The Gift of Words

I spend a significant amount of time working at being a good parent. I wonder if I am doing enough and I wonder if I am doing too much. I think most parents do the same thing.

This week I received one of those gifts that let me know that I am on the right track. My daughter had an in class writing exercise to do in one of her college classes. They were given writing prompts as they were writing and what follows below is simply a flow of words off the top of her head.

To me it is a gift of words that assures me that I doing OK as a dad and that my daughter is doing great as a human being.

My father is an absolutely hilarious human being. Some may describe him as “ridiculous”, some may describe him as “caring”, and others may describe him as “rude”, but that is precisely what I love about him. He always has some sort of joke (most of the time it’s lame) to fill a void in a conversation. He has the ability to make me laugh hysterically, until I have tears in my eyes. No joke. I can always count on him to make fun of me; to call me out when I am being dramatic, which is often (I have my grandmother’s genetics). I see my father sitting at our kitchen table, typing away (oh, he is awful at typing so it is a wonderful sight to see) on his beat up laptop with duct tape on the edge to stop the screen from freaking out every five minutes. It’s a funny thing; how much he and his laptop have in common. Not the freaking out part, because I honestly can’t remember the last time my father yelled at me, but the part about being a bit different, being a bit “quirky.” I’m not sure if I’m explaining this similarity well, but it is a GOOD thing. Anyway, I see my father there in the kitchen, in his old boxer briefs (pants are always optional in our house), with a hole in the ass because he hasn’t bothered to buy a new pair in about three years (that is so typical dode), and one of his white v-neck t-shirts that Wendy bought him for Christmas. He’s probably typing up another inspirational post for his blog; what he does best.

It’s difficult sometimes to figure out what my dad is thinking about. He is a very complex man. He has strong emotions and he could be thinking some terribly depressing thought but I would never know because he would never let me know. That is what I love about my father; he only wants what’s best for his kids. And if he is having the worst day ever, he would never project that on us. He’s very strong. He can fall down ten times a day, but always manage to get back up and “keep on keepin’ on.” That should be my dad’s bumper sticker or personal phrase or something like that because that truly describes his personality and outlook on life. But anyway, he is thinking back to a time when we were little (us kids); I was maybe four or five. We’re all playing in the backyard of our Pleasant Hill house and he’s out there watching us, thinking “what did I do right? How the hell did I get blessed with the three best children I could ask for?” He has his silly dad grin on, thinking how, no matter what shit he was dealing with at work, or anything else, life couldn’t be better because he has us. Of course, we stressed the hell out of him, especially back then we were little, but he still feels blessed. I think, though, that he shouldn’t wonder how we happened, because it’s all because of him. Of course, the whole sex part, and him and my mom creating us, but it’s my dad that made us so great (my mom did too, of course, but this is about my dad right now). I don’t think parents realize that. They always focus on how great their kids are and what they did to deserve great kids (well, the good parents do at least) but they never really realize that a lot of it is thanks to them. They are what’s so great about us. I highly doubt that I would be as independent as I am today if it wasn’t for my dad ‘s ability to let us do things on our own; he knew that we would figure things out somehow without having his help all the time. I certainly wouldn’t be as resilient as I am today if it wasn’t for my parents’ divorce, I certainly can thank them for that! And I know for a fact, without a doubt, that I would not have the same ridiculous sense of humor if it wasn’t for my dad. Those things affect kids and I am really glad that I had my dad’s influence growing up, over anyone else. God, my dad is great.

Getting back on Your Feet

Yesterday was a beautiful day and as I sat at my computer working and writing I received an email from a friend and colleague that said, “Don't forget to go out and PLAY!”

It was a good wakeup call because I have a tendency to get involved in my writing and working and I don’t always stop to enjoy the day.

So I pulled myself away from the keyboard, threw on my old school running gear and headed out for a run.

I’m fortunate that I live close to a small island connected by a bridge to the mainland.

As I turned on to the wooded trail that winds around the island, trudging along in my running shorts and black sox highlighting my white legs, I looked up to see an attractive young woman running with two teenage girls. As they got closer, I smiled. This act, while running, apparently was too much simultaneous coordination for my middle aged body to handle and I immediately tripped over the root of a tree and dove, face first into the wet, fungal, forest soil.

I laughed, took a second to assess any injuries and then stumbled to my feet in time to acknowledge some comment of concern from the three females as they easily glided past me.

