Archive for the ‘Parenting’ category
December 8, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. December 8, 2016
Today is my wife Carol’s birthday. I won’t tell you how many candles are on the cake for fear of having to duck some thrown object. It doesn’t matter though, because she’s young for her age!
At our age, however, figuring out what to get her for her birthday has become an ongoing annual challenge. I could buy her lingerie, but wouldn’t that be a little self-centered. Perhaps I should buy her lingerie for my birthday! (File that idea away until May!)
You can only have so many spatulas!
Gift cards are a cop-out for a spouse!
Any utensil whose purpose is even remotely related to cleaning is grounds for an appearance on “Doctor Phil!”
Any device or gift certificate that is a plug for exercising most likely will be taken the wrong way. After all, our YMCA membership is already so high that we wonder if we’re simply making their mortgage payment.
So you see, it isn’t easy! The chances of landing in hot water are better than President-elect Trump ticking off somebody new today.
So I’ve decided to do a few things that are a little off the birthday gift grid. This morning I’ll take her to a doctor’s appointment since the roads are a bit slippery. She asked me to, and we’ll get to spend some lovely anxious moments trying not to get hit by commuters who are running late getting to work.
This afternoon I’ll offer a foot massage to her. She never refuses a foot massage!
Maybe I’ll offer to fix her lunch…or take her out to lunch! I’ve got a McDonald’s gift card that I haven’t used! Just kidding! We need to use the Arby’s coupons before they expire!
Early evening will find us on a date at Stetson Elementary being entertained by our grandson’s third grade class in his school’s choir concert. That also means that Carol will be able to see all three grandkids…perhaps the greatest present!
And then we’ll all go out to dinner together and talk about life, third grade and kindergarten adventures, the number of days until Christmas, and the first snowfall. And that will be the capper! Because family will always be the best birthday gift for Carol!
I’ll wait until the end of the day to give her the new spatula!
Categories: children, Christmas, Grace, Grandchildren, Humor, love, marriage, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized
Tags: bad gift ideas, Birthday gift, birthday present, birthdays, Dr. Phil, family gatherings, good gifts, lingerie, spatula, spouse birthdays, third grade, YMCA
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December 4, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. December 4, 2016
For me Christmas is more about the comfort of traditions, customs our family have practiced for years and years.
Growing up as a son of two Kentucky parents there were certain things we did that still bring a warmth to my spirit. Christmas Day was always spent at our grandparents. My Granny Wolfe and Great Aunt Lizzie lived in a two-story home outside of Paintsville. They always had a batch of sugar cookies available, even though they were both diabetics. We’d share gifts with them in their living room, and at least one of them would look at her gift-wrapped present and say “It’s too pretty to open!” My dad’s two siblings lived in Alabama and the D.C. area, so our visit was usually all the family that Granny and Aunt Lizzie had for Christmas. They were two wonderful women! Every Christmas I look at least one of my gifts and say “It’s too pretty to open!”
Towards noon we would pile into the car and drive to the farm in Oil Springs, about twenty minutes away, and converge with the Helton Clan. It was a much different atmosphere than at Granny Wolfe’s, because usually five of the six Helton offspring were there with their kids. Only my Uncle Doc (John) would be missing. He lived in California.
The Helton Christmas had certain traditions that no one messed with. One of them was that the men and boys gathered around the large dining room table and ate their meal first. The women served them! After the men were done, they retired to the front porch to smoke their pipes, cigars, and cigarettes, and the women and girls then sat down and ate their Christmas dinner. This tradition has not continued in my family!
After the meal there would be conversation and laughter. I’d roam around the back of the house sneaking peppermint stick candies and chocolate-covered cream drops. They were much more preferable to a young boy than the fruitcake that was another Christmas tradition. After a while the family would gather in the living room to open presents. My Mamaw and Papaw Helton were always the center of attention for these gatherings. They occupied two seats on the couch with twenty people as their audience. Almost every gift each of them received had some kind of garment within it, but also cash or a check. Every Christmas they would discreetly pocket the money into either a shirt or apron pocket and pretend that there had not been anything in the gift but a shirt or sweater. My Papaw kept a calculator in his head that was doing a running tally. He knew when he had enough for a new steer or hog…or both! When a new livestock purchase had been achieved we all knew it because he would look up and smile without saying a word!
