Persistence

In the beginning; what a great start to a good book. In the beginning all I knew about swimming I learned from the local neighborhood recreation swim league team. The same goes for Jean. Our family had no history in competitive swimming whatsoever. There were some equivalencies between distance running and distance swimming, but the particulars of swimming and swim meets were completely foreign to what we knew.

It turned out that swim meets have time standards, and if you haven’t done the qualifying time standard in an officially sanctioned meet, you cannot swim in the meet. There were time standards for B, BB, A, AA, AAA, AAAA, and top-16 for each two year age group and gender from 10 & under up to 17-18! There were State Age Group meet times, Regional Meet times, Junior National Meet times, Senior National Meet times, NCAA Meet times, and Olympic trial times. John started out in some dismal swim meets with B and double B times, or no time at all.

Swimmers are “seeded” in meets according to their previous qualifying times. In a large swim meet there might be 8 heats of the 11-12 year old boy’s 100 yard butterfly beginning with the slowest kids and working up to the fastest. There is a thing called “circle seeding” that defies description. As I said in an earlier post, imagine this for each two year age group, each gender, each stroke, and each distance. It’s an unbygodbelievable number of heats.

In the early “age group” years John would start out the season swimming in the slower heats and by the end of the season would be moving into the faster heats. About the time he would reach the fastest heats, he would have a birthday moving him into the next age group and then he would be back down the pecking order swimming in the slower heats against older kids. There was always someone better to swim against. Every time he got good enough to be one of the best at a swim meet, he’d get bumped up to bigger and tougher swim meets, or to an older age group.

There were a host of swimmers much better than John over the years. That host included pretty much everybody in the early years. Early on I thought to myself, “Wouldn’t it be cool if someday John could swim as fast as Bubba?” And then that next year when he was able to swim with Bubba I said to myself, “That’s cool, but he’ll never be as good as Brandon!” The year after that, when he was swimming in the heats with Brandon, I thought, “Everyone has limits. He may be able to swim with Brandon, but Dan is surely out of John’s league.” And so it went, year after year. John steadily improved.

Throughout his career John qualified for County, State, Regionals, Junior Nationals, Senior Nationals, NCAA Division I Nationals, and the Olympic Trials twice. He set 2 individual records for his high school and was part of 2 relay records for his high school, set 2 high school county records, set state age group records 4 times, was a 9-time high school all-American, was the #1 high school scholastic all-American in 2003, set a national age group record, set the high school state record for the 500 freestyle in 2003, was Atlantic Coast Conference Champion in the 1650 freestyle for the University of Virginia in 2006, was an 8-time NCAA All-American, one of which was sixth in the nation in the 1650. Not too shabby for a kid who nearly drowned in the public pool as a munchkin.

The funny thing was I never really noticed what John had accomplished overall until I compiled the list in the previous paragraph. Every time we dropped him off at the pool for a swim meet the only thing we ever said was “Have fun!” And when we were driving home from a swim meet our primary question would be “Did you have fun?” It was up to John to decide whether he did well or not, and whether he was happy with his times and places in the races.

He wasn’t a natural, but he did love swimming. He wasn’t some sort of all-star swimming phenom, but he did eventually get really good at it. The success he had was the result of gradual consistent improvement. He worked hard every day, day after day, from 1995 to 2008.

Persistence

Future Posts

Here are the titles of the next 14 posts that are written and ready to go. I hope the Ethernet enjoys them.


Persistence
Mystery Diagnosis
Feel-Good Folder
Conundrum
Mom & Dad Travel Squad
Suffering the Insufferable
Group Runs
I Need a Vacation
Perfect Race
Elks Club
West Point R Day: Part 1
West Point R Day: Part 2
Penick and Ford
Hot Dog

Hal

It’s probably been 20 years since Hal last ran with our group at Stone Mountain. I think it was his knees that eventually betrayed him and kept him away from us. Anyway, there was this one run during the winter way back when. We’d only run a couple of miles and had a long way to go. It was a cold, rainy, miserable morning and we were quickly soaked to the skin. If the sun was up you couldn’t tell it. Nobody was happy that day and our normally robust conversation was lagging. As we were trudging along, during a lull in the conversation, out of the blue Hall says, “I wonder what the fanatics are doing today?” It cracked us all up.

