Matching Tracksuits

the boy

Hero

Saturday 30 October 2021

We all dream of being a hero. We can say we don’t, but we all have those little fantasies that at least once, we save the day. E is no exception, and for that reason, this fall’s soccer season has been disappointing for him. It’s not that he hasn’t felt like a hero; he has positively felt like he’s added very little to his team. In one game, an attacker beat him when he was a defender to score the first goal of the game, and I could see from his expression afterward that he felt horrible about it.

It certainly doesn’t help that his team has won only one game this season, and that was only by forfeit because the other team didn’t know about the game time change somehow and no one showed up. They’ve been beaten and they’ve been positively trounced.

“We’re never going to win,” has been the Boy’s refrain as we head back to the car. The other boys feel the same, I think.

Last week, for example, while we were camping, only five of the players showed up. They played anyway, and the asshole coach of the opposing team played all seven positions against our five boys, so the poor boys got beaten, though not as badly as one might expect (7-4).

Today, too, we were shorthanded, but a boy from the other team joined our team, and we played at even strength. (That coach showed class unlike the classless individual from last week.) We began relatively unremarkably, with neither team really dominating. Then, about ten minutes into the first half, E broke free with the ball and headed straight to the goal, firing a rocket that went right by the goalie and sank into the back corner of the net.

“E just scored!!!!!!!!!!” I texted K with probably the biggest grin smeared across my face. Last season, his first with CESA (the local soccer league), he hadn’t scored a single goal all season.

By the end of the first half the red team had equalized and then pulled ahead, so we went into break under a bit of pressure.

“I was sure we were going to lose,” E explained later. When red scored a third time, E was convinced that they were going to experience their next inevitable loss. But shortly after that, the Boy broke through the defenses again and scored his second goal, pulling his team to within one. Just a few minutes after that, he was through again, but he stumbled a bit and sent the ball well wide of the goal.

“How amazing that would have been!” I thought.

Just moments later, the Boy broke through, outran two defenders, and shot a lovely looping curve into the net. Three goals in one game — a coveted hat-trick. To top it all off, I finally had my camera up while he scored — in the other two, I’d dropped it to my side and just cheered him on, but the final one, I kept firing away.

But of all the shots from today, my favorite is the one just after his first goal when he’d just gotten a big congratulatory low-five from a teammate. Head slightly down, a little spring in his step, he walked back to his position. I look at the image and wonder what exactly he was thinking, wonder just how much it might help his confidence, wonder if it might not be the best thing that’s happened to him in ages.

Weebos Woods 2021

Sunday 24 October 2021

The idea is simple: to get Cub Scouts ready for being Boy Scouts, they spend a weekend as a small patrol as for-the-weekend Boy Scouts with an actual scout leading them through the weekend’s activities.

“Parents, you will only see your children in the morning at breakfast, in the afternoon at lunch, in the evening at dinner, and when it’s time to go to bed. We want to begin building a sense of independence in these kids,” the camp leader explained Friday night.

So as to what the Boy actually did, I’m a little clueless. Which is not to say I don’t know what activities he did. He shot a pellet gun, learned how to make a fire, cooked cobbler over a campfire, went on a hike, and a few other things. But as to what that actually looked like, I really don’t know. I saw him here and there throughout the day, but mostly, I left him alone with his patrol and its Boy Scout leader.

And this is why I have no pictures of him doing these things: I was out hiking or reading or grading papers.

In the evening, as with all scout camps, there was a variety show of sorts. The kids put on various skits, including the scout classic “Important Papers.”

“Do you have my important papers?” Scout hands the boy papers. “No! Not these!” The next scout comes up and the main actor asks again, “Do you have my important papers?” Scout hands the boy papers. “No! Not these!” Repeat for as many times as necessary until there’s one scout who comes with a roll of toilet paper. “Yes! These are my important papers!” We’ve seen it done every camp, which is probably one of the reasons why the leaders have to approve each skit — to prevent every patrol from doing the “Important Papers” favorite.

The upshot — we got little sleep but E had a fantastic time and was eager to go again.

