Breaks that Don't Feel Like Breaks

The much-anticipated Thanksgiving break has come and gone in a blur of food prep, travel, and family. Every single teacher I saw today gave me a similar reply when I asked how their break went: "It was so nice to be off, but we were so busy!" Ultimately, I am getting the sense that for most people, it was a break that didn't feel much like a break. 

Does that mean I work with heartless people who don't enjoy their first-world problems of overeating and packed schedules? Of course not. In a lot of ways, being busy over the holidays can feed our soul: after months and months of COVID restrictions, we are seeing family members face-to-face, we are welcoming new members into the fold, we are gathering to share fond memories of days gone by. 

At the same time, many of us live lives of sensory overload and demands placed on us 24/7. We are givers and helpers at home and at work. We barely unplug at night because our anxious minds are running over tomorrow's list of concerns while we toss and turn. The holiday season is magical, yet demanding. There are meals to make, gifts to buy, schedules to juggle. If we squint through pessimistic eyes, the holidays almost look like work. 

This was the first year I didn't bring any work home at all over break. You guys, I left my school laptop on my desk in my office, wished my plants well and walked out. My past 14 Thanksgiving breaks have included grading essays. Talk about a season to give thanks! 

(I did answer a panicky email from a student who was trying to get caught up in her online classes and needed some tech support. And I may have checked grades on Sunday, to see which of my students were taking advantage of the time off. But, hey! Otherwise, I walked away. Don't judge me!) 

And my break was packed -- from a trip to my aunts for a larger-than-life family dinner on Thursday, to Christmas tree hunting on Friday, to deer hunting (for Gene, at least!). My daughter's 15th birthday fell over break as well, and I planned a surprise trip to see a musical at Lancaster's Sight & Sound theatre, complete with an unexpected upgrade in our hotel room. (I know my mom had a heavenly hand in arranging the "Hershey Suite" for us!)

Oh, and Liam started the indoor soccer season, E had a sleepover, and I interviewed 3 guests for my podcast. 

Sounds like a break, right? ;)

To be completely honest, I do feel refreshed. While I didn't slow down, I challenged my brain with other pursuits and fed my soul. Real talk, though -- I struggled to get out of my warm, cozy bed this morning. I woke up with Liam's arms around me (he is quick to take Gene's spot when he's away!) and three dogs stretched across the bed. (Sure, this means I slept like a pretzel, but it's the price we parents pay for the nights we will miss when they are gone.) 

As December peeks around the corner at us, I am resolved to find the moments of peace and rest amidst the chaos. Will it be easy? Nope. Is it still worth trying? Absolutely. 

Best wishes for a meaningful holiday season to you all! 

Mom for the Win: The Sequel

Usually I hate sequels, but this has to be shared. Remember that time a certain child pitched an absolute fit about getting his COVID shot? You can refresh yourself HERE while we wait. (I've always wanted to cite myself. How delightfully pompous!) 

Allow me to recap a scene from yesterday:

SETTING: the Clark kitchen

MOM [standing at the sink, doing dishes in her never-ending cycle of washing and drying]: I saw on Facebook that your friend, [NAME WITHHELD] was sent home from school because of contact tracing.

LIAM [sitting at the breakfast bar, playing the Switch in his never-ending cycle of childhood bliss]: No way! Again?

MOM: Yeah, I think it's his second time already this year, poor guy. 

LIAM: Sheesh! Why doesn't he just get vaccinated? Then he wouldn't have to quarantine.

[Time stops. MOM slowly turns toward LIAM. Music cue -- something with strings ]

MOM: [about to speak, facial expression something like ---

]

LIAM: [holds up hand] Don't. Say. A. Word. Just turn back around. 

End Scene. 

Let's Talk about the Silent Treatment

I saw this quote and shared it on Facebook recently. Little did I expect, it sparked a great conversation among my friends online. Comments ranged from, "No, they love you enough to walk away when we need space" to "Sometimes, they don't love themselves and can't give what they don't have." Others echoed the need to take "time to calm down" because sometimes we can be "too mad to speak rationally." One wife of 27 years pointed out the nuance between "discussing" and "arguing," and an experienced educator wisely noted that maturity can be a significant factor in the ability to communicate effectively. 