Around 6:00 we’d pack into the car and head back home to either Winchester, Kentucky, Williamstown, West Virginia, or Ironton, Ohio. The car would be loaded with my Aunt Cynthia’s peanut butter fudge and my Aunt Irene’s Chex Mix. Unfortunately, there would also be a fruitcake somewhere in the trunk! Mom would fall asleep in the front seat on the way home and delight all three of us in the back with her bobblehead-flopping from side to side as the car turned in different directions.
Our own family had opened gifts on Christmas Eve. I don’t remember many of those presents besides an Erector Set, a Dennis the Menace doll, and a Matchbox carrying case filled with cars, but what each of us kids knew without question was that one of our gifts would contain underwear and socks. To be more specific, Towncraft underwear and socks from J.C. Penny’s! Since joining the ranks of grown-ups I’ve felt the freedom to buy my underwear in different brands and at different business establishments, but…I still buy my black dress socks at Penny’s.
Those were good days! The memories of them still sing in my mind. Uncles telling stories…my Papaw saying “Lord…..have mercy!”, aunts chuckling in the kitchen, and cousins scooting between adults like hyper ants on a mission.
Good days…great days! My wife Carol and I have meshed some of her traditions and some of my traditions into “our traditions.” We’d also added a few, like socks in empty cereal boxes and Christmas Eve services at church.
But besides the tradition of men eating first, one other tradition that has not carried forward is…the fruitcake!
Categories: children, Christmas, Community, Grandchildren, Humor, love, marriage, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized
Tags: aunts and uncles, Chex Mix, Christmas dinner, Christmas traditions, family traditions, fruitcake, gift opening, traditions
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November 23, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. November 23, 2016
I sat down on the couch to survey the crew. The crew consisted of our three grandkids: eight year old Jesse involved in a game of Super Mario Brothers; Corin (Rennie) scampering around the room as fast as a 20 month old body can go; and five year old Reagan whose attention was focused on the fact that her grandfather thought he was going to relax for a couple of minutes.
“Tell me a story, Granddad!”, she demanded as she plopped down on the couch beside me and draped her feet over my lap. “Tell me a story using my toes!”
A few weeks ago I was telling a story to her and Jesse from the same couch seat and I grabbed their feet as a visual aid to help me tell it. She giggled and giggled as I told the made up story about little piggies.
And Reagan never forgets! Her enjoyment in something translates into it becoming a tradition…thus two feet staring up at me with their multi-colored striped outfits!
“What story should I tell you? How about a story about a little worm named Squiggly?”
“Yes! Tell me a story about Squiggly!” Her toes wiggled in anticipation.
“Once upon a time there was a worm named Squiggly who decided he was a big enough worm to leave his Mommy Worm and crawl around by himself.”
“And did he have brothers and sisters?” Reagan likes to know all the details in any story I tell that I happen to be making up on the fly!
“Yes, he had many brothers and sisters, but he was the oldest worm child, so all of his worm siblings were still at home with Mommy Worm. So Squiggly said goodbye to his mom, they wrapped themselves around each other in one final worm hug, and off he went crawling through the dirt to discover what was on the other side of the mud patch.
“His mom probably missed him.”
“I’m sure she did. Your mom would miss you if you moved away, wouldn’t she?”
“I’m only five, Granddad!”, she informed me as she did the eye roll thing.
“Yes, I know…well, anyway, back to the story! Squiggly slowly crawled away, whistling his favorite worm song, “Way Up High In An Apple Tree.” He was all wiggly with excitement about the new places he was going to discover.”
“He probably misses his mommy.”
“Probably! After he had crawled across the mud patch and into the weed forest on the other side he got to thinking to himself, “I’d better find some place to sleep before nightfall.” He thought about the warmth of his mommy and remembered that he had left his worm blanket back at home. He got to thinking about the chilly darkness that would soon be upon him with no mom or snug covering to keep him warm.”
“He didn’t plan very well.”
“So he looked all around and around and finally…finally…he found a nice place that looked like it would be cozy and warm and almost like home.”
“Where was it?”
“It was right between two toes of a little girl named Reagan.” I burrowed one of my fingers between two of her toes and she squealed with tickling laughter. “Yes, it was right between two little toes,” I explained as she quivered with giggling. She pulled her feet off of my lap and hopped down to the floor. Her sister stared at her with a smile on her face.
