pressure

Path of [Least] Resistance…

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One of my favorite players, while coaching ‘semi-pro’ was a guy named Jerry. The league knew him as this out-of-control and sort of dirty player. He would get wound up with his asthma attacks and get into verbal altercations on the field. But to me, despite his reputation as a loose cannon, he was actually more coachable than many on the team. The guy could’ve easily ripped my head off, he was a fairly large guy (playing defensive end) and a physical force on the field. However, in the few times when I did need to directly to intervene, he was surprisingly respectful. I mean, he would address me as “coach” and, every time, after a few mumbles, he would back down. He would even often apologize later.

Only once, with a little alcohol involved, did I catch a small glimpse of what was driving him. At the time, in his late forties or early fifties, he recalled how his own dad had pushed him. He was abusive and never satisfied. And football was the direction his dad was pushing him in. Jerry had D-1 offers as a younger man. Yet, ultimately, he walked away from the sport at that level and much to do with the pressure he had felt. Obviously, he was still very conflicted over all of this. He played as if a demon were biting at his ankles, a man on fire, and probably pushing a little too hard for a man his age. I’ve lost contact with him, not even sure if he lives in the area anymore, but his story is a cautionary tale for me as I try to navigate my son’s current involvement in athletic endeavors.

I love sports as a training ground for life. It is an opportunity for character development, to learn lessons about work and reward, teamwork, etc. I had my own regrets for having started competing only very late in high school and, therefore, have been very pleased that my own son wrestled over the winter and has been practicing for football season. He’s an amazing athlete for his age. He won his bracket in wrestling, his first year out, with a combination of will, natural strengths, and things learned from his coaches. It has not taken much encouragement to keep him going. He is an enthusiastic participant and seems to really enjoy himself with other kids his age. There have been a couple of times when he was upset and seemed ready to quit, but the next day he has always come back for more.

Desirous Distractions

Of the things I hate most, his tablet is probably in the top ten. We had successfully hidden it away (he didn’t miss it after a week or two) and yet brought it back out due to some current circumstances that make it better to keep him occupied. The result has been like an addict, or binge, where he would use the device non-stop if we allowed it. It turns him from an active and engaged kid, who loves to swim in the local pool and requires a ton of attention, to a slug barely moving for hours. It’s not healthy and that’s the reason why I’ve fought back against this and haven’t minced my words on this topic with him either. I’ve been glad that we had football practices to give that indisputable non-negotiable reason to separate him from the screen. However, the other day, after practice, he confessed that he wished that he didn’t play football so he could be on his tablet more!

One of my successes, so far, as a parent was to keep sports as his idea. Sure, I want him to play, I have done my part to facilitate his involvement as well, but I’ve mostly let him lead in what direction he wanted to go and was glad that his own desires lined up with my own. I’m sure my own hopes and expectations have found their way to influence, children likely know their parents better than their parents know them and generally want to please them. He knows that I’m a Penn State football fan and that, Charlie, the elementary wrestling coach was an old teammate. So it isn’t really surprising that he went down this path similar to my own. Still, I didn’t want to be one of those dads, the kind living vicariously through their son and putting undue stress on him. It does seem we’re too sports-obsessed, where youth leagues are year-round, there is this camp and that camp, which is driven by parents with glowing ambitions more than it is by the children themselves. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if many of these overworked and pushed too hard will quit. At the very least, it won’t be enjoyable.

The big question for me is what would I do if my son said “I don’t want to play anymore.” I’ve already assured him that not playing doesn’t mean he would get more time with his tablet and that he would probably be bored. And he seems to understand that he needs to finish what he started as far as the current season. Nevertheless, the chill I felt, all of my own dreams of watching him now threatened, could easily lead to my being more controlling. It is scary to me that a tablet, this path of least resistance, has so much appeal that he would sacrifice all for it. I’ve also had to question my own motives. Am I doing what is best for him? When I restrict access, when I push him to do things that make him uncomfortable, that’s the reason why I do. But as a parent, we really need to be careful not to project our own desires onto our children so much that they are stifled and not free to be themselves.

