Ending A Phase

Yesterday was my oldest daughter's last swim meet. There was no coverage of the event, no banner headlines in the paper, no records set and no formal announcement of any kind. But to her it was a big deal, as it was a torch being passed from one phase of her life into the beginning of another.

I wasn't there, as has been the case far too many times in her life. Mind you, I think I'm a pretty great dad, as I'm monumentally supportive, loving and involved in a great many things she's done, but I wasn't there yesterday. My job involves travel, which makes it also involve prioritizing WHEN I'll be there. Because I'm on the road about 35 weekends a year, I have to figure out which concert, recital, meet or event weighs more heavily than another. This year, showchoir and orchestra take precedent over swimming for my girls.

In a few weeks I'll be a parent chaperone on a four-day trip to Chicago. Later, I'll be a "proud as can be papa" at orchestra concerts and scholarship banquets, take my daughters on a getaway day to ride rollercoasters at Cedar Point, and eventually drive my oldest on a 5-day cross-country sojourn to California Baptist University where she'll begin a tremendous adventure in her next phase.

But yesterday was her last meet,....perhaps ever. Swimming had early on been a passion, then a job, then a source of tremendous stress for my princess. One of her favorite parts was always singing the national anthem at home meets (beautifully, I might add) then being one of the team's loudest cheerleaders for her compadres. The greatest compliment her teammates ever gave her happened earlier this season. Although never one of the fastest members of her team, her sportsmanship, supportiveness and leadership abilities got her voted as one of three team captains!

But yesterday was her last meet. I remember her being the crying 6-year old whose illegal starts, strokes and turns got her disqualified from every event she entered in her first meet. I remember the excitement in her face the first-time she broke 5 minutes in the 400 IM. I remember how funny she looked and how proud I was when she was the high-scorer at a divisionals meet a few years back, clad in a turquoise and black polka-dot full-body suit.

My wife had her coaches and teammates talk about Morgan on a videotape yesterday. They love her and will always remember her as part of what made the team fun to be a part of, beyond the 24 state titles and Olympic trial qualifiers. Her little sister (a vastly improved freshman on the team) will always remember the early morning rides to practice with her, primarily spent in silence with both trying to wake up for another grueling work out.

Even though she's not moving to college until August, my heart aches and I miss her almost unbearably already.

As one phase ends, another begins.

Insomnia

"Why do I tire of counting sheep

When I'm much too tired to fall asleep?"

Owl City has it right, don't they? I mean, what is this whole insomnia thing, after all? It's 4:04 a.m. my computer screen tells me as I type this. Sleep never comes easily for me, but when something's on my mind, good OR bad, it's a Holy Grail I seem to search for in vain.

It started when I was a kid, and that demon was WEREWOLVES! My grandma let me stay up late once when I was 7 to watch a midnight movie, and the rest was history! They were under every bed, infesting every closet, and probably in the kitchen making preparations to saute' and eat me.

Then, of course, it turned to girls,....and girls,....then girls,....followed closely by, you guessed it,....MATH! (no, girls actually). Even the nights of insomnia not filled with girls were filled with girl-related items like zits, braces, and evil school gossip. Even when thoughts turned deeper to subjects like marriage (girls again) and having children (MADE by girls, right?), my insomnia continued to resonate its nightly parade of reasons why I couldn't drift into peaceful slumber.

Today it could be anything. As the Harry Chapin song says "I've got planes to catch, and bills to pay" (then something about a cat with a baby bonnet stealing silverware,....can't remember exactly). It could be my anxiety in waiting for show choir competition results, fear of family members' health, waiting for my daughter to get home from an evening out, too hot, too cold, upcoming choreography I have to do, or even a superfly infomercial about the P90X body-building system that leaves me wishing for youth, muscles,....and less back hair!

Amazing, a'int it, that you can go to bed so sleepy, so barely able to stand you're so weary with exhaustion, then wake up at 2:09 a.m. and not sleep the rest of the night. In fact, I now officially offer my protest against that very phrase, "the REST of the night",.....what rest?

Haiti

The words flash across my television screen with scant notice,..."Possibly a half a million people dead in Haiti's devastating earthquake." Huh, I think to myself, that's really sad. Now I need to make myself a sandwich or something.

Then it gnaws at you, a half a million, a half a million,.....A HALF A MILLION!!! That's the entire population of Muncie, Tuscaloosa, Cedar Rapids, Pensacola, Boulder, and Walla Walla added together. Dead. Crushed under collapsed walls, falling debris, and bridges. Dead. Total families, entire towns, complete staffs of businesses that thrived earlier that day. Dead.

I know, love and believe in God with every fiber of my being. I know he mourns these days, yet doesn't stop them from happening. I want to ask him why, I want to know the reason, and I long to ask him what his plan is to bring glory out of devastation like this. As Americans we cried and screamed at God and the television when the Twin Towers fell and 2,500 people needlessly perished at the hands of pure evil. Our hearts sank as so many homes were washed away with the dreams and histories of families during the events and aftermath of Katrina. But Haiti isn't us, is it? It's sad, but far away. A distant trouble for distant people in a distant land.