About the time I took my next breath she was back on the couch, settling her feet into their place across my lap once again.
“And then what, Granddad?” For Reagan “story toes” have many chapters and episodes…and giggles!
Categories: children, Grandchildren, Humor, love, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized
Tags: creative storytelling, enjoying grandkids, giggling, grand parenting, grandkids, kid's stories, kids laughing, laughter, storyteller, storytelling, tickling
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November 21, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. November 21, 2016
I went to Walgreen’s a few days ago to buy a bag of cough drops. I located the aisle they were displayed in and scanned the selections. The Walgreen’s brand had a couple of flavors to offer, but the first bag I found only had thirty cough drops in it. Knowing that I was going through about six a day I thought the next size up would be a better choice. At the other end of the shelf was a bag of two hundred.
“There must be a size in-between”, I thought to myself. I searched back and forth, and I slowed down my gaze trying to locate the in-between. To my amazement there was no in-between. It was either 30 or 200. It was either five days of relief or five years of taking up cabinet space.
Where was the in-between? And another question, where is the in-between?
Even Starbucks calls their in-between size drink “Grande!”
But the in-between is about more than just food and drink. It’s also about position and value. The American middle class has shrunk in the last few decades. During the last decade of the 20th Century it shrank because more people were moving upwards in economic class, but in the first two decades of this century it has shrunk because more people are moving down to being lower in economic status. The importance of that can be seen in nations where there is a very small middle class. Also, without exception those countries are impoverished and unstable. People recognize that there are the “haves” and the “have-nots”, and there is a ripple effect of unrest, hopelessness, and social anger. The in-between holds the extremes together. When there is no in-between division and dissension define the culture.
I’m an in-betweener politically. I’m not sure when I settled in that position. Perhaps it is simply a part of who I am. Back in the 1990’s when I won an election for a seat on the Board of Education for the Mason, Michigan school system I ran as an in-betweener. The community was divided between those who did not want to pass the school bond issue and those who saw the increasing need for it. I ran as one who could help bring the community together, won the election, and helped in the effort to pass the school bond issue the next fall. Sometimes it takes an in-betweener to help end the tug-of-war in a community.
Even in this past presidential election I was an in-betweener! But the in-between has not been a popular place to be. It’s too rational in a time of sniping polarization. I feel like the marriage counselor in the midst of two adults screaming at each other and telling them that I’m not on the side of either one of them.
People think the in-between doesn’t stand for anything, that it’s fickle and uncommitted! Contrary to what liberals and conservatives think, the in-between is a place that looks at the long-term possibilities and direction. To use a word picture, it looks out from the top of Pike’s Peak through the clouds and haze and sees Kansas. The in-betweener is the optimist in a scuffle where everyone else is determined to be the winner.
The other night Carol and I were babysitting for our three grandkids. Reagan, our five year old granddaughter, likes to have me tell her stories. She has gotten into the habit of draping her feet across my lap and asking me to tell her a story that includes the participation of her feet. So I told her about a worm named “Squiggly” who was looking for a nice warm place to sleep that night, a place of protection and coziness. Squiggly found that place in-between her toes, and I tickled the inside spot to pinpoint where this story was going. Reagan squealed with delight and laughter, and quickly removed her feet from my lap. Fifteen seconds later she placed them back across my legs and said, “Tell me the rest of the story!” That finding of the in-between spot and laughter continued for several minutes. It humored each of its participants.
The in-between is a place of delight, a giggling warm spot that is delightfully good. It’s the place of peace in the troubling spirit of population. It’s the disappearing place where harmony can be seeded and flourish.
Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Freedom, Grandchildren, Humor, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: 2016 Presidential Campaign, compromise, cough drops, election, Grande, hands and have nots, in-between, in-between size, middle class, middle class citizens, optimism, optimist, Starbucks
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November 20, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. November 20, 2016
The cashier put the bottle in a skinny brown bag that shouted “Booze!” I walked at a brisk pace out of the store like a CIA operative stealing a hard drive from a foreign power. I felt more guilt than a Baptist sitting in Starbucks on a Sunday morning!
The bag held a bottle of Woodford Reserve Kentucky Bourbon. Somewhere in my memory this purchase destined me for the Lake of Fire. I had never…ever…ever bought a bottle of hard liquor before in my lifetime. Back in Ironton, Ohio, the state liquor store on Third Street was one place you didn’t get close to, lest you become tainted.