Biltmore Fall 2021

Monday 18 October 2021

It has been a very long time since we were last in Biltmore. We went with my folks in 2006 with my parents (before the Girl was born)

Biltmore

and again in 2007 when Babcia was here from Poland.

Biltmore II

Of course, the Girl was too young to remember anything and the Boy wasn’t even a thought when we last went there, so today being a teacher workday that I took as a personal day, we took the kids for a day at the largest house in America.

The house has looked like this for over a hundred years now,

but there was one significant change this time around, though. It was nothing in the gardens: they looked just like they did 14 years ago.

(Click on images for larger view, as always.)

The exterior really wasn’t any different — the limestone facade is just stunning and overwhelming.

What was different was that photos are now allowed on the interior. I guess in the 14 years since we last went there, the administrators realized with the advent of the smartphone that keeping people from taking photos was going to be impossible. Plus, why not get the free publicity that comes with social media posts.

As we strolled through the house, I kept thinking how “house” is such a poor word for what this is. It’s more like a palace. I believe it’s officially called a chateau. It’s hard to imagine anyone building a structure like that for himself. Vanderbilt was still single when he began building the 170,000 square-foot home, and he and his wife only had the one daughter Cornelia. They took up three of the thirty-five bedrooms. What’s the point of something like that other than to do it?

It’s all so foreign and almost obscene to modern sensibilities. It would take 65 of our homes to equal the area of that house. What does anyone need with that? Nothing — that’s the honest answer. But why would they want something like that?

Yet it’s a piece of art in and of itself.

Since we got year passes, we’re planning on heading back in December for the Christmas decorations (which are already going up).

Working Sunday

Sunday 17 October 2021

More planting in the yard,

a new bookshelf for the Girl,

some re-decoration of the Boy’s room —

not our typical Sunday.

Around the House

Saturday 16 October 2021

In many ways, a fairly typical Saturday: the sun came up from the back of the house, washing everything in a soft morning light.

The Boy played computer games immediately upon waking up — it’s his Saturday morning treat, and considering the fact that we have no kind of gaming console whatsoever (no Xbox, no Wii, no Playstation), it’s a little indulgance we allow.

K and I (though mainly K) talk to Babcia. We talk about important matters (the energy crisis in Europe) and not-so-important matters (I can’t even remember).

I go and look at our front yard, covered with new grass that’s several inches high, thinking that I might finally be able to mow it today.

And then I start my chores. First up — seal up all the cracks in the chimney that I found last week, one (or perhaps several) of which let in enough water to damage the drywall in our bedroom. A serious matter, to be sure, but since it rained for a week a while ago with no additional damage, we think (hope) it was a one-time mini-disaster. Still, it’s best to seal everything as best I can.

In the afternoon, I plant some new shrubs for K and finally mow that yard. It’s a tedious task: the ground is still wet, and if I’m not careful, I dig out a bit of grass and mud every time I turn the mower. Still, once it’s all done, it looks magnificant.

In the meantime, K and the Boy are repainting the ramp that leads to Papa’s room. (We still call it that — probably always will.)

We don’t really need the ramp anymore as Papa no longer needs it for his wheelchair, but what else are we going to do? It would be absurd to get rid of it.

While they’re at it, they go ahead and repaint the small decorative fence that predates our chainlink fence and looks a little weird but a little sweet, too.

A busy, productive day.

 

Boys, Dogs, and Holes

Sunday 10 October 2021

A boy and a dog have to dig. It’s in their nature. Millions of years of evolution have implanted in them an irresistible craving to put holes in the ground Entire YouTube channels are likely devoted entirely to digging holes.

Clover digs these holes when she’s frustrated. If she’s been outside most of the day and is aware that we’re home, she wants to join us. If we don’t let her in, she digs. We open the window in the kitchen and shout down the hill, “Clover! No!” This stops her for a short time, but it’s never more than a few minutes before she starts digging again.

“You’re digging your own grave, dog,” I’ve muttered to her countless times when E and I are heading down to take out the compost, and at this point, the dog has just about gotten a whole big enough that she does indeed fit into it.

As for the Boy’s holes, they’re a different story. Occasionally he’s on a golf kick and wants to have a hole to shoot for. Never mind all he’s got are a cheap driver and iron from the thrift store. He uses them both as putters and sometimes decides he needs a hole to shoot for.