For the next mile I chuckled at myself and thought about all the times that I have fallen in life. The emotional, financial and physical dips that we all endure can be overwhelming as we experience them and empowering as we overcome them.

The falls aren’t what define us. It’s the way that we can get back on our feet on keep running.

Coaching Kids

Coaching kids; I have always loved it and I have some great stories to tell about my experiences doing it.

I think kids know immediately when a coach is full of crap and trying too hard to win. They instinctively move away and stop listening when they feel a coach trying too hard. Just to illustrate my point the following story will tell you how I did just that.

Back when my daughter, Kourtney, was seven I became the head coach of her travel soccer team. I think they had 3 teams, A, B, and C at her level and we were the “C” team.

We were supposed to only carry 12 kids on our “official” roster. However, I have never been one to “officially” do anything. I just wanted kids to play so we carried 14 kids (please don’t report me) on our roster ranging in age from 7 to 9. Actually, we also had a really cute, red-haired; left footed six year old because her dad was coaching her sister on one of the other teams..shssss.. don’t tell anyone!

I grew up playing “kick the can” and that is as close as I ever got to soccer. Like “kick the can”, my philosophy was that everyone played and hopefully no one felt left out.

As the season progressed the girls and their parents all seemed to be enjoying the season except that at the midway point we hadn’t won a game and we hadn’t scored a goal!

I understood that I was working with young girls and if they didn’t care I shouldn’t care, BUT I was a successful college athlete and one of my very close friends tells me that I, during my high testosterone youth, was one of the most competitive people he has ever known. In fact, I think he said I was THE most competitive person he has ever known.

So we’re half way through the season, we have a big tournament coming up and I can feel myself begin to channel Vince Lombardi. Yes, I know that Vince coached football but other than Pele’ I don’t know anyone even remotely “legendary” on the professional soccer side.

We start the first game of this illustrious youth soccer tournament in Buxton, Maine and all the girls come out of the game as I make the changes saying, “They are stepping on our toes!”

What?! How the hell can anyone step on your toes if you are actually running?! Now, I didn’t express myself that way. In a very politically correct way I said, “If you keep running they can’t step on your toes!”

At halftime we’re down 3-0 and I can’t take it anymore. I get down on my knees, with fourteen 6 through 9 year-old girls around me in a horseshoe and I begin THE SPEECH. I can feel my speech pattern accelerating and my volume increasing with each word that bloviates from my mouth. In fact, I actually had an out of body experience where I was looking down at myself and thinking, “Wow, you are simply an amazing coach.”

At the end of my life defining speech, as I begin to catch my bad and over excited breath, I ask the girls “So does anyone have any questions?” I scan the faces placed in the horseshoe around me from left to right and as I get to the end I see the hand of the one young woman who has been standing right next to my ear and really gets it!

“Yes, Hope”, I say, waiting for her reply that will instantly place me in the pantheon of great youth coaches, “What is your question?”

Every kid is waiting for her question and listening for my response as she says,” Mr. Bonsey, you have a lot of crud in your ear!”

I fell on the ground laughing, realizing that kids just want to participate. They don’t care about winning. It is just adult jerks like me that think they want to win.

Seeing me laugh made the girls laugh and relax and they went out and scored their first 3 goals of the season.

We still lost but I learned a big lesson. LET THE KIDS PLAY!

My Aunt Jane

A few weeks ago my dad had an operation to replace his aortic valve. My sister, my mom and I were sitting in the waiting room when I saw my sister’s face suddenly light up as she said “Well, hello!”

I turned to see my mother’s sister Jane, with a broad smile on her face, walking across the room toward us.

Immediately, I felt a surge of energy, encased in a sense of calm with a good dose of humor added in. That is the way Aunt Jane makes me feel.

I spent a lot of time at her house when I was growing up. She has three boys, Richard, Tom and Ben. We were all full of energy and mischief and even when she was exhausted from working a long nursing shift at the hospital she was able to handle us with a strong, positive attitude.

We would often sit around the kitchen table talking. It wasn’t unusual for the topic to become inappropriate, like the time Tom asked her what a scrotum was, but she always answered the questions and pretty much told us we were a bunch of fools.

Nothing has ever been handed to Jane. She worked hard to go to nursing school and raise a family. She has handled her fair share of tragedy and pain and yet she rarely complains.