But the cough had lingered! My night time sleep was like a horizontal relay team passing the imaginary baton from one coughing episode to the next. And then my dad reminded me of Mamaw Helton’s cough remedy: One part honey and at least one part bourbon!
He told me of the time my Mama and Papaw Helton had come to visit them in Ironton from their farm in Oil Springs, Kentucky. My Papaw asked my dad to go to the liquor store and buy him a bottle of bourbon, to which my dad replied, “Dewey, why can’t you go and buy it?” Mamaw Helton piped in, “He can’t because of the church!” They were proud members of a United Baptist church, known for being a church of teetotalers and a few backwoods moonshiners.
My dad said, “Well, this is where I live and I’m a deacon in the church.” I asked him how the story played out and he told me he went and bought my Papaw Helton a bottle. Evidently my Papaw was okay with the drinking part, but committed to never entering the store that sold the drink.
So, as I coughed, like an old Chevy trying to start its engine, I went to the liquor store!
I had also rationalized that my brother, Charles Dewey, now works as a tour guide at the Woodford Reserve Distillery outside of Frankfort. If I bought a bottle, in some weird way, it would promote job security for him. When I looked at the price difference between his brand and the others I considered that he needed to be responsible for his own job security. But then I thought that perhaps…just perhaps…the price difference was because Woodford Reserve went down smoother and tasted as sweet as a piece of rock candy. If I bought that cheap Jim Beam it might be like drinking one of those generic cans of cola compared to drinking a Pepsi. It might completely distort my impression of what Kentucky bourbon tasted like.
So I bought it! At the counter I informed the lady that my brother was a tour guide at the distillery of my chosen bottle. She looked at me and with a face completely void of expression replied, “Ah-huh!” End of sales transaction!
That night I anxiously opened the bottle of the miracle potion. I was a bourbon virgin about to have my first sip experience. “Would it taste like Pepsi?” I asked myself, “Or more like Vernor’s?”
I poured about an ounce into a cup and mixed in the honey. This was the big moment…the moment of healing, the exorcism of my coughing demon! I tipped the cup up and took my first swig.
“Good Lord!” I stammered. My fear of being cast into the Lake of Fire was being preceded by a burning flow of lava down my throat. I could feel some of the hair on my chest shriveling up and falling off. Kentucky bourbon is the twin brother of castor oil!
“Lord, help me!” I stared at the other half of the dosage I still needed to force down. I pinched my nose and once again let the fire enter in. Then I stared at the bottle of bourbon that still contained about 97% of its contents.
“How do people drink this? Better yet, how did my Papaw Helton drink this?” I could feel the fire in my throat dripping down into my stomach.
That night, however, I slept soundly! Seven hours of sleep is worth one moment of torture!
Categories: children, Freedom, Grandchildren, Humor, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: bourbon, bourbon distillery, castor oil, cough medicine, cough remedy, cough syrup, hard liquor, Kentucky, Kentucky bourbon, liquor stores, monshine, Oil Springs, teetotalers, United Baptist, Whiskey, Woodford Reserve Kentucky Bourbon
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November 18, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. November 18, 2016
As Thanksgiving Day descends upon us it has caused me to think about the little things I’m thankful for. Perhaps you have your own list that resonates within you. Here’s a few things that cause me to stop, ponder, and be continually thankful for:
1) Sitting on the couch with my three grandkids watching TV, especially if one or two of them are leaned up against me. It causes me to remember when I was growing up and sitting beside my mom and dad in church, leaning into their warmth and presence. Now Reagan and Rennie lean into me and warm my soul!
2) Sunday early evening phone conversations with my dad. Since we’re two time zones apart it usually happens right after I’ve eaten dinner and he’s getting ready for bed. My dad is 88! His pleasant Eastern Kentucky accent carries a flood of family memories with it. As I talk with him I’m thinking of many of those things that he has brought to my life. He taught me how to drive, using our ’66’ Chrysler Newport as the guinea pig. In fact, the first time I drove it in the Ironton Junior High School parking lot I was trying to turn it so hard that I broke the power steering. Although he thought about killing me, patience won out!