The Elusive Balance

My son would likely be completely happy if I just let him play on his tablet nonstop. Maybe he would eventually get over it on his own if we didn’t interfere? I mean, I doubt it. There are always new games to download and more distractions to occupy for hours and hours. And that’s my concern, that the hours he spends vegging out could be put to much better use. It would be negligence, on my part, to simply give him what he wants and never resist his short-sighted perspective. It is my job to develop him, to make him ready for life and sports are one of those tools used towards that end. I don’t want him to develop character, not to be a character in a video game. I want him to get exercise, experience the tactile and real world, and not just live in the fantasies that others created for him. I must resist him.

That said, football is also just a game. I don’t want to be that dad who ended up putting so much pressure on his son to be successful that it ruined our relationship and he quits in frustration. There is much more to life than statistics or the accomplishments that the world will notice. Yes, I would beam with pride if my son were to score a touchdown, be on a state championship team, and be good enough to compete at the next level. A college scholarship, of course, would be great. He doesn’t seem to be the type that will get that in the classroom, so why not encourage the path that he does have? Still, that is exactly the problem. I quickly get way out ahead of reality and with that could quickly destroy even my own enjoyment of the moment. He should, as a child, be involved because it is fun. Certainly, I must coach a little, put some restrictions here and incentives there, but ultimately he needs to choose.

I don’t want my son to go down the path of least resistance. I want him to be resilient, a leader, involved, pushing back, and growing his abilities rather than comfortable. I truly want him to be better than me in all regards. Or, at the very least, to be better for having had me be a part of his life. Sometimes this will require me to bump against his will, dig in my heels a bit, and not let him rest on his laurels or waste the opportunities he has. Other times I will need to step back, let him go his own way, learn at his own pace, and accept that his goals for life may not align with my own. The real struggle is the wisdom to know when to intervene and how. Hopefully, he knows my heart is oriented towards his good even if my execution is flawed. And, actually, I’m okay if we’re not always friends so long as what I’m offering him is a way to go beyond my own limits and reach his full potential as a man, that’s my reward.

Loose Ends, Long Waits, and Second Acts

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The only thing I hate more than loose ends is multiple loose ends. Loose ends represent instability and uncertainty, they are the fringes of the chaos and confusion that perpetually threaten to overwhelm the necessary stability and order of our lives.

There are several big projects in my life right now, well under way, some years in the making, and all of them various stages of incomplete. My ability to handle pressure has always been a big question mark and the past few months have tested the strength of my resolve.

I’ve sometimes felt as if I’m a person at the edge of functional, who kept things together mentally or otherwise by careful management of his resources and emotions. But in the past few years I’ve determined to sail beyond my safe waters, beyond the established boundaries of my known limits and at the risk of failure.

Am I built for this?

My new career is the first part of this stress test. I definitely have the basic aptitude for truss design and have become reasonably proficient at using the engineering software. However, with my proficiency, and changes in the truss market towards residential, the expectations are high and the workload has ballooned.

More recently it has become a make or break it moment as the construction season wraps up and a new prospective customer has piled on, who refuses to give the information that I request and seems to have very little respect for my time. He wants a “conference call” after every small revision and email, every conversation with him is circular and I’ve reached peak frustration in dealing with him.

However his project does promise to be one of those signature projects, if it ever gets underway, and the truth is that I really want him to be pleased with the work we do. It’s just that right now it is impossible to know if he’s just going to be an endless hassle, who tries to micromanage every part of the process or if he’ll become more cooperative and less doting as things progress. I’m not holding my breath.

There are days where I could be tempted to turn back, return to the proverbial Egypt of truck driving, and not need to deal with the pressure of always having to get things perfect. In trucking, a few spilled beans is just a few spilled beans. But, in this job, if I enter my numbers wrong here I could have the truss equivalent of “Galloping Girtie,” a very costly disaster and would need to bear the shame of my failure.

Of course, then again, an accident, for a commercial driver, can be a felony offense and especially if they can prove that you were distracted at the time. So maybe I’ll stick to the possibility of big financial losses for my company and potential of losing my job over sharing a cell with Bubba because the dispatcher needed answers and a silly “four wheeler” decided to use the same exact moment to check my reaction time?

