Monday, September 26, 2011

The Competitive Spirit is Back


Today I want to share with you all one of my favorite childhood memories that has been on my mind all day. I know that this is a bit off of my normal (if that is a word that can be used for this blog) subjects, but there is a point to it. I’ll explain at the end.

I think I was twelve or thirteen when the local Boys & Girls Club that I played soccer with decided to put together a “select” All Valley team to send to an international soccer tournament in Spokane Washington. Somehow I was selected to be a part of this team. It was one of the proudest moments of my life. Then, add to that, we all got matching shirts with numbers and socks.  We were the best of valley’s female soccer players at the time, pulled from teams that had spent the season in heated competition with one another. Now we had just a few short weeks to become a team. I remember feeling pretty confident of our chances at making a good showing at this tournament…

…until the coach (who didn’t really know much about soccer or teenagers) informed us of the name she had given our team. She figured we all lived in the Lewis-Clark Valley and we were all girls so our name was really right in front of our faces.

Yes, you guessed it; she named us the Valley Girls.

Keep in mind that this was the mid 1980’s when the term “Valley Girl” immediately brought to mind the quote -  “Like, Gag me with a spoon” and other such nonsense. But we decided to run with it since we really had no choice in the matter anyway.

The weekend of the big tournament arrived and we marched out onto the field in our matching tees and socks to find teams with matching duffel bags, soccer balls, flags, etc. Their warm ups were unified and synchronized to marching chants most often heard in military boot camps. Even the pony tail holders they used matched the rest of their uniforms.

Okay, so those teams had more money than our little group from a small community of loggers and mill workers. So what? We were still the best the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley Boys & Girls Club had to offer. We would show these teams that money wasn’t everything. The Valley Girls were there to make a statement.

Our first game was against the Shin Breakers.

Do I even need to tell you all how well that game went?

We were hopelessly out of our league. There was absolutely no way we were going to win anything in this tournament. Heck we were lucky to score the one goal that we did all weekend. I think that was on account of the weather. Lewiston sports teams got used to playing in the rain and hail. If we ran inside every time the weather got a little chancy we’d never get an opportunity to play. So the rain and hail during that last game didn’t faze any of us much. It just made it a little harder to see the ball or the boundary lines.

The point to all of this is that throughout the weekend, in spite of the fact that we were playing teams that had obviously played together for many years and had a ton more experience than we did, our little makeshift group of girls never gave up. We kept fighting to the bitter end even though we knew we would be going home in last place.

We didn’t win the tournament, but we never gave up on ourselves.

This is something that I’ve forgotten about in recent years. I let that competitive spirit wither away as I hid in the shadows and watched life go by. I convinced myself that I was too scared, too shy, and too old to get out there and try anything new. I made myself believe that I could be happy just watching from the sidelines as others played the game.

Not anymore. That drive, that competitive spirit in me wasn’t completely dead. Somewhere along the line it jumped off life support and grew strong again. It’s not yet as strong as it once was since it has to constantly do battle with the spirit that gave up in the first place but it is getting there.

It’s time to stop watching from the sidelines and get back in the game. Win or lose, here I come.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Silent Heroes


How do you define a hero?

In early Greek times heroes were godlike men and women who performed amazing acts that no normal human could do. Interestingly enough Hero was also the name of a priestess (yes, a female one) who drowned herself after her lover drowned while swimming to see her.  

Today heroes are defined in much the same way. Our military men and women are heroes, they willingly put themselves in harm’s way to defend our way of life and protect people around the world from evil. The same can be said for our police force, fire fighters, EMT’s, etc. They are heroes and very visible ones, all of them display courage and selflessness at some point or another.

There are quieter heroes out there that many don’t often recognize. Chances are they don’t even recognize themselves as anything exceptional. But ask anyone whose life they have touched and possibly changed and see what they say. There is the teacher who believes in a young student who everyone else has given up on. There is the neighbor who sees something unusual at the widow’s house next door and takes time out of their day to check up on her. The counselor who refuses to give up on a client no matter how much she pushes away his advice and denies the problems he brings to light. The friend that reaches out to just say hello instead of giving up on someone they haven’t seen for a while.

The thing I see is that heroes don’t have to be larger than life to be true heroes. Heroes are people who look beyond themselves to help others. They are your friends, your co-workers, even the stranger next to you at the gym. Heroes are everywhere and they do what makes them heroes because they can, because they want to. They do it for themselves and to help others, not to be seen as a hero. They care and are willing to help. That is what makes them heroes in my book.

So to all of those unsung and unseen heroes in my life this is my Thank You. Thank you for all you have done for me and everyone else. You may not have the high profile recognition that the heroes of old received, but that doesn’t mean you are not just as, if not more, important in all of our lives.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Fear & Courage (AKA - Another One Bites the Dust)


Someone once told me that courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to move ahead in spite of it. I’m still not sure if that is true or not, but I did something this weekend that I’m very proud of. I faced a deep seated fear head on and experienced something wonderful because of it. 

For those loyal readers who are not aware of my history, let me fill you in a little. I love my mother, she is my best friend, but I am and always have been a Daddy’s girl. Growing up we did everything together. We watched football on Sundays and he didn’t even flinch (at least not that I saw) when I declared at an early age that I was a Seahawks fan. I taught myself how to play the guitar after watching him and his friend Walt laugh, play, and sing on warm summer evenings. He was even one of the few people who I would let read some of my earlier writing projects. He was always very supportive, but provided constructive criticism at the same time. He believed in me when I didn’t always believe in myself. He taught me that there is nothing I can’t do, if I’m only willing to try. That’s a lesson I’ve seemed to have forgotten in the last few years.

Four years ago on July 3rd, 2007 my father died as a result of a four wheeler accident.  My father, my mother, and my dad’s best friend, Wally had gone into the town of Cinnabar on 4 wheelers that morning, a trip that Dad had wanted me to go on with him, but I was too busy with other things to go at the time.  At about 3:30 that afternoon my co-worker Renae intercepted a phone call that would change my life forever.  Having a very vivid imagination I could easily picture in great detail the entire event. And, unfortunately, I did just that over and over again. Ever since that day I have had a secret fear of the vehicle that killed my father. I swore to myself that I would NEVER ride one again, no matter how much fun I’d had in the past.

Earlier this week my Mom called and told me that Wally had access to a spare 4 wheeler and wanted to take me up the very same trail that she and my dad had traveled the day he died. Most of you know that I am a very superstitious person so the thought of taking that same trip on the same type of machine was terrifying to me! But, really, how could I say no? Am I that much of a coward that I would turn down what might be the last opportunity to see the land that my father had seen just before he left this earth? How disappointed would I be in myself if I let fear dictate what I did and where I went? Add to that the fact that it was my Dad’s best friend that wanted me to go and you can see my dilemma.

Was I afraid?

Yes, absolutely terrified.

Did I let it stop me?

No.

And for that I am so proud of myself.

I faced down that fear and had a wonderful day. I saw parts of the world that most people will never see and did things I never thought were possible for me. If you are a friend of mine on Facebook you can see some of the “Top of the World” pictures that show where we went on Friday. There were times out on that trail that I questioned my sanity as I crossed streams and spun tires out on steep hillsides. There was at least one part of the trail where I learned the meaning of the term “don’t look down” and I wondered just how much it would hurt if “Ole Blue” rolled over on top of me as we tumbled down the mountainside.  But in the end I made it to the top of the world and back.

I faced my fear and experienced something wonderful because of it.

I don’t know if that qualifies as “courage” but it is close enough in my book.