3) Being married to a woman with a heart for kids who have needs. Carol is sensitive to those who have limitations as she works with special needs students in middle school. Although she retired at the end of the last school year she gets called EVERY SCHOOL DAY…Trust me! EVERY SCHOOL DAY!…to substitute! She comes alongside students who sometimes are ostracized in the midst of the middle school culture. At the end of the school day she is one tired puppy!
4) The ability to reflect and write. God has gifted me with an unusual talent. Most days as I sit on my Starbucks stool and peck out my blog post I have no idea what I’m about to write until I start writing it. Sometimes it comes as I put the Half and Half in my first cup of coffee; sometimes it comes as I sit and stare at Pike’s Peak for a couple of minutes…but it always seems to come! Most of the time it even makes sense!
5) A renewed passion for the church! As I help First Baptist Church in Simla, Colorado navigate the future it excites me. My excitement is definitely not based on compensation, but rather on “mission and purpose.” I love this congregation of twenty, who are anxious about their future. Thirty-seven years of pastoring has prepared me to offer advice and lead them to the questions that they need to be asking themselves.
6) The memories that pain me! That probably sounds strange, and yet I’m thankful for the wounds of my soul! In the past two months I’ve presided over the funerals of two dear people- a 95 year old saint named Rex and a 41 year old friend and father named Greg. I cried at both of them, and I am thankful that my life was blessed by them to the point that I was deeply impacted. Even now as I write these words the grief once again is like a wave that rushes over me.
We often think about the big reasons to be thankful, but the lake of thanksgiving is held together by small pebbles of gratitude!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Freedom, Grandchildren, love, marriage, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: Chrysler Newport, family memories, gratitude, memories, reasons to be thankful, small ways for thankfulness, thankful, thanks, Thanksgiving
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November 15, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. November 15, 2016
Being a history major in college I looked forward to substitute teaching for one of the seventh grade social studies teachers a couple of weeks ago. In preparation I sat in on one of Mr. Miller’s classes two days before to hear his “story’ (Don’t tell 7th graders you are about to lecture! Tell them you are about to tell a story!) about Genghis Khan.
My day to manage the class involved a debate about Genghis Khan’s tactics. It was an interesting, and at times entertaining, experience. The question presented to the mass of adolescent opinionated debaters was whether or not they agreed with the tactics that Genghis Khan used to conquer cities, which included wiping out whole populations of cities and also an early form of biological warfare?
The students arranged themselves in one of six rows of chairs in the classroom: the first two rows for those who agreed; the middle two rows for those who were undecided; and the last two rows for those who disagreed. Mr. Miller referred to it as ‘philosophical chairs.”
I called on one speaker from those who agreed, and then one from the undecided, and then one from those who disagreed…and then repeated the process. The next speaker needed to summarize what the previous speaker had just said before stating his/her opinion. What a concept! That means the student had to actually listen to the previous speaker…a forgotten skill!
Student “philosophy” went back and forth. Students moved from one held opinion to an opposite, according to what was being said. The rows of undecided students bounced back and forth like ping-pong balls. One student presented her opinion for why she agreed with Khan’s tactics, and then immediately moved to the other side of the room. She, evidently, convinced herself as she was speaking that she didn’t agree with herself…a dilemma for sure!
Some students were like small herds of sheep following their student shepherd to different philosophical pastures around the room. Most of them, however, were intensely into it! One young lady clearly articulated why she was still undecided by summarizing the strong points of both sides. One young man made no sense at all in his commentary, to the point where I had to keep from busting out in laughter!
For 45 minutes the points and counter-points were voiced. In the last five minutes anyone in the undecided middle had to pick a side. In four different class periods of philosophical chairs no one called another student an idiot, a criminal, tax evader, or loser! Security did not have to be called! No pencils or water bottles were thrown at anyone! In four class periods, totaling close to 120 students, only five students did not give their view at least once. Of the five who didn’t, only one seemed to be more interested in how her hair looked than the discussion.
It was awesome! In three of the four classes I had to end the debate before they were ready.
The most brutal part of each class period was simply taking attendance and slaughtering almost as many names as Genghis Khan had slaughtered people!