I’ll stick with tapping the keyboard where there is less chance of me dying trapped in the burning wreck of a big rig, where I can be home at night despite a long commute, and my coworkers are Amish and awesome people. My hope is that eventually that will grow to the point where they can justify a second designer, so I can breathe a little and at least have the possibility of a day off or even working from home. It is a work in progress.

When will it be finished?

In the midst of everything else, I am (with the help of a more construction qualified friend) preparing a place. For many years I’ve lived comfortably in a small house, my bachelor pad, but for various reasons have decided that it is the right time to make a move.

First, the opportunity presented itself in the form of a “for sale by owner” sign along the path of my Saturday Dunkin coffee and donut routine. It was an upgrade from my current residence in terms of square footage and yard space. But it was also in severe need of a remodel, with cracked plaster, evidence of past leaks showing on the ceiling tiles, and other blemishes.

So, with the bank on board and price being right, after consulting some contractors, I went forward with the purchase.

Obviously, being that this is not only my own money involved and every month I wait to move in is a loss of a rent check plus the cost of utilities, there is a strong desire on my part to get the job done. That said, it will also be my own personal residence, the future “bhest nest” for my loved ones, there is also an equal desire to get it right the first time and thus speed was not the only concern.

As such projects go, we are behind schedule and threatening to go over-budget. But, at the same time, I have confidence we are doing it right and not cutting corners. For example, the old “knob and tube” wiring could have simply been covered up, spared us that extra week or so of work and the added cost, yet this is the place where I plan to sleep, keep my accumulation of things, etc.

I’ve also decided that working with a contractor is preparation for a having a wife. They don’t spend money like I do. They seem to see my wallet as being a spigot from a bottomless well, spending a thousand here and two thousand there is no big deal, whereas I’m keenly aware of every dollar spent and who will be slaving away to accommodate their excess. I’ve never told them no and they still call me tight—perhaps a warning against hiring (or marrying) friends?

Oh well, I’ve been every bit annoying as the customers I would complain about, I’ve made frequent visits, had things reworked midcourse to suit my preferences, and fussed about the lack of progress. I’m sure we’ll both be relieved once the travails of a major remodeling project are behind us, at very least the pressure will be off of me once I’m moved in and temporarily not hemorrhaging cash like a politician trying to buy votes. Ultimately, the best kind of project is a finished project!

Building towards that simple and happy life…

The bhest is yet to come. Everything up to this point I do and will be made worth it all when the big moment finally arrives. At this point I’m just getting all the pieces into position for something far greater on the horizon.

It has been a sort of an intermission period, with one act over with the next act yet to begin, and he waiting for the curtain to open has been my grueling, seemingly impossible, task as of late. There is much anticipation of things to come, but also as much anxiety about how things could go wrong (as so many did in act one) and I’m simply ready to get started with this next significant and very long awaited stage of life.

I had once wondered how Jacob could have labored so many years for the woman he loved. But now that I’ve surpassed his fourteen years, I’m not so much impressed, that’s puppy love. Besides that, he had a companion for half that time and also knew what was waiting for him at the end. I never had a Laban in my life. I’ve never had a father who let me prove myself or work for the love of his daughter nor any reason for hope other than my own stubborn refusal to quit.

In fact, I longed for something definite, some kind of clear path towards the Promised Land, and always ended up staring into an uncertain future. It is easy to fight dragons when you know that the princess is waiting for you in the castle. But it takes real courage and character to continue to fight despite the fears that a more profound loneliness and more terrible depression could be the only reward waiting at the end of your struggles.

Just an undefined waiting time is bad enough. It is the thing I hated the most about driving truck. I would much rather be told a specific time, even if it is a long period of time, than a “we’ll tell you when we’re ready” or some other non-committal response. I mean, how do you plan for an indeterminate period of time? Do I crawl back into the sleeper only to be woke from my sleep five minutes later? Not knowing confined me, it limited what I could do, and did not allow me to prepare.

It remains to be seen how the lingering conflicts of act one will be resolved. Questions still remain that I hope can soon be put to rest. But right now I must focus on tying up the loose ends, working through the stress of the interim, being patient and trusting that the right answers will come in due course.

Will the impossible be made possible?

Stay tuned!