Cutting Kids
September 25, 2012
As an athlete, I dreaded the days. Even when I was a returning starter, I approached with anxiety the page taped to the locker room door that would indicate who made the high school basketball team (and, by omission, who didn’t).
As a coach, I refused to do it. I wasn’t even tempted to cut anybody from my squads. But I was lucky. I coached football and golf, and the outdoor practice venues gave us enough room for almost limitless opportunities.
As a parent, I’ve cried over it. Watching my older son be cut from a non-school basketball program for junior high boys (he switched to wrestling in high school and had a fine career). Watching my younger son be cut four times from the travel soccer team (he made it on the fifth try and started for his high school freshman and junior varsity soccer teams during the two years after that).
At no time have I been more deeply troubled and saddened than watching the world of sports, to which I devote my working life, say, “No thank you” to my sons, to whom I dedicated my entire life.
As an administrator, I grieve over the process every year. I listen to complaints of parents. I watch them go from allies to enemies of high school sports.
Why would we limit squad sizes for outdoor sports?
Why would we cut freshmen who haven’t even matured yet and have only a little idea what they might like or be good at?
Why would we not find room for a senior who has been on the team for three years and continues to have a good attitude and work ethic?
Why would we turn away eligible boys and girls who would rather work and sweat after school than cruise and loiter?
Why do we persist in shutting out and turning against us the parents who would be our advocates today and the students who would be our advocates in the future?
Oyster Stew
November 13, 2015
Jonathan Swift, an 18th Century writer I was introduced to as an English major in college, grabbed my attention and loyalty with the statement, “He was a bold man who first ate an oyster.”
I’ve hated oysters for their look, their texture and their taste; and also because, as a child, oyster stew was the Christmas Eve fare that stood between me and the time when we could begin opening presents under the Christmas tree.
But I have loved Swift’s metaphor.
Imagine the courage – or the desperation – of the first person to eat an oyster … or any other ugly, slimy critter ... raw!
But it is often this person, bold or desperate enough, who looks past appearances to tackle something of such unpleasant prospects, who actually makes the discovery or connects the dots or makes the breakthrough necessary for real progress.
What are the most unappetizing issues before us? Transfers? Football scheduling? Specialization? What unappealing solutions might we be avoiding because they look so awful? Are we bold enough to take a bite out of them?