Honestly -- the whole thread was exactly what the Internet should be for. I loved the multiple perspectives, supported by anecdotal examples and observations. I thanked each person for their contribution; some even replied to each other. No one called names or hurled obscenities. It was a veritable heaven on earth. 

The exchange also gave me much to consider, so here we are on my blog. (Don't blame me -- you clicked the link!)

My original comment when posting the above quote was: "I tend to over-communicate, so I never understand this approach. Action (or inaction) speaks volumes." 

Re-reading those words, I clearly see why my friends chimed in. I know better than to use an absolute like "never" without operationally defining the antecedent. My friends were right to point out that sometimes, "practicing the pause" prevents us from saying words we later regret. I couldn't agree more. In fact, I balk at the Bible verse: "Don't let the sun go down on your anger" (Eph. 4:26), which has been morphed into the secular advice of "Don't go to bed angry." Actually, there may be times when going to bed angry is much better than staying up all night arguing with your partner, when you are drained and irrational. Taking some time to cool off, to reflect, to calm down -- that's wise. 

That's also not the silent treatment. This is what I should have made clear in my post. The silent treatment implies a complete unwillingness to talk at all. It's not a healthy pause, telling your partner or friend, "I need some time to think about this. Can we please talk about this in morning?" The silent treatment is a refusal to communicate entirely. 

In "What You are Saying When You Give Someone the Silent Treatment," Daryl Austin writes, "The silent treatment goes by many names: shunning, social isolation, stonewalling, ghosting.  Although psychologists have nuanced definitions for each term, they are all essentially forms of ostracism."  In the same article, Joel Cooper, a psychology professor at Princeton remarks, "In the short term, the silent treatment causes stress. In the long term, the stress can be considered abuse." 

I don't want to rehash Austin's entire article -- please read it for yourself -- but the fact is people who use the silent treatment are saying, "I don't love you enough to even talk to you." The silent treatment is a punishment, it's a way to gaslight the other person. That's not what love does. And I stand by my original statement that "I never understand this approach." That is to say, if you have a relationship with someone, why would you do this, except to hurt them?

Why would a parent give a child the silent treatment, for example, except to punish and withhold love? How can someone let days, months, even years go by without talking to their child? I will never understand that. Never. 

Why would a partner use the silent treatment against the person with whom they are supposedly building a life? That's a power move -- I'm in charge here, you've violated my rules, and I will punish you by ignoring you. That's not a partnership, that's not love. I will never understand that. Never. 

Why would a child ignore their parent's attempts at connection without even an explanation? To be sure -- sometimes, children (of all ages) make the decision to set healthy boundaries with a toxic parent. In one such situation I can think of, the child told the parent the reasons why she needed distance from the parent and their toxic behaviors. The parent refused to recognize any of the toxic behaviors, but at least the child gave the reason for needing distance in the relationship. But to merely disappear without a trace, without an explanation? To simply stop responding to messages or calls from a parent who hasn't shown any toxic behaviors? That's not healthy. That's either cowardice or manipulation. I will never understand that. Never. 

As I've already admitted, I tend to over-communicate. It's been used against me in past relationships, but it's how I am wired. I am not OK being not OK with someone I care about. I will ruminate endlessly on what I may have done wrong to upset the other person, I will seek constant reassurance that the conflict has been resolved and that we are OK. I am exhausting. God bless Gene, right? Fortunately, Gene and I rarely argue, and I am not just saying that for the sake of this public forum. The majority of our stressors come from outside our relationship, not from within. 

I don't do ghosting. If we have been close and I am going to remove you from my life, you will know why. I also won't carry the poisonous baggage of resentment with me when I go. If I am setting healthy boundaries with you, that means I am not dwelling on you. That's no way to move forward, and I am greatly invested in moving forward to become more fully the person I'm meant to be. 

All this to say -- yeah, I really don't get the silent treatment. I am also a firm believer that if you want to know how someone feels about you, just pay attention to their actions. The silent treatment, as defined above, is a red flag, emblazoned with the words, "You don't matter to me" on it. And I will never understand that. Never. 