Other times, he’s building something. Tonight, he was working on a lean-to because he’d see it on his favorite YouTube channel. That involved a number of power tools and a bit of elbow grease, and we got very little of it done. But the hole — the most important part of the day — was completed.

T Comes for a Visit

Wednesday 6 October 2021

One sign that you’re growing older is when a young lady comes to visit you with her boyfriend — just the two of them. No parents.

And you recall that the first time you met the young lady, she was a toddler climbing about on your living room furniture, acting completely and joyously wild.

The Boy loves such visits because he gets an audience for his performances.

Zip Line

Monday 4 October 2021

From Saturday —

the Boy went to a birthday party at a line park.

Selling

Monday 20 September 2021

The Boy has been selling popcorn for his scout troop. We decided to make a poster tonight for me to put in the teachers’ mailroom (pending approval) inviting teachers to indulge their popcorn cravings. A few of the shots in for the poster…

Conestee Walk

Sunday 19 September 2021

It’s been a while since we went out for a walk in our favorite local part. Months, even. L is sick at home — an awful sinus infection — but we made the most of it as three.

Football Glory and Critical Thinking

Tuesday 14 September 2021

When we lived in Asheville, I worked for one year at a day treatment facility for kids who’d been expelled from alternative school. It was a tough bunch of mainly fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds. At one point, though, two boys who’d known each other “on the outside” (as they’d referred to it) were in the program at the same time. At lunch they’d revel in their former football glory, recalling magnificent plays they’d been a part of and sharing in the sorrow of those losses that had stung so badly. At one point, one of the boys mentioned having a recording of one of those games.

“Really!?” The program director was incredulous, but he managed to talk the boy into bringing in the video.

A couple of days later, during afternoon free time, the kid put the video cassette into the VHS player and pressed play. Soon, the director was howling in laughter as he watched a little league game in full chaotic, cute glory.

“Man, I thought you were talking about games you’d played in middle school or something,” he laughed. “I didn’t realize you were talking about second grade!” He was just good-naturedly ribbing the kids, and they took it fairly well.

Soccer practice under a half-moon

Looking back on it this evening as I jogged laps in a parking lot while the Boy had soccer practice, it suddenly took on a newly instructive dimension for me. Had any of us really thought about it, we would have known it could not have been middle school football the boys were talking about. They’d experienced little success in middle school, showing out enough to be removed from the setting altogether. Even the most gifted player is going to have to meet certain standards — administrators might bend some requirements for such a boy, but there are at least some requirements. These boys couldn’t even make it through alternative school let alone the less structured setting of a typical middle school classroom, so there was no way we adults should have assumed they were talking about playing organized football in the last several years.

We made those assumptions, though, because they neatly and immediately fit our assumptions. When a fourteen-year-old boy is reveling in past glory, we don’t expect it to be from early elementary school but from the recent past. It’s an immediate and logical assumption that we make without even being aware that we’ve made such an assumption. The thing is, we make these kinds of assumptions constantly throughout the day. We couldn’t function, I’d argue, if we were to give extended critical thought to each and every decision we make and every thought that flits through our mind. The trick is being aware enough of our thoughts to have as a conscious option the ability to switch on our critical thinking and go, “Now, hold on there.”

It’s one of the reasons I enjoy teaching literature to middle schoolers. It’s just those “Now, hold on there” moments that critical reading encourages.

Monday Night Moon

Monday 13 September 2021

After desert, when K pretended she was about to eat E’s while he ran inside for a moment, we went to the front yard to get a little family exercise. L, having stayed home today because of sinus issues, passed the volleyball to me. Later, the Boy and I worked on his defensive skills in soccer.

As the Girl and I played, I noticed that, over her shoulder, the waxing moon was almost a half-moon. A waxing moon in the autumn was always a harbinger of the greatest week of the year, hands down, year after year. It was in the fall that our heterodox sect took a week off of work and school to celebrate the Feast of Tabernacles in a strange attempt to follow the pattern of Old Testament holy days that we were taught were still required.

