off once the games begin.

Sort of reminds me of……

Chip Carey (TBS baseball announcer): Please stop talking! I’m begging you. Please!

Bathroom hand dryers: When was the last time your hands actually got dried with one push of the button? Still end up using paper towels (or toilet paper).

Sports “color” commentators: Dave Winfield today on ESPN radio when asked what the Yankees had to do to win- “The Yankees need to get the lead and then they need to hold the lead.” I’m screaming.

Tired of hearing one of my colleagues telling me, “FYI.” It’s tired.

As I watched expert after expert dissecting every aspect of every sporting event and athlete known to man, I pictured how critically important all this information was/is to the lives of so many. And I wondered, “what if we spent half as much time focused on our own lives?”

I swear, Starbursts have gotten smaller over the years. Pretty soon, they’ll each be no bigger than a Skittle.

I’m having a particularly hard time with this photo tonight.

That’s me, third from the left. Surrounded (and protected?) by friends I’ve known since 1978. They came up to visit over the summer. On the far left, is our 9th grade football coach. I hadn’t seen him in over 30 years.

What do I do with all of this? I’m not sure if it’s the idea of time passing or the missing it part. Tough to process.

Things are good. Teaching is great. Love my children.

But I get overcome with emotion sometimes (a lot of the time). When it comes to the struggle between my heart and head, the heart wins out. Every time.

I guess I wouldn’t want things to be different. I’m an up and down person. Feeling the pain and the joy. No in-between. Not much grey.

Just too much black and white.

For me it’s about once a month.

And that’s enough.

A migraine headache and its curse.

They haunt me. Always just on the horizon. Lurking. Waiting to take a few days from me. Usually it’s some combination of lack of sleep, not eating the right foods in the right amounts at the right times, and changes in the weather.

Barometric fluctuations (usually from high pressure to low pressure, i.e., “good weather” to “bad weather”) are my nemeses. Today, in the northeast, I faced my body’s perfect storm.

So I came home from the golf course (where I caddy and don’t play), loopless after a five hour rain induced wait, with the onset of a migraine.

Into a hot shower (running the water via shower massage on my temples) and into bed.

Migraine sufferers know too well the other “pain” of these headaches. Trying to convince your beleaguered family that you’re again under its spell. They often just don’t understand. It’s so frustrating.

To myself (and after having to hear about “another headache” from mama bear), I mused, “What would I like to do on this fine day? Let’s see. Relax with my family and perhaps watch some football or crawl under the covers with ice on my head and my brain pounding away pleading for sleep? I think I’ll opt for the latter. Just because. Yeah, that’s what I’d rather do.”

And now, hours later, I feel as though I spent the previous night losing a quarters match with some 27 year old German Octoberfest guzzling triathlete named Sven.

Tomorrow the weather clears. But I’ll be forced to play catch up with this curse’s after effects.

I Slept, and Dreamed that Life was Beauty

I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;
I woke, and found that life was Duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.

Ellen Sturgis Hooper

The Dial (July 1840) p. 123

I had hoped to do better.

But that’s the best I could do. For them. I wanted to say something pithy. But I had nothing. And as they looked to me, for answers, I felt inadequate.