Join the Conversation with Denise Clark: Season 1, Episode 2

Join the Conversation with Denise Clark and Brittany Love, Denise's former student. Brittany is a Teacher-Librarian in Oklahoma, where she is helping to reinvent the role of the library. Brittany incorporates inquiry-based learning and Maker Spaces to help children foster their natural curiosities. She's also passionate about diversity in Children's Literature, and she's committed to literature that "can both be a mirror in which students see themselves, and a window through which students can see others."  LOVE THAT!  Be sure to watch "Tell Me Another Story," the 30-min. documentary that Brittany talks about in this episode. 

Listen to the Conversation HERE. 

"I'm Sorry About Yesterday, Mom" -- 5 Words that Make the Hard Days Worth It

Yesterday was one of those days. After work, I picked up my daughter from school. She was upset about some friend drama, and nothing I said could help her feel better about it. Then, I picked up my youngest son. He had had a good day at school, but I ruined it when I told him I had booked an appointment for his first COVID vaccine. 

I feel compelled to tell you that Liam is the only one not yet vaccinated in our household because of his age. He has had to quarantine multiple times. He has expressed multiple times that he wished he could be vaccinated so he wouldn't have to worry about getting sick or being contact-traced. He was happy when he heard the FDA approved a vaccine for his age group. I assumed that the news that I had scheduled an appointment would be well-received. 

Silly me. 

"What? I don't want to get a shot. I am not going," Liam informed me. Nothing I said could make him feel better about it. 

When the time came to leave for the appointment, Liam promptly fixed a scowl on his face that stayed there for approximately 3 hours. He mumbled under his breath the entire way to the vaccine clinic. He refused to get out of the car. He told the nurses that he didn't want the vaccine. He hid behind a bookshelf and under a chair in the waiting room. He kicked and screamed when the nurse came near him with the needle. I held him down and for a moment, thought he may even bite me at one point. It wasn't pretty. It reminded me, actually, of exactly how his older brother Aidan acted every time he got a shot as a kid. (He's come a long way, that one.)

Ah, the joy of parenthood. What, you may ask, did I do during all of this? I stayed calm. I assured him that everything was going to be OK. I gave him choices to empower him: "Which chair would you like to sit in?" "Which mask would you like to wear?" I didn't buy into any of the attention-seeking antics like hiding under the chair. When he escalated to lashing out at the nurse, I firmly told him, "It is OK to be afraid. It is OK to be angry or frustrated. But it is not OK to be unkind to this nurse, who is just trying to help you." 

Afterward in the car, he told me, "I wasn't nice to the nurse because my fight-or-flight kicked in." Don't you just love the dissonance of real life? Here is a kid who is insightful enough to recognize fight-or-flight instincts after the fact, but his 11-year-old mind doesn't have the self-regulatory skills to recognize them in the moment. 

He also told me, "I just feel like you make all the decisions for me. I didn't want to get a shot at all today." Ahhhh...now we are getting somewhere. He's an 11-year-old kid who feels like his bossy mom makes all his choices. (I don't, but he will realize that much later in life, of course.) Right now, he wants to be more independent, more in charge of his life. That's a good sign. 

I find behavior fascinating. All behavior is communication. On the surface, Liam was disobedient, disrespectful, and unkind. It's tempting to take that personally, to respond from my ego. But, that would be useless. Instead, I chose to listen to what Liam's behavior was telling me: He was scared of getting a shot. 

Once he calmed down and realized that the shot wasn't as bad as the story he was telling himself about it, he was able to process that his actions were the result of fear. He wasn't quite ready to talk too much about it last night. When E and I made a joke about getting a shot while we were eating dinner, Liam looked at me and said, "Too soon." Even the awareness that it's "too soon" to joke is a sign of maturity. 

But, ah...this morning.  This morning was the moment parents live for.  As we headed downstairs for breakfast, Liam quietly said, "I'm sorry about yesterday, Mom." I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turned to him and hugged him. "Thank you, Liam. I love you," was all that I said. It was all that needed to be said. He already knows his behavior wasn't appropriate. There is no need for me to rehash every move like a NFL sportscaster going through the instant replay. It's simply enough that he apologized and we can move forward. 

Speaking of moving forward, Liam was nonplussed to learn that I have his second dose scheduled for a couple of weeks from now. In the meantime, you can bet I'll be working in some self-reflective discussions about how we can choose to respond when we feel afraid and how we can calm ourselves done when we are anxious. Chances are, it will be better the second time around. But, chances are, it might not be. That's the gig of parenting, though. Some lessons take longer to learn. And that's OK. 