We’ve repeated that phrase many times over the last 20 years. Whenever we are miserable due to hard running or horrible weather, someone will pipe up with, “I wonder what the fanatics are doing today?”, and we all laugh. It makes the misery easier to take knowing full well that we ARE the fanatics and our competition is enduring similar miseries.

Hal had another memorable phrase. One of the guys noticed Hal looked particularly pained in the middle of a run one day. He asked Hal how he was doing. Hal replied, "It’s hard to look cool when you’re throwing up!” This became another classic Hal phrase that we’ve repeated often. It’s applicable in a wide variety of situations.

Sailing with Dad

We had a great time with my folks on Marco Island in 1983. We spent a lot of time on the beach. There was a little kiosk just up the beach from us that had sailboats to rent. All they had were some little sunfish and catamaran sailboats sitting on the sand. This was perfect because the sunfish was equal to my sailing ability and the catamarans were well beyond my ability. The sunfish would carry two people comfortably.

In the several years prior to this vacation Jean and I had been sailing with our good friends, Annie and Earl, who kept a 22 foot sailboat at Lake Hartwell. They’d taught us the basics and allowed us to sail it, well, many times would be an overstatement, and several times would be an understatement; the truth lies, well, for the truth you should be reading some other blog.

Each day I noticed Dad looking at the sailboats. I could tell that Dad really wanted to go, but he didn’t know anything about sailing. I thought I knew something about sailing, at least more than Dad, but was still a bit tentative since I’d never “soloed”. Sailing with an expert on board is one thing; sailing on your own is a whole different experience. I eventually asked Dad if he’d like to rent a Sunfish and take it out into the Gulf of Mexico.

The wind was blowing parallel to the beach so I was proposing a simple sail straight out from the shore into the Gulf, and straight back. I wasn’t going to be tacking into the wind repeatedly. There would be only one turn. I could either turn into the wind or fall off of the wind to make the turn. It would be the only moment of our journey requiring a small amount of sailing ability. I was fairly confident I could handle it. I’d analyzed all of this prior to proposing the sail.

There was a strong wind blowing that day and there was a real possibility of capsizing. I figured the two of us as ballast would help keep the boat upright, and if we did capsize, there were two of us to get it back upright.

Up to this point neither one of us had said anything about having any knowledge about sailing. There was a strong wind, the waves were about three feet high, we were about to sail out into the ocean, this wasn’t Lake Como Wisconsin, we were doing it in the smallest sailboat you’ve ever seen, and my dad was willing to get into the sailboat without knowing anything about sailing. This was typical Dad, and family, bravado. “What we don’t know we will figure out as we go along” ought to be the family motto. Dad was born with more bravery than good sense. We were going to be okay because I knew how to sail, but Dad didn’t know that when he enthusiastically agreed to go!

As we were climbing into the boat Dad said to me, “You know I don’t know how to sail, right?” I told him, “I got it covered, Dad.” His reply was “Good”, and I think I heard an undertone of relief in the reply. I told him where to sit and what to do (nothing) and went over our course of sail and a few contingency plans before getting underway.

As we headed out into the Gulf our progress was slow. We were bucking waves the entire way out. The wind was strong but the little boat just lumbered against the waves. There weren’t any trees or houses passing by like there is on land, or on a lake, so there was no way to judge our speed, or if we were making any progress at all. The trip out was rather dull.

Still, it was one of those postcard picture perfect days for a sail. We had a clear blue sky, and a clear green-blue ocean, and we were on an adventure. It was a special moment for me, as a son, to take my father sailing. Where Dad had always been the leader and expert of our adventures in the past, it was my turn to lead this time around. I think all kids seek their parent’s approval and admiration. As kids we do things to make our parents happy. Dad was happy that day and I was secretly pleased with myself.

