Jimmy
Dugan: Are you crying? Are you crying? ARE YOU
CRYING? There's no crying! THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!
Tom Hanks, A League of Their Own
Oh, how I wish I knew how and where to
begin this. Over the past seven (wow, seven, really??!?) months, I have sat
down on multiple occasions to try to pound out something or other on the
computer to add to my blog (and if you are now envisioning the monkeys with the
bone in the movie 2001, or Derek Zoolander pounding on the computer to get the
files in Zoolander, then that’s about right), but nothing seems to feel
complete. Sure there are plenty of times I read something that sets me off, and
I start jumping up on my soap-box, only to say “whoa, whoa, easy now. No need
to show everyone out there your truly crazy side.” I wish I had the dedication
to post with decent regularity, like Jim who writes “Just a Lil Blog” about his
autistic daughter, (Great site, definitely worth the read) but I don’t. Not
sure why. I have a ton of excuses, but no real answers. So for now I hope you
enjoy (and I hope I know where to begin).
I have a strong sentimental side. I am not
ashamed to admit it. Even though my mom was tougher than most Navy Seals, and I
had no sisters, I wasn't raised in one of those houses where you weren't allowed
to cry. Now, that’s not to say that I am weepy. I was able to hold it together when I read my mother’s eulogy, remain stoic when my daughter went in for a
2-hour surgery when she was 5, and remain laser focused when the doctor handed
us CJ’s diagnosis. But watching Terms of Endearment or A Walk to Remember
always makes me misty.
Why do I share this, you ask? Because the
times that I get the most emotional is when I watch my kids succeed. The most
recent example of this came a week ago Friday, when my son crossed over from
Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts.
A little back-story first: In first grade,
CJ decided to join Cub Scouts. Not sure why. I was never a Cub/Boy Scout, and
never gave much thought to the matter. When asked if I was one in my youth, I
would to joke that no, but I used beat up a lot of boy scouts as a kid. The
closest I ever came was the court-ordered year I spent in Y-Indian Guides,
YMCA’s answer to the Boy Scouts. But, I digress. 2010, First Grade, CJ jumps in
with both feet, into the Cub Scout world. Well, not both feet, maybe one. Well, OK maybe just a big toe. But, HE decides. The wife and I, we have had nothing
to do with the decision, and I mean zero. And because of that, we were always
very supportive of whatever he wanted to do with Scouts. You want to go to a
three day Twilight Camp that falls during your birthday? Sure! You want to go
camping in a tent in the mountains with your troop, even though the weatherman forecasts
snow and 80 mile-an-hour winds? You bet! (And yes, the weatherman was right on
both counts.) I have to work late, so you want your mom to come to the meeting
and teach all of your friends to build a trebuchet? Absolutely.
That’s not to say that everything went as
smooth as silk, because that would be a lie. He almost quit at the end of his
first year, and there were plenty of meeting nights that he begrudgingly went,
and even a few that he missed. Not to mention CJ’s lack of tolerance for the
kids that didn’t take the meetings seriously. On many nights during the drive
home, I would get an earful, as CJ would repeat over and over about how this boy
was running around the classroom during the whole meeting, or how that boy wouldn't stop talking. But my biggest struggle was CJ’s seemingly complete lack
of engagement at the meetings. Often I would sit in the back, feeling frustrated
by him not participating or even appearing to almost fall asleep.
But Last Friday was the big day. The “graduation”
day from Cub to Boy Scouts. A large ceremony was held, with dinner and a show, and
at the end, the boys crossed over a bridge where a member of their new Boy
Scout troop greeted them and presented them with a new neckerchief. And that is
where I lost it. Well, sort of lost it. Let’s just say that my eyes started
leaking. As I stood there watching, I reflected back on the previous 4.5 years,
and all of the progress that he made, challenges he overcame, and lessons he
learned.
Yes, I cried. And I am OK with that. For
me, there is no greater reason for me to shed some tears then for the pride of
both of my kids. I am constantly amazed at how far my son has come, and how
much he continues to grow. And I am also always in a state of happy shock at my
daughter, who is constantly stepping up to help out either her parents or her
brother, all the while tackling her own life and issues.
(after the ceremony, on the bridge. If CJ looks a bit off, it's because he is about to break down himself) |
So, next time you see me crying, instead of
looking away, please feel free to offer me a tissue.