We often see parents of college freshmen here at our B&B. Their stories are all different, and yet almost the same. We’ve watched moms and dads come alongside their children, cheering them on, assuaging their anxiety with their favorite homemade cookies and with restaurant meals at all of the best places. Darn. It’s not easy growing up. And now here we are again. September.
It’s back to school time – in the world, even if not currently for you or for one you love. One thing that happens? ‘Tis the season for try-outs – new beginnings – often followed by devastating failures. When I tried out for cheerleading in 9th grade and wasn’t selected, I was sure it was a mistake. When I again showed up as a sophomore in the same setting and didn’t make the cut, I knew it had to be rigged, or just plain unfair. Obviously, (in my mind), those in charge clearly didn’t know quality when they saw it. How could they have not realized how much capacity I had for jumping and yelling like they’d never seen before? So the rejection cut and stung. And deeply wounded me. But I survived, even though my younger sister became a cheerleader as a freshman that same year I was a sophomore. The sister situation exacerbated my pain, but at age 65, it’s been a while since sadness has been equated with a non-cheerleader status. We do grow up.
One of the funniest YA books I’ve read recently, which really hits at the heart of high school heaviness is Ginger Kid by Steve Hofstetter. (I read it aloud recently to my 14 and 18 year old great-nephews, and edited out the PG-13 stuff, so that’s a choice for younger readers. But grab a copy, if you can – just for fun – or share it with a young person you know.) It’s hysterical in places, but there’s also some other good stuff.
When I got home, I was inconsolable. I was upset….at the reality that baseball was not going to be my ticket to a scholarship. As much as I loved watching the game, I wasn’t going to be playing it.
I asked my brother, who was as big of a baseball fan as I was and whose baseball career was just as over as mine, what to do next. And my brother gave me the advice that would change my life.
David drew three parallel lines on a piece of paper.
“Most people,” he said, pointing to the middle line, “live their life here. They don’t go far down, but they don’t go far up either. The further you go toward this top line, the further you will also go toward this bottom line. You decide if that’s worth it. I’ve never been a fan of the middle.”
It was a tough day for me, but he was right. I’d much rather have highs and lows than a bunch of middles. sure, I’d never play professional baseball. But that is true of almost everyone in the world. (pp 74 – 75)