We sailed into the Gulf to the limits of my confidence. When the people on shore were getting tiny and I could barely see the sails at the rental kiosk I decided it was time to head for home. That was the limit of my confidence. We made the 180 degree turn for shore without incident.

Now that the waves were with us we were really moving fast. We were sailing faster than the waves. We sailed up the back of one wave and then surfed even faster down the front side. It was fun and exciting, but it also scared the hell out of me! It was impossible not to hoot, holler, and give out an occasional “yee-haw” like we were riding a horse. And then, before we knew it, our trip back to shore was over.

Fond memories.

Marco Island

In February of 1983 my mom and dad rented a condominium on Marco Island, FL to spend a few weeks away from the harsh Iowa winter. They were both retired at the time. Ann was 16 months old, and Jean and I were living on a single income. John didn’t exist yet, but we were thinking about him. When my folks invited us to spend a week with them at the condo we jumped at the chance.

We were young and stupid, or I should say that we were young and I was stupid, so we left Stone Mountain, GA for Florida on a Friday after work. It was a 10 hour drive and we wanted to maximize the amount of time that Ann was asleep. We drove through the night figuring that the folks could take care of Ann the next day while Jean and I slept.

I vaguely remember arriving at Marco Island in miserable shape from lack of sleep after the long drive. We slept fitfully throughout the next day. I suppose the important thing is that Ann arrived with little muss or fuss during the nighttime drive. If baby ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. That’s a corollary to the “momma” statement.

One day, after spending several hours on the beach, it was time to head into the condo to grab some chow. As we made our way through the doorway into the condo Ann squeezed between our legs and ran to her highchair in the kitchen. She climbed up the highchair, plunked her butt down, slapped her hands together in a prayerful position, and called out “Amen, Amen, Amen!”

Apparently Ann was hungry and knew from past experience that food magically appeared at the highchair only after the word “Amen” was spoken out loud. She might have missed the part about food preparation, bowing heads, and giving thanks, but she had the endgame down pat. The rest would come with time.

When it came time to drive back home to Georgia we again drove through the night so that Ann would be sleeping. It’s too bad that I didn’t learn anything from the nighttime drive the week before. We took caffeine pills to stay awake through the night and arrived in Georgia jumping out of our skins. Doubly stupid one week after the first time stupid. I guess that’s how young people learn. We vowed never to do an all-night drive again.


P.S. When it started to rain on our drive back home the car kept fishtailing on the interstate. We had to slow down repeatedly to avoid having a single car accident. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the car. When we got home and had some daylight I inspected the car and found we had bald tires. Money was tight, but driving on bald tires was triple stupid.

Comments

I remain uncomfortable that some anonymous person could leave a very ugly "Comment" on the blog without my knowing it.  I realize now that I want to review and censor anonymous comments before they get posted.  It is unfortunate, but I think necessary, to change the settings yet again.  It may be that there is no combination of settings that results in a safe situation.  Again, my apologies.

Littering

When Ann and John were preteens we’d bolt for a movie from time to time to give Jean a few hours of peace and quiet at home. Jean wasn’t a movie fan. This one time we decided to drink a Coke in the car on the way to the theater. I’d finished mine and was curious whether the kids had paid any attention to the lessons on littering and recycling. The conversation might have been something like the following. Time may have altered the conversation ever so slightly.
Guys, I’m a little worried about leaving our Coke cans in the car. The ants might get the scent and come get the last little bit of carbonated sugar water. I don’t want ants in the car. I’m going to throw my Coke out.