"When I Grow Up": I'll take 40 over 20 Any Day

For the past two weeks, I rehearsed with an incredibly talent group of people in preparation for a concert/show at our local community theatre. Years ago -- pre-COVID, pre-doctoral program -- I seemed to live at the theatre, directing, acting, teaching. Then, as I made the decision to go back to school, I had to make some tough choices about the way I spent my time. I stepped away from theatre at my school and at the community theatre. 

Now, as I am finishing up my dissertation and some flexibility has re-entered my schedule, I am able to include things simply for fun and joy. Being part of the "All Together Now" concert was one of those things. The concert, conceived by Music Theatre International, consisted of a set list of songs that would be performed by "5,500 community theatres in over 40 countries and territories across the world," according to my welcome speech. Yep, that's right. I haven't performed in what? 5 years? and I was given the opening number ("Pure Imagination" from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory), which included the welcome speech. 

Did I mention the director is a good friend and should have been nicer to me? (Just kidding, Seth.) 

I auditioned for the show because it was a minimal commitment -- I prepared 5 songs in about 2 weeks. On paper, this looked great. In real life, it was a bit like signing up for a 5K and training 3 times before the race. While I've been singing around the house and at church on occasion, I have not been singing, singing. Like for real singing. This was a total jerk move on my part, to treat my voice like this, and I've since apologized. 

During the short rehearsal period, my youngest son came down with a bad cold (like the kind you get a COVID test for -- fortunately negative), I submitted 90 pages of my dissertation to my committee, and I was swamped at work. You get the idea. 

As the show got closer, my voice got weaker. I was exhausted and congested, drinking hot tea by the gallon. My song should have showcased the upper part of my range, which is usually a strong point for me. Usually. 

Long story short, by the second night of the show, I had no real control over what came out of my mouth. I started my song and my voice cracked. I made the choice to speak-sing the rest of the song, smiling all the while. It . . . worked. It wasn't what was written, it wasn't what I am capable of doing, but it worked. I had such fun working with this group of people. I am proud of what we were able to accomplish in such a short time, and it reminded me how much I miss theatre and performing. 

It also reminded me of why I changed my major from Vocal Performance to English/Education. The voice can be such an unpredictable instrument. Sure, if I were singing every day, training vocally, I wouldn't have the fatigue issues. But still, colds come, sinus infections arrive unannounced, drainage takes notes hostage. Now, of course I know that I need to exercise my voice more often if I plan on making demands of it. I also know that we can only control what we can control. I am so glad that I don't have that kind of anxiety in my daily life, and I so admire professional singers. 

What's more, I admire 41-year-old Denise. In her 20s, Denise would have agonized over the fact that her voice wasn't perfect for the performances. Actually, she would have agonized over much more minor flaws. She probably would have cried. Multiple times. 

41-year-old Denise took it in stride. She accepted that there was absolutely nothing to be done about what happened to her voice, she delivered the message to the audience and had fun with it. Mission accomplished. 

One of the songs I sang in the ensemble was "When I Grow Up" from Matilda. The kids in the song were amazing, and the woman who sang the part of Miss Honey became one of my new favorite people. We all teared up at the end, when Miss Honey and Matilda finished the song -- real life mother and daughter. The song speaks of all the great things that happen when we grow up -- we are strong, brave, independent. Children tend not to see the responsibilities that come with being an adult -- having to be strong, brave, independent. Sure, we are "strong enough to carry all the heavy things you have to haul around with you when you're a grown up," but, we have to haul all those heavy things around in the first place. 

Growing older gets a bit of a bad rap, but honestly, I'd take 40 over 20 any day. Let's face it, the voice cracks of life will happen. We just have to take them in stride and have fun anyway.  

So, I started a Podcast: Join the Conversation with Denise Clark

 Alright, friends! I am BEYOND excited to announce that I have started a Podcast!!  It's called Join the Conversation with Denise Clark. You can access the podcast website HERE.  So far, I have published a brief introduction to the concept of the podcast, and my first episode with Chris Bower, a lifetime educator I've been fortunate to know for many years. 

My dear friend Jordan Miller helped me get off the ground with the necessary tech, and my daughter E is my sound engineer. We are listed on Spotify HERE, and I'm working on figuring out the rest as we go!  

