When the kids say something about subs at a soccer match, my mind goes to steak and cheese. Or turkey and avocado. It’s just how it is and I can’t change it. But the distraction is mostly temporary.
When I sub a kid into a game, it gives us a bit of a forum to talk that we don’t normally get.
You’re my mom’s favorite coach, but not my dad’s one girl told me. A new player told me how nervous she was to get in. Hayden didn’t spend a lot of time there, but as she waited to go back in after getting her first yellow card, we both tried not to snicker too loud.
Which is good. That means I can’t check email or get lost on Instagram. Again. It means it’s a good idea, while I’m on this flight, for me to have packed a couple of books loaded with writing prompts on my way to San Jose.
I got a little help from the girl next to me on the plane – after we’d sufficiently gushed over how incredible the cookies they give out are (I even scored three extra packs from the flight attendant – and folded up an origami peacock in appreciation).
My seatmate chose two prompts for me to write on from the book 300 Writing Prompts (Piccadilly 2017):
They’ve been rounding up for years. When my hair thinned just a hair, they declared me bald. They joke that my social security number is 47. Thing is, I’m probably the youngest 40-something dad among any of their friends.
The best old-guy insult came by one of Hayden’s friends.
\We’ll call her Anabel. I sat with Anabel and Hayden in an amphitheater at Carowinds theme park. We were visitors with the choir and band, I think. We were waiting for the show about dinosaurs to begin – and they were running late.
We do #gratitudeandshit around here. Why not #kickasskindness? Kindness kind of gets a bad rap. Like, me, in middle school, when someone started the rumor that I curled my hair. Psh. It spreads like wildfire. Or negative Yelp! reviews.
People equate kind with weak. But that’s not always so. That’s why I like when one of my players trucks another player then helps her up. That’s sweet, right? It’s like, not in my neighborhood, !@#$!, then, you okay, sister?
Literally and figuratively. Before last night, I hadn’t written in it for weeks. Also, the back cover has fallen off. There are about five pages left in her, and it looks like it spent a season getting kicked around on Gilligan’s Island.
Gratitude is easy to come back to, it seems.
It wasn’t as if I’d abandoned #gratitudeandshit. It’s part of every day. It just wasn’t getting written down. So I had some old things in there. Things such as, I’m grateful for new episodes of Silver Spoons and I’m grateful for my new calculator watch.
Note: This post comes from a prompt in the book 300 Writing Prompts. On a flight from Charlotte to Phoenix last June, I asked the girl in the seat next to me to choose a prompt from the book for me to write about.
When I finished, the topic sparked an interesting conversation I’ll never forget.
Are there any lines that you simply will not cross?
Yes – although I can’t promise I never have, or I never will.
Before we get to the Cs for Go Ask Daddy and the #AtoZChallenge, let’s start with … Can They Do It?
As in, can the high school team I coach rebound from a 1-9 start to the season to … make the state playoffs? It’s possible. And after our second win in 11 games, while the rest of the state might not notice … it feels entirely possible.
This is part of the game I love most – the sheer hope.
The way you can get your dander up just by winning a game. I’ve never wanted a team to score as much as I did for Queen’s Grant today. Down 2-0 in the second half … you could just feel it coming. It started with a score that bounced ugly around the goal.
I mean, you can narrow it down to three girls who look a little like me. But as far as which kid specifically asked a specific question? There’s protection for the innocent. As you’ll see comes into play for No. 3 today.
What do you do in a meditation class? A friend at work asked.
We meditate, I said. You just chill out? For a whole hour, I answered. On a day I was the only student in the class, it felt like old times. An era when my workmates were either too Zen or too busy to pause on a Wednesday afternoon.
My guess is too busy. My hope is too Zen, but is there really such a thing?
Meditation isn’t the only place to grab Zen. I’ve found it in one’s eyes, or in a forest, or, honestly, on a breezy porch with my laptop, with plenty to read, and no deadlines. A work lunch makes practical sense, but give me that midweek, midday break to recharge.
But sometimes, you just want to tunnel your butt someplace else. Not always even to a churro factory after hours, although … well, we all have aspirations. And I’ve asked several strangers, bloggers, friends, and a few strange blogger friends this question:
If you could build a tunnel from your house directly to anywhere in the world, where would it go? And why?
That’s a lot to get into six words, but it’s possible.