She is honest, direct and kind. She now runs a second hand clothing shop and when a recent customer was picking out clothing and complaining loudly about the “flaming liberal democrats” in this country Aunt Jane simply said, “I’m one of those flaming liberal democrats” as she checked the customer out. They both laughed and now when that customer comes to shop Aunt Jane calls her the “Cute Conservative.”

She handles conflict that way. She may not agree with you but she will certainly listen to you.

My Aunt Jane simply helps me feel better about life and what life can be. Thank you Aunt Jane. I love you.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad

I called my parents on their 57th anniversary today and had a wonderful conversation with my mom. She talked about how blessed they have been during their marriage.

They were married in a small church in their hometown of Surry, Maine on October 18th, 1952. My dad was 24 and my mom was 18. Dad was the town manager in Corinth, Maine and mom was fresh from her first year of college.

My sister, Lynn, was born in August of 1953 and my other sister, Lorna, was born in May of 1955. Mom gave birth to stillborn baby in 1957 and this was the most painful point in their marriage. I was born in June of 1959.

My dad was hired as the Falmouth, Maine town manager in 1962 and my mom went back to school to pursue her love of teaching a few years later when I started school fulltime.

What I remember most about my mom and dad are the discussions we had around the supper table every night during the 60’s and 70’s. Mom was a liberal Democrat and dad was a Republican. It was fascinating, even to a little kid, to have dissenting political ideals displayed by both parents with passion and intellectual conviction while I ate some very traditional home cooked meals.

No matter how much they disagreed politically they agreed deeply in regard to family, religion, money and sex.

We were close as a family, attended church regularly, they used their money wisely and they expressed their love physically in a vibrant and beautiful way.

The success of their marriage comes down to the way they respect, love and listen too each other.

The bond between them allowed them to leave their hometown church when the church would not allow homosexual ministers. This past week they proudly placed their “NO on 1” sign in the front yard of the home back in Surry, Maine where fifty-seven years ago they began the journey that taught them that the sanctity of marriage comes down to the deep, traditional values of love ,trust and respect between two people.

Thank you, mom and dad. Your life lessons continue to give me strength and confidence. I will make sure that I pass those lessons along to Brandon, Kourtney and Sam.

Happy Anniversary and I love you.

Cameron

Wednesday morning I got up at 6 am and went for a 3.5 mile run. I haven’t run in the morning for a long time because I never feel like it. I wanted to see if it would have an impact on how I felt during the day. The run went well and then I took my son, Sam, to school and drove over to look at a house I am interested in.

While I waited for the real estate agents I noticed that I’ll didn’t feel any better than usual. I still had that blah, unfocused feeling.

The house was great and I had some nice conversations and then headed to work.

My daughter, Kourtney called to say that she had just taken her boyfriend , Chris, who has been suffering from viral meningitis, back to the emergency room. He threw up after class on Tuesday and woke up throwing up on Wednesday. They were performing another spinal tap and she was very upset for Chris.

After that, my girlfriend Wendy called upset because she was overwhelmed with flight attendant school was she participating in. It has been a lifelong dream and the testing has been intense and the job is going to be much more logistically complicated than she thought. She was overwrought with feelings of failure and disappointment.

Then my ex-wife Kim called complaining and worrying about our oldest son, Brandon. She was questioning his choices and asking me questions that I suggested she ask him, since he is living with her now.

I was also worried about my dad who needs a new heart valve, Kourt’s efforts to help Chris when she also needs to focus on her school work and most importantly how I was going to get the apartment clean before Wendy got home!

After I picked up Sam and made supper, I decided to take my sorry ass outside and jumpstart Wendy’s car that had been sitting stationary since Kourt used it and left the key in the “on” position.

I got it jumpstarted and then I took it for a ride to charge the battery. I drove down to the Town Landing, about 2 miles from the apartment, to look out at the ocean on a beautiful night. The light was perfect and the sailboats in the harbor were stunning as they bobbed up and down to the rhythum of the waves. Taking a moment for myself and to just enjoy my surroundings I reached down and turned off the key. I think I actually had a piece of my mind yelling “no don’t do that” as my hand went to the steering column but in that instant I couldn’t pull it all together. The car turned off just as I yelled “shit!” I quickly turned the key hoping that enough juice had gotten to the battery to just turn the engine over once but all I got was that familiar click, click, click sound that I have heard so many times in my life.