I hope you enjoy the show!! 

Should Parents Be in the "Driver's Seat" of Education? Musings About PA House Bill 1332

In PA, House Bill 1332 will require all public schools to publish their curricula online, for parents and other stakeholders to access. In his memo about House Bill 1332, Representative Andrew Lewis stated, "Across Pennsylvania there is currently no standardized, simple and user-friendly way for parents to review the curriculum that will be taught to their children for the upcoming school year. This leaves many parents frustrated and feeling out of the loop, not knowing the content of lesson plans and textbooks that will be provided to their children." I am inclined to agree with this . . . so far. 

Here's where I start to get nervous: "By empowering parents with this information before the school year starts, we can ensure that curriculum and lesson plans being taught in our public schools are in line with the educational objectives and wishes of parents. Parents across our communities will be able to easily review these materials and provide feedback to school district officials before the next school year starts" (emphasis in bold, mine). 

I am in full support of open communication and transparency of public institutions. Distrust of public entities in our country has been growing since the 50s, with no end in sight. Taxpayers deserve to know that their hard-earned money is being well-spent. I believe parents should be able to know what is being taught to their children in schools. I tend to keep on top of this by checking homework at age-appropriate levels, reading Google Classroom guardian notifications, emailing teachers -- and most important: talking with my children about school every single day. I know about their classes, their tests, their quizzes, their projects. Not because I'm hovering over them (or worse, doing the work for them), but because we have regular, engaging conversations about learning at our house. 

OK, I get it. I am in education, so maybe it's more of a focus at my house, but honestly -- why should you have to be in the field of education to care about learning? Learning is one of the most natural, instinctive things we do as human beings. Shouldn't it be of interest to us all? 

What makes me hesitate is the idea that "parents' wishes" will now be considered in public school curriculum. Enter political, religious, philosophical agendas. We have a separation of Church and State, for example, for a reason. If parents want their child to learn about their religion, there are parochial schools and churches  -- and homes -- for that purpose. 

I've attended School Board meetings where people have made wild claims like, "They don't even teach American history any more!" I sincerely hope that some curriculum transparency will help those people from leaping to conclusions. I've also heard of textbooks that represent horrific moments in history like the Trail of Tears as "the Native Americans relocated." We can't whitewash our history just because it's shameful. Being raw and honest about human greed and corruption is the only way to prevent it. Maybe curriculum transparency will allow community members to ensure equal representation. Or, maybe it will be paint in the whitewasher's bucket, inspiring outrage and demands for censorship. 

I suppose it all depends on if people pay attention.

Representative Lewis says, "This legislation is vital to ensure that parents across our communities remain in the driver’s seat when it comes to the education of their children." 

I have to be utterly honest here: I don't want to be in the driver's seat of my son's Trig & Pre-Calc class, or my daughter's Painting class, or my other son's STEM class. I trust the very capable drivers with advanced degrees in those content areas and in education. 

But here's the thing -- I trust these teachers because I've been in contact with them, I've been involved in school and our community. Teachers and principals are more accessible than ever before. I've received emails from teachers at 10 PM, as they work from home and respond to parents. My parents had to squeeze in time at work to call the school between 7 and 3.

I know that the teachers in my kids' schools are professionals. Of course they have political, religious, and philosophical opinions -- they are human beings, after all. But, because I've been paying attention all these years, I know that they separate their personal beliefs from their professional lives. I see them working hard to meet the myriad needs of students in their classes. To be sure, I understand this on a deeper level because I am an educator and even worked alongside many of the teachers who now have my kids in class. I also know I would still be involved, even if I weren't in education. Why? Because I am a parent. I am committed to raising these beautiful people I brought into the world, and that means being aware of all facets of their life, including school. 

Because I've been paying attention all along. 

I saw and shared a post made on Facebook by Steve Irwin, of ABC-15, this morning. I'll close with his words: 

"For anyone who thinks this is harsh, here's the larger point.

When politicians tell you, you don't have a say in your child's education, they're lying. You have all kinds of influence, and every right to know exactly what's happening in your school.

You have all kinds of ways to find out, including a few avenues outlined below. You can even sit in on your child's class, or volunteer in the classroom.