C'mon folks, we need to do better than that. As I realized my own callousness, I went to redcross.org and donated. YOU need to also. It isn't much, and it doesn't change the devastation, but it affirms our humanity. It affirms that we're all God's children, so we need to do something for each other, even if the gesture is small.

My prayers are with the people of this poor, troubled island. I hope yours are too.

POST SCRIPT****It's a day later, and estimates have gone from half a million to around 50,000 casualties. 450,000 fewer deaths than feared! A miracle in a sea of sadness. A country surrounded by water on every side, yet people are dying of thirst. I'm happy, truly happy, that the numbers have dropped so dramatically. The images, however, are hard to look at without feeling repulsed, helpless, and filled with a depth of sympathy hard to get your head around. It's a better day for Haiti,....but just barely.

Growing Up Too Quick

My littlest girl is closing in on 16 years old. The summers of "Daddy, can I walk across the street to get ice cream?" and "Can I ride my bike down to Subway?" will soon be replaced by requests for car keys and young men I secretly loathe coming to pick her up for her first dates. Often times I pause to thank God for the honor of being blessed with the gorgeous daughters my wife and I have,....gorgeous not only in their physical appearance, but in their hearts and intentions as well. Far from perfect,.....filled with human frailties,....but gorgeous nonetheless.

I remember the strangest little things about my youngest. A two-year old running naked through the house laughing after her bath,.......a three-year old biting her big sister's arm because she didn't want her hand held crossing the street, the pillowcase that for years was her protection from thunderstorms,......the 3rd grader who walked onstage to sing in choir and waved at us from the stage while we smiled,...and smiled,...and smiled.

I barely recognize the wondrous things she now becomes. She's a rapidly improving high school swimmer, an accomplished viola player, and an avid reader of novels. She and her sister excelled at their first attempts at professional modeling, and looked like lovely and classy 20-year olds in a nationally circulated catalog for choir costuming. With a true flair for fashion, make-up, and style, she's learning to handle herself as a graceful, and still humble, young lady.

I'm SO glad that some things haven't changed, though. She still has my silly sense of humor, gets scared and excited by big rollercoasters, still loves having sleepovers with her best buddies, and still has a little girl's sweetness at heart. I love watching her grow up,.......and I HATE it with all my heart.

Why is being a parent so conflicting? We want them to become mature, productive and responsible adults, yet we always want them to be mommy's little girl and daddy's little duchess. As parents, we train them to become self-reliant, yet die a little inside each time they don't need our guidance and advice. It's as if they'll somehow forget us,........will they?

My brain says of course not, and I truly believe my brain in this case. But, you know what, that little seed of doubt that grits like a grain of sand in my teeth, fears it happening. And I pray,..and pray,.. and pray,....that there'll always be a part of them that wants us, needs us, seeks us, and longs to stay close. Please.

Competition Season

Here we go again. The merry-go-round is starting to spin, the sleepless Saturday nights are preparing to unfurl, and the rollercoaster of highs and lows are preparing to unleash weekly havoc on my nerves,........it's competition season!!!

To the 99.9% of the world that has no idea what I mean, it's the beginning of show choir invitationals for 2010, and all the work I've been doing since May of 2009 is about to be put under weekly scrutiny by panels of judges, some very fair and some very not! It's the quest for the golden chalice of show choir, championship trophies and caption awards. While I wish these things didn't matter, my livelihood, reputation, and HOUSE PAYMENT depends on success in these endeavors.

I once heard a fellow pro in the business say that each championship is like the ringing of a cash register. While I certainly understand that opinion, I'm not quite that jaded yet. I still get nervous when the phone rings, when results are posted, when scoring envelopes are handed out, and when I see kids I work with holding hands and closing their eyes as finalists and placements are announced. It's as if all matters of world peace, nuclear disarmament, third-world hunger and economic tsunamis mean nothing. The results,.....the announcements,......the tension and subsequent release of either joy or disappointment are all that matter in the world to these kids.

I want them to be proud,....to be happy,....to be successful. I want them to feel as if the investment of their time, talent, and sweat has been justified and recognized. Seeing them disappointed is agony for a teacher that cares, and I (we) feel as if we've failed them in the process. Why didn't I choreograph that better? The song I wrote isn't touching the emotions of the crowd in the way I wanted, how did I screw it up so badly?

But when triumph roars, the emotions are oh so sweet. I feel like a hero and a role model, though the hero part is far from true. It's just like the sweet golf shot you hit every so often, you watch it flying perfectly through the air and land directly on target, and you think "I could never stop loving this". Well, that's me and show choir. Although I despise some of the moments and dread some of the days, the sweet shots that are occasionally hit, the rising applause of a satisfied audience, and the hug of a kid you love that just achieved a dream performance makes it all worth it. Now teeing off,......competition season.