That’s when I really started to get pissed squeezing the steering wheel as hard as I could with both hands and shaking it. I think I could have actually pulled it off the column if I hadn’t calmed myself down.

I relaxed my hands and sat there for a moment and pondered my options. I could look for someone and ask for a jump, I could call Sam and have him drive illegally (he only has his permit)over to help me (I seriously considered this) or I could simply collect myself and walk back to the apartment and get my car.

Walking seemed like the best plan so I strolled up the hill and then down RT 88. It was a beautiful night and the walk was nice. I got to the apartment, jumped in my car, drove back to Town Landing, jumped Wendy’s car and drove it back to the apartment.

It was now getting dark and I had to go back and get my car. So I grabbed my goofy orange reflective vest and jumped on the old bicycle, that I bought for $75 at the beginning of the summer so that Brandon, Kourt and Sam could get around when a car wasn’t available, and headed down the road looking like an odd, middle aged man with balance problems as I wobbled slowly down the road.

After a quarter mile I felt pretty good and the whole event seemed to start coming into a humorous focus for me. It was rounding into a good story to tell with a good ending and I was speeding down hill with the wind in my hair. Even the big uphill wasn’t bad as I downshifted and pumped my legs furiously steadily moving forward. I crested the hill and my momentum increased as I changed gears again. This is the point where the derailleur, after many years of use, decided to let go. After a lot of clanking sounds I looked down to see the chain hanging and caught in the spokes.

Now I had another decision to make. Should I just leave the bike there and walk the rest of the way or should I try to use it as a scooter? The scooter option seemed to make sense as there was flat road ahead and a big downhill at the end. I figured I could actually get there faster than walking. So I cocked my butt off to one side so my leg could reach the ground and started pushing myself along at dusk on a busy road wearing my classy reflective vest. I was amazed by how fast my leg fatigued, how slow I was traveling and how funny passersby thought I looked.

I shifted to my other side just as some” tricked out” bicyclist with his fancy lights, flamboyant bike shorts and $1,000, 20 speed road bike passed by and made some remark that was tinged with sympathy but was drenched in sarcasm. That’s when I heard another clanking sound as chain wrapped itself in the spokes again.

Suddenly I was back to that “gripping and shaking the steering wheel” feeling again! I wanted to throw the bike down and then jump up and down on it yelling obscenities as loud as I could. Instead, I tossed the bike to the side of the road, took note of the location and expelled a moderately loud by simple “fuck” and continued my quest to pick up my car.

The rest of the trip was uneventful as I got back to my car, picked up the bike, picked up a 12 pack of Sam Adams at the store and went back to the apartment to drink my beer and tell Sam my adventure. I think it is good for Sam to have a father who makes more mistakes than he does.

The next morning I got up to find out that Chris is feeling much better, Wendy passed her tests and should be fine and Brandon is going to work doing recruiting for Georgetown while he works at a running shoe store and applies to grad school at UMO.

I’m not going to bother running in the morning and I’ll stick with my reliance on Sam Adams.

Praise in Public

I wanted to share the letter to the editor, published in The Forecaster, that I wrote about my kids cross country coaches. I believe that we should praise the people who deserve praise as often and as publicly as we can.

Letter: Falmouth coaches deserve thanks
Published: Aug 31, 2009 8:40 am -
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This fall marks the 10th and final year in a row that one or more of my children will run cross country for Falmouth High School. During that time Danny Paul and Jorma Kurry have shared the coaching responsibilities.

My children's running skills span all levels from elite runner, to good runner, to back-of- the-pack runner. It never mattered to Danny and Jorma what running skills each of my children possessed. What has always come across loud and clear is that they are concerned with each athlete's development as a runner and more importantly as a human being.

I've observed them at over 100 meets and numerous awards banquets. It is amazing how they relate to each student and how they can recall the most minute detail or most important accomplishment of each of one.

My oldest son has graduated from college and he still stays in contact and runs with each of them. My daughter is currently running in college and as I took her to pre-season running camp, we talked about Danny and Jorma and their positive impact on her life.

I believe that being a teacher/coach in today's complicated world is one of the toughest and most important jobs. Thank you Danny and Jorma for doing it so well and making my job, as a parent, easier. I plan on enjoying every minute of this 10th season as I watch my youngest son improve as a runner and a human being.

Cameron Bonsey
Falmouth