I hear from teachers all the time, who are frustrated because they can't get parents involved. Now they're being attacked, accused of teaching things they're not even teaching, or "indoctrinating" kids into some radical ideology.

Many of the people attacking them have never set foot in their classroom. Some of the people screaming at school board meetings don't even have kids in the district's schools.

This is about politics. And these days, political battles are won or lost in the suburbs. There's no better way to sway suburban voters, than playing to your protective parental instincts. You'd do anything to protect your kid, and politicians know it.

Here's the thing: you don't have to choose who to believe. You can find out for yourself. If you're not involved in your child's school, find a way. At the very least, start an email dialogue with your child's teacher, the school's principal, or your local school board member.

Keep an open mind, and I'm betting you'll get a good reception. The teachers I know would be happy to hear from you."

Setting Limits isn't Selfish

Our family recently forgave a person who had hurt us beyond explanation. I'm not talking, "Oops, I said something I shouldn't have when I was upset" or "I forgot to invite you to the party" sort of hurt. I am talking betrayal and utter disregard for our feelings, not being there for us in our hours of sorrow and celebration. Ghosting us, as it were. 

Then, unexpectedly, this person reappeared. This person never explicitly apologized for the hurt caused us, and the words, "I am sorry for hurting you" were never spoken.  Even so, we welcomed this person cautiously back into our lives, and we tried to create healthy boundaries to protect our hearts. We walked on eggshells, tiptoeing around the said and unsaid. 

Sadly, we now find ourselves in the same situation with this person yet again -- alienated, ignored, used for a short time and tossed to the curb when our usefulness wore off. We've tried -- just like last time -- to reach out, to seek for understanding. We love and care about this person. We've been ignored, and the silence is deafening. 

Those who love deeply can be hurt just as deeply, can't they? 

As people of faith, we believe in "turning the other cheek," and forgiving others as we have been forgiven. But, I think at times, we assume that forgiveness is a once-and-done deal. Instead, forgiveness is a tricky business. We can forgive without the person ever asking forgiveness. We can try to move forward only to find ourselves back in the mire. The closer the relationship, the harder the backslide. 

I suppose the only thing that can be done is to forgive again (that whole "seventy times seven" idea, right?) but to revisit those boundaries. Forgiveness and faith don't require us to be doormats, used and discarded at whim. No, even Jesus displayed righteous anger and rebuked those who were in the wrong. We love, but we also protect ourselves and our peace of mind. 

Because There isn't Enough Discord Online: Let's Talk about Parents at Sporting Events

Before I even begin, I acknowledge that my words may be controversial for some to hear. Today's topic: parents at sporting events. 

Proceed with caution. 

I'd like to present a few disclaimers about my credibility on this topic:

* While I had a short high school softball career, I can't recall my parents attending a game. My mom probably came to some, but I was a self-absorbed teenager who didn't log it as significant at the time. But, just as likely, she didn't make it. This was not because my parents were negligent, mind you. It was because they worked a lot to provide for us. 

* While I was an active member of our competition marching band in high school, and attended football games every Friday night for four years, I still don't know (or care to know) how football works. Gene watches the Steelers religiously, and I am often in the same room. That's as far as it goes, friends. 

* My eldest son had a brief stint in AYSO and Little League. On the soccer field, he was more interested in the bugs and plants, and in baseball, the fun ended when a coach grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to "sit down and be quiet." That got ugly. Not the purpose of this post, though. Stay focused, people. 

* My daughter played AYSO. (Stops to try to remember how long she played. Can't really come up with an answer.) Let's go with two years, maybe? Either way, it was the, "Awww! Look how cute they are, chasing the ball in a swarm" years. 

* My youngest child (age 11) is our "sporty kid," placed in quotes because he's also the kid who takes tap classes, sings in the choir, plays the bells, and wants to be a marine biologist. We're a family of Renaissance men, what can I say? He loves soccer and basketball. Soccer has grown exponentially in his heart this year. Despite attending nearly every single game, I'm still not clear how a player gets "off-sides" but my soccer-watching skills far surpass my football-watching ones. 

OK. All that being said -- here we go!

I have noticed 3 types of parents at the soccer games I've attended in my vast (haha) career as a soccer mom. I'm open to the possibility that there may be more types, and perhaps even sub-types of the 3 outlined below. Since my son intends on playing soccer for the foreseeable future, I may amend this list as time goes on. After all, the indoor season is nearly upon us -- who knows what that could bring. 