Categories: children, Community, Freedom, Humor, Nation, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: 7th Grade, debates, discussions, Genghis Khan, hearing one another, listening, listening skills, middle school social studies, middle school students, philosophical conversations, philosophical differences, political discussions, respecting differences, teaching middle school
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November 13, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. November 12, 2016
I remember my sister, Rena, getting upset with our parents when she was about ten years old over some important issue…like the shoes she had to wear, or not being able to go roller skating on a Friday night at two o’clock in the morning. She threatened to run away from home. One time she actually did, walking heavily across the kitchen floor and out the side door of our house. She proceeded to stand on the carport for a good five minutes before “coming back to family.” As an eight year old at the time I was a little bummed. I had figured out that either my brother or I would get her bedroom. Charlie and I had to share a bedroom.
A neighbor kid about my age would frequently threaten to leave the game we were playing, take his ball, and go home if things didn’t go his way. He was annoying, and after a few threats such as that, the rest of us would let him go. We would just figure out something else to play that didn’t involve his ball.
During my 36 years as a church pastor I encountered numerous people who would make threats. It was often clothed in a statement that began with these words: “If this doesn’t happen I’m going to…” The completed statement would come from a menu of possibilities such as “leave the church”, “stop giving money”, “resign my position”, or “make things unpleasant!” Sometimes we stood firm on our position or direction and other times, unfortunately, we caved in! One thing I learned over the years: A church never goes forward as a result of giving in to internal threats!
Threats and ultimatums are immature ways for society to react to a direction that not everyone agrees with. They are like a stubborn Beaver Cleaver refusing to eat the Brussels sprouts on his plate because he doesn’t like them. (Yes! I just saw that episode on DVD!)
This week’s election result was going to cause unrest and anger no matter which candidate won. Let’s be honest! Even though Donald Trump won there were an abundance of people who voted for him simply because they did not want Hillary Clinton; and, on the other hand, there were an abundance of people who voted for Clinton because they did not want Trump. If a third option had been on the ballot that said, “Neither One!”, it may have been the victor!
So now we enter post-election emotions and unrest around the country. Neither candidate endeared themselves to people with all the negative ads they pumped millions of dollars into!
So now what? In my years as pastor I’ve told people that two events in the life of a family necessitate change. That is, when one of these events happens things will not stay the same as they were. The events are a birth and a death! When a new baby comes along things, by necessity, change! When someone passes away, by necessity, things change! This past election was a birth event for some and a death for many. In my saying that it also needs to be said that it would have been a birth and death event if Hillary Clinton had also been elected.
In either case, by necessity, things will change. Our country will draw closer together or it will become more fractured. There will either be a reaching to find common ground or there will be a continuation of threats. Washington, which hasn’t really been a very good role model in recent years, will strive to either row together or do a tug of war of wills.
In a culture of instant gratification and self-centeredness this optimist is not very optimistic!
Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Death, Freedom, Nation, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized
Tags: 2016 election, Brussels sprouts, Clinton, compromise, election, finding common ground, Leave It To Beaver, making threats, moving forward, not getting our way, the presidential election, Threats, Trump, ultimatums, Working together
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November 9, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. November 9, 2016
Frank Luntz is a CBS new correspondent who has covered elections and done group interviews for two and a half decades. Last Sunday night 60 Minutes aired parts of an interview that he had with a mixed group of voters. Luntz left that interview a bit downcast because of the outrage of the group that communicated several things.
One of those key learnings he pointed to was that people don’t listen. That might sound simple and uncomplicated, and yet there’s a lot more behind it. He made the point that he lost control of the group five minutes in. People wanted to talk, but people didn’t want to listen. The presidential election simply mirrors that fact in our nation. People are slow to listen…really, really slow!
Another way of stating it is “I’m going to say something and you’re going to listen, but you, on the other hand, have nothing of value that I will listen to.
Luntz made this revealing statement: “People listen to anything that affirms themselves instead of informing themselves.” We’ve taken the Book of James statement to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry (James 1:19) and reversed it. Now we are deafly slow to listen, NASCAR quick to speak, and unstably quick to become angry!
Social media has unknowingly encouraged this. Someone can spout off venom and not hang around to hear the reactions. It is easy and, in some ways, relationally shallow to speak on Facebook, and exit out before hearing the thoughts of others.
This slowness in listening runs through a variety of systems in our world. Parents don’t want to hear the concerns of their child’s teachers concerning his behavior. Students don’t want to listen to their teachers, who they have often written off as irrelevant. And sometimes teachers don’t want to listen to students who disagree with an idea or are slow in understanding what is being taught.