When I was L’s age, the sight of such a moon in September would edge me toward near-giddiness as I thought about all the adventures that awaited after the obligatory, daily, and often boring church service (yes, daily church — a two-hour service, no less, with a sermon that lasted anywhere from sixty to ninety ass- and mind-numbing minutes). Surely I’d meet new friends. Maybe we’d see some great attractions. But most enticing was the promise of what everyone called a feast-fling: a week-long adolescent romance that ended with addresses and phone numbers exchanged along with promises and more promises, a romance that was lucky to reach Christmas break. “Maybe we’ll go to the same feast site next year!” was the excitement.

It never worked, of course, because adolescent romances are just that — flings. But that excitement along with the excitement of all the other amazing experiences we’d certainly have hung in the glow around waxing autumnal moons.

My children know none of these things. The specifics of my religious upbringing are a complete mystery to them. I’m content to let them assume what they will. I’ve hesitated to tell them anything about it because it doesn’t seem all that relevant to their lives, and quite honestly, I didn’t want to shade how they saw Nana and Papa. That of course assumes that it would color how they see them, which is likely a projection: through almost all of my adult life, I have looked at the beliefs they inculcated into me, beliefs they held with complete conviction but were without a shred of logic even within a strictly Christian theological context, and wondered how in the world they could have fallen for such silliness. I know they came to view their own beliefs similarly, returning eventually to a more orthodox Protestant faith, but somehow I still hesitated.

“I hesitated,” I say as if it’s something that’s occupied a large part of my conscious thoughts. In truth, it has, but only in a theoretical, theological sense. My thoughts have only turned to that theology while mowing or having a cigar and scotch on a Saturday night. Unless I happen to see a waxing autumnal moon…

Goodbye, Kiddos

Wednesday 8 September 2021

I lost four of my students today. They’re not gone from school or even off our particular team grouping. I’m just no longer their English teacher. The reason is the irony of bureaucracy: the law that’s meant to protect in this case hurts.

They’re special education students with IEPs that require a special ed facilitator in the room with them for English class. This special ed teach has been reassigned to another class, so those four students have to go to another teacher’s inclusion classroom. It’s the law. The problem is, there are already too many special ed kids in the classroom my students got moved to, and since there are only four of them, it’s not much of a challenge for me to meet their needs without assistance. But the law is the law. It’s there to protect them, even when it doesn’t.

I spoke to administrators, special ed coordinators, guidance counselors about these kids. “Please, leave these kids in my class! They’re doing great! The classroom atmosphere is very supportive. It’s a smaller class than the one you’re moving them to. I really like them; they like me. They’ve settled into the routines of the class. They know how things work. It’s a good fit. It’s working,” I begged. But it’s the law, and it’s there to help these kids.

I’ve known this was coming for a week. I’ve been fighting it for a week. Today was the first without the kids in class. Three of them came to my door later in the day asking why they can’t be back in my class.

“Trust me, kiddos — I want you in my class,” was all I could say.

Unrelated Picture

We went for a bike ride this evening. The Boy wanted to visit the old garment factory that’ now houses only a costume shop.

It doesn’t open until later in the month…

Return from the Long Weekend

Tuesday 7 September 2021

We returned to school to find 18 teachers out today due to covid. That’s not 18 positive cases — just 18 teachers affected in one way or another. Quarantined due to exposure. Staying home because of a child being quarantined due to exposure. Staying home because a child’s daycare has closed due to excessive covid cases.

“Why don’t we call the governor to see if he would like to come and cover some of these teachers who are out,” I suggested to another teacher as we stood, sensibly distanced and masked, making copies and preparing materials in the teacher workroom.

Meanwhile, the kids came and went in a variety of styles: no masks, masks worn down on the chin, masks worn properly, and various transitional states between the three. I carried on, masked all day, conscientiously distanced from everyone, teaching English I Honors kids how to parse some crazy Poe sentences.

After school and dinner, the Boy and I headed across town for soccer practice.

At last — a fairly safe activity in these uncertain times. And after practice, I was pleased to see the Boy making a conscious effort to distance himself.

How long will these habits last? Will E still be pulling back from huddled groups ten years from now? Will it become a reflex? Some on the right would bemoan how this somehow scars them. Maybe, but I can think of worse scarring.