Back to the types --

The "I'm Physically Present But I'm Actually Just On My Phone" type. This parent checks some sort of box in their mind by bringing the kid to the game, or showing up to the game to "see" their kid, but they spend the entire time texting, scrolling, and/or gaming. This activity increases if their kid happens to be on the bench for a quarter. 

The "I'm Here to Support My Kid and All of the Kids" type.  This is where people like me fit in. I'm there, in my team colors, wearing a button with my kid's picture on it (much to their chagrin) with the extra snack and water bottle in tow. I drive a Subaru Outback, stocked with portable chairs, umbrellas, hats, and a change of clothes, just in case. I yell things like, "Go, Liam! Great job!" and "Let's go, Gold!" I know every kid's name on my son's team. I cheer for them all. When the other team blocks a goal, I yell, "Way to go, Keeper! Nice stop!" I often lose track of the score, and really only worry about it when I notice my son and his teammates feeling discouraged. I feel bad when we are crushing the other team, wishing that AYSO had a mercy rule. Sure, I want my kid's team to win every time, but I don't lose sight of the fact that they are kids, and this is a game. 

Oh, shoot! I've already thought of a sub-type to this one. The "I Totally Cater to My Kid's Every Whim Because He's an Athlete" type. hahahaa. Do I need to say more here, really? This is the (usually) Mom that has all the stuff that I do, PLUS they have three different sandwiches prepped, in case little Joey doesn't like the first two. They are still dressing their kid, they hover over them, asking, "Do you need more water? What about a Gatorade? Does that invisible scratch need a Band-Aid?" Oh, those ones make me tired just watching them. 

The "I'm Living Through My Kid Who Isn't Living Up to My Expectations" type. These are the parents (often Dads, but just as often Moms, to be honest) who micromanage their child through detailed instructions, yelled from the sidelines: "Joey! Move over, go to the right, now cross, pass! Pass! Joey! That's yours! Get it and then pass to Timmy!" They also like to let the ref know what call to make before he even has a chance to move his whistle to his lips: "That's off-sides!" (because of course, THEY know what this means!) or "That's a red throw-in!" When I am near this type of parent, I have to fight the urge to hand them a volunteer form and suggest that if they would like to coach the team or be a ref, the first step is to sign up! 

Here's my problem with the micromanager-cheering parent: the kid never learns to make their own decisions as a player. I watched one kid constantly checking the sidelines for approval (or disapproval) and he was nearly paralyzed because of it. He couldn't process the information coming at him (where the ball was, where his teammates were, where the other players were) for himself; he was waiting for instructions. When he did make a choice, he second-guessed it and was timid in his follow through. Perhaps these micromanaging parents mean well (actually, I am fairly sure they mean well -- they want their kid to be successful), but the result is that they are undermining their kid's confidence and independence along the way. 

I've noticed a change in my son this season, too. When he would be on the sidelines for a quarter in the past, he would sit and play with the grass, or goof off with his teammates. Now, he stands by the coach, engaged in the game, watching and learning. The kids with the micromanaging parents tend to disengage from the game when they are on the bench -- probably relieved to be out of the parental spotlight for a moment. 

Living vicariously through your child has always struck me as sad. I mean that literally, sad. I believe it comes out of a place of regret, out of a place of reluctance to admit that your glory days have passed. Even in our very musical, theatre-oriented family, there has never been pressure on my kids to be involved in the arts. They have all selected their activities on their own, and when it became clear that an activity wasn't right for them, we moved on. I don't expect my children to live better versions of my childhood or to somehow make up for my failures. I want them to become the best versions of themselves and find their true path.

Now, should I try to remember what "off-sides" means, or maybe even stop telling Liam to put on his cleats so he's not late for "rehearsal," or refrain from accidentally calling his game uniform his "costume"? Sure, we are all works in progress. 

But, I can promise you this: you won't catch me micromanaging my kids at a performance of any kind -- on the field, on the stage, on the . . . I don't know, wherever else they might be. Instead, they will know I am there, supporting and loving them through success and failure, every step of the way. 

OK, I think I've thrown enough gasoline onto the Internet fire for today. Thanks for staying with me, if you made it this far. ;)