Dad, you can’t do that.
Sure I can. All I have to do is roll down the window.
No Dad. You can’t.
What? Is the window broken?
No. You can’t throw it out the window.
Yes I can. I’ll show you. I roll down the window with my left hand like this, I switch hands on the steering wheel, pick up the can with my right hand, and thrr . . .
Noooooooo!!!!! (They shouted)
Guys, what’s the problem? You all right? (I roll up the window)
You can’t throw the can out the window!
What do you mean? I was just showing you how. It’s easy. Let’s go over it again. I roll down the window and . . .
Noooooooo! (They shouted again)
Am I doing it wrong? I thought it was a simple procedure. Did I forget something? Do you want to throw the can out for me?
No, Dad. You can’t throw the can out. It’s littering!
Littering? What’s the problem with that? Everyone does it. Look, there are some cigarette butts at the stop light and a plastic bottle over there. There’s a plastic bag over in the weeds. If everyone else can do it, I can do it too. I’ll just roll down the window and . . .
Nooooooo! Stop it, Dad. You can’t litter! (More shouting)
Everybody else can litter, but I can’t?
Right.
Well that doesn’t seem fair.
Littering is wrong, Dad. You have to recycle the can or put it in the trash.
It’s wrong? You know I am never wrong. Recycle or in the trash you say?
Yes.
But we don’t have any trash cans in the car.
There will be one at the movie theater.
Really, at the movie theater? The trash cans might be full.
We’ll find one, Dad.
I suppose that could happen. Would you guys hold my empty can? I’m not sure I can handle that much responsibility.
Sure, Dad.

Blog Now Permits Comments

I found a setting where I can allow comments without requiring the reader to login.  The login requirement was designed to cut down on spam, but actually eliminated everyone from making a comment. 

I think I will be allowed to review the comment before it gets posted.  This should cut down on profanity.

So comment as you wish.  I would welcome some discussion.

Darth Dad

Recovering Parent

I’ve often said that kids are born as savages and that we have 18 years in which to civilize them before they are unleashed on an unsuspecting world. Sadly, it wasn’t until each of the kids had already left home that I realized there were so many things I should have taught them or told them. I suppose I should apologize for doing an incomplete job. Should I apologize to the kids, or should I apologize to the world?

They say that it takes a village to raise a child. I wish we had found that village. It would have made my job a whole lot easier. Given that I did an incomplete job, maybe my kids will get lucky and wander into that village. It’s more likely that the village idiot will finish my job; thus my remorse.

At the point the kids left home it was totally too late to slip in those last words of wisdom. Whatever was not done is never going to get done. The kids are suddenly independent, and relishing the experience. They are making their own choices. They don’t want me intruding in their lives.

The restraint shown by my parents and Jean’s parents was miraculous. I can’t recall a single instance where I found them to be an unwelcome interfering factor in our lives. Now that I am the parent with absent children, I don’t see how it was possible. The inclination to second guess my kids decisions is so very strong. When they tell me about their lives I want to analyze their problems and tell them what to do.

I am simply admitting that these inclinations are there, and they are strong. Hi, my name is Tom and I am a parent. I am a recovering parent. I may be a parent, but I am not going to parent my children today. One day at a time I will resist the urge.

It is fortunate that I had 18 years to wean myself from being a parent. Each year the kids could do more and more for themselves and needed me less. The transition was so gradual that I barely noticed it happening. By the high school years they only needed me for money and a ride, and then they got their licenses.

My dad, Dick, used to tell a story about his early working years in Chicago. He had a particularly difficult problem at work that he was describing to his dad, Ray, and was asking what he should do about it. My grandfather Ray said to Dad, “Dick, you are there at work every day. You know the details of the problem and the job environment better than you will ever be able to explain to me. You are already better equipped to handle this problem than I will ever be.” or words to that effect.

I’ve thought of that story often over the years. It tells me that Ann and John are best equipped to solve their own problems. I might think I have a solution, but they will know best what solutions work for them. If the solution doesn’t suit them, then it isn’t a suitable solution. I am now too distant to be effective or useful.

So this is the task that I have set for myself; to follow the good example of my parents, Jean's parents, and grandfather Ray. I want Ann and John to share their lives with me along with their daily successes and failures, and I don't want them inhibited in doing so. I don’t want my being a parent to get in the way of that sharing. I don’t yet know how they can share their lives without me falling into my “parent mode”, but I trust that I will find the discipline to restrain myself, at least for today.

Hi. My name is Tom, and I am a recovering parent.

Flannery O'Connor

I read in the Chronicle of Higher Education today that famous author Flannery O'Connor suggested that creative-writing classes should dissuade even more writers than they already do. I suppose I should be thankful I never took a creative writing class.