In the youth sports world there is a decreasing number of officials. One main reason is the verbal abuse that is heaped upon them by parents, coaches, and players. And think about it! A sports official is simply someone who is making judgment calls…rulings…on situations that occur in the midst of a game. A number of officials have been physically attacked in the midst of athletic contests in recent years.
We don’t want to listen to anything that we have decided we disagree with! We have become very skilled in not listening!
Yesterday my 8th Grade boy’s basketball team got waxed. We went into the game 4-0 and left 4-1. But, and here’s what I told them after the game, hopefully we learned from the experience. We didn’t leave the game talking about how bad the officiating was or what poor sports the other team’s players were. On the contrary, the game was well officiated and the players on the other team acted just as well as my players did. We just got beat…and we listened with our minds to what was being taught to us.
In the coming days may each of us strive to be quick to listen and a lot slower in speaking. We need that. Our country needs that. I’m hoping that when Frank Luntz does another group interview before the 2020 election he will be able to hear what is being said, not just a room full of disgruntled folk who have a lot to say and nothing to hear!
If you want to respond…I promise I’ll listen!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, coaching, Community, Freedom, Nation, Parenting, Pastor, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: 60 Minutes, election, Frank Luntz, James 1:19, listening skills, Presidential election, quick to listen, slow to listen, slow to speak, the National Mood
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November 6, 2016
WORDS FROM W.W. November 6, 2016
Dear Coaches,
Thank you for giving of your time, energies, and experience in the coaching of young athletes. I appreciate that! You are an invaluable resource for the teaching of the skills of each sport, the fundamentals, and the understanding of how a team functions.
Now I’ve got to say something on the other side of matters.
Quit it! Stop being jerks on the sidelines! Stop blaming the officials for the fact that some of your players can’t properly execute a pivot yet! Quit it! Knock it off!
As a basketball official for fifteen years now, blowing the whistle for everything from clueless kindergarteners all the way up to college basketball, I’ve seen my share of great coaches and coaches that take on other personalities when the game starts. It’s taught me a few things that I’d like to pass on to you.
Players follow the lead of their coach! If the coach questions every referee decision that goes against him his players follow suit. I recently had a middle school game where one coach was calm and controlled. His players, although not very skilled, were just as controlled as their coach. On the other bench was a man who was combative, yelled constantly, and demeaning. Some of his players followed the lead of their coach. They were out of control, overly aggressive, debated each call against them, and even less skilled than their opponents. The example of the coach got channeled through his players and through some of his parents. Two of his players fouled out, and I think a third player had four fouls. Meanwhile, the calmness of the first coach got transmitted through everyone connected to his team. The first coach questioned one of my whistles late in the game. He was calm and I walked over to him. “I thought he traveled before he got fouled.” I responded with a smile on my face. “Coach, you’re probably right.” He smiled at me. Meanwhile the other coach…”the boy who cried “Wolf!”…used up all of our hearing and we became deaf to his constant complaints.
Coaches, think about how you are acting!
Coaches, who have the opportunity to teach your players about more than a game. You have the incredible privilege of being able to teach them about life! If your view of life gets communicated through a sour disposition, your players, who look up to you, will begin to look at life through that kind of lens. Some of the best coaches are tough on players in preparing them for games, and also educators of the important lessons of life. The greatest coaches understand that the game revolves around life, not life around the game. Some of the worst coaches- that is, coaches who have screwed up priorities- think the game is everything!
As an official, who has also coached basketball for over twenty years, I see this “win at all costs mindset” being displayed in players to the point that they are not above injuring a player on the other team if it improves their chances of winning. The question is where did they learn that from? Who has the responsibility, and opportunity, to teach them sportsmanship and fair play? Who has the privilege of shaping their understanding of how the game is played?
The coach!
So, coaches, ask yourself a few questions. What are you going to teach your players about the game? What fundamental skills are you going to emphasize to them over and over again through different drills? What are you going to teach them about teamwork and team roles? What are you going to teach them about sportsmanship and having a good attitude? And, most importantly, what are you going to teach them about life?
Categories: children, coaching, Grace, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: basketball coaching, coach, coaching, influencing kids, out-of-control coaches, positive coaches, positive coaching, teaching life, youth coaches
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Words from WW Blog 