If You Play the Game, Carry Your Own Gear

When my grandsons were five and six, they were taken to the ice rink at 5am every Sunday morning to play hockey. Ice time was reserved for them at 6am. It took one hour to get them into all their gear. Their parents were faithful to make the trip weekly to a rink in Manassas, VA, which was known for producing Olympian skaters.

They moved to Pagosa when the boys were ten and eleven, knowing their ice hockey days were over, but understanding Pagosa could give their boys something better - small town sports.

I remember hearing a coach say to one of the little boys, “If you play the game, you carry your own gear. Don’t let your mother carry your bag.” At five and six years old, those little boys struggled to carry a forty-inch bag full of hockey gear out of the rink, thinking they were big and strong. I wanted to reach down and help them, but I heard the coach, too. I knew to keep my hands off.

I used to laugh and tell my Sweet Al, “These boys were built to play hockey and football. They weren’t made to put on a little pair of skimpy white shorts, wear a sweater knotted around their shoulders, and carry a tennis racket. They’re built big and tough.”

I’ve become an avid spectator to the game of wrestling in the last couple of years. I sit on the bleachers and scream with the other mothers. Pagosa hosted the event for the teams from fourteen high schools around the area. I read the program handed to me at the door. I happened to see a couple of names I knew. Did you know, Ron Shaw started the wrestling program in 1972 and Gilbert Perea was First State Medalist in 1973? They’re were others I didn’t recognize. They paved the way for our boys in Pagosa.

When our grandson faced one of his opponents, who was 6’6”, I wanted to yell, “Run, Creede, run.” But I didn’t. I’m learning about entering the world of teenagers and how to keep my hands off.

He instructed me, “Grandma, don’t brag on me before the match. I might disappoint everyone.”

“Okay, I won’t, but can I after you win?”

“That will be okay.”

He lost to the big guy. Our grandson was angry with himself.

I consoled him, “Of course, did you see the guy? He was a Goliath. I sent a picture of the two of you to all my Facebook friends. I felt sorry for you. I couldn’t believe his size.” Then I told him, “You looked like a little boy next to him.”

“Grandma, I’m a man.”

My son-in-law said, “In wrestling it’s not about size. He has to use the guy’s size against him and to his own advantage. Creede is fast. He’s got to learn some more moves, how to deal with bigger guys. He can’t pick up a 280 pound guy and hold him over his head.”

“I understand. I need to learn more about wrestling.”

On Facebook, our grandson posted, “I’m sorry I disappointed everyone with two losses.

Our daughter encouraged him, “You went up against some touch ones. There is nothing to be ashamed about.”

One of the coaches called our grandson the next day, asking him if he was all right.

I said, “This probably would never happen in a big town. This is what our little town of Pagosa is all about. We have men who care about the boys. They are teaching them how to carry their own gear.”

”

I’ve been told by my grandson not to mention STATE until he knows he’s going.

I said, “Okay.” We’ve already got our tickets for STATE just in case. There I go again, I mentioned the word.

I am learning there are things you don’t do when you enter the world of a teenager and his sport.

1.     Don’t tell them to smile when they are in the heat of the match.

2.     Don’t brag on them before the match. It’s okay to brag afterwards, but not too much.

3.     Be as excited over their friends’ matches as you are over theirs.

4.     Don’t tell a sixteen year old he is a little boy and you feel sorry for him.

5.     And most important, show up, even if you say everything wrong.

In the wrestling program, I spotted a poem by Ben Peterson called What is Wrestling? He wrote, “Wrestling demands the utmost expression of the best discipline and courage in a man… Wrestling cannot change the nature of man, but it can be used to bring out qualities that are intended to lead, encourage, challenge and entertain others.”

I watched the young men strain every muscle in their body as they brought their opponent to the mat. There were wins and losses. They each played the game and dealt with their own gear afterwards.

I’m always mindful of dedicated coaches and those who give up their time to support these young people. Mothers and fathers show up to cheer for their sons. They diligently supply ample food for the coaches, bus drivers, scorekeepers and helpers from other schools. It’s just part of raising good young people with character and being a part of Pagosa.

Final Brushstroke! These teenagers are taking me to a new world. If I want to be a part of their world, I have to speak their language. I might not get it right, but they know the language of love. Showing up for them speaks volumes.

Artist’s Quote: “Have the courage to say no. Have the courage to face the truth. Do the right thing because it is right. These are the magic keys to living your life with integrity.” W. Clement Stone.

I'm a Little Dogmatic, But...

Artist’s Quote: “A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances, but rather a person with a certain set of attitudes.” Hugh Downs

A few friends and I went out to lunch.  One of the ladies asked about my writing career with the pet magazine. I told her, it was short lived. I wrote two articles about dogs, but I think I was a little too dogmatic.

She said, “People are passionate about their animals.”

“I know, I live among dog-loving people and I am finding that out.”

 “They probably detected it. It’s hard to write when you lack passion about something.”

“I understand, I thought it was clever of me to name the articles, “I’m a little Dog-Matic, but…. I worked really hard to show a compassionate side. Apparently it didn’t come through. Those two articles were probably the hardest articles I have had to write. If it isn’t there, it isn’t there. I wouldn’t mistreat an animal for anything. In fact, I want all animals inside during these cold days. I don’t want anything to suffer.

She proceeded to tell me about “Kitty.” Apparently, Kitty lived in the wild for two years and came around their house frequently. They feed her, and now she is living in their house. She said her husband, Bob, loves Kitty and felt sorry she didn’t have grass in the winter to enjoy and lay in. He built a 4’X4’ framed box, put in dirt and planted grass. Now Kitty has green grass all year round.

I asked her how he mowed it?

She said, “With scissors. Kitty is very spoiled. She has an electric mattress and she sleeps warm now. She gets brushed everyday.

“Well, Kitty has surely hit the jackpot.”

My other friend, the owner of a dog, spoke up, “I brush Gus’ teeth everyday.”

I said, “You must be kidding. Everyday?”

“Yes, everyday. When he sees me with the toothbrush, he lies down on one side, I brush his teeth, and then he turns on the other side.”

I asked her, “Who has time to brush their dog’s teeth everyday?”

She said, “He loves it. I love my dog. Gus has his own bedroom.”

“His own bedroom? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Then Sam’s wife spoke up, “Jake isn’t wearing pajamas anymore.”

Gus’ owner asked, “Do they have pajamas for a sixty pound dog?”

“I don’t know. Jake weighs only 30 pounds.”

I rolled my eyes wondering about the conversation, I said, “Our daughter found a hand-knitted sweater, size 6, and Daisy wore it over the holidays. She was very festive.  In my mind I was thinking, I can’t believe this conversation. Maybe I’m a little dogmatic, but this is ridiculous. These animals are treated better than humans.

Then Sam’s wife proceeded to tell the other women that they bought Jake a thunder-wear suit, and he is doing better when it thunders. They explained to me, it was not underwear, but thunder-wear.

They asked about Whiskey, was she getting any smarter? I told them, “A little. Daisy still has a mean streak in her and she attacks Whiskey. Whiskey is getting sweeter and sweeter and Al loves her, and I’m coming around. I’m not mad at animals. I think I have a better perception than all the people around me.”

Once upon a time when we all had children at home, we talked about our kids. Now with empty nesters, they talk about their pets. I’m taking notes, and wondering what has life come to, but always seeing the next article flourishing in the midst of their passion.

Final Brushstroke: Yes, I’m a little dog-matic, and I’d rather be talking about my next book. They don’t seem to have the same interest and passion. I guess I should go and pet Whiskey. I know it would thrill My Sweet Al’s heart.

Daisy is Making Whiskey Wild

Artist’s Quote: “Our ultimate freedom is the right and power to decide how anybody or anything outside ourselves will affect us.”

My friend, the owner of Jake the dog, who wears pajamas to bed, asked when was Whiskey coming home.”

This is Sweet Al's dog. She is so loving. She wants to be petted.

“Tomorrow,“ I said, “I dread it. I felt like Whiskey has pushed me out of my own home.”

She said, “I know what you mean, we put Jake in a car seat when he rides, but—:”

“Jake has a car seat?”

“Yes!” We’ve always had car seats for our dogs. I shouldn’t tell you, but, because Jake sheds so bad, when I ride in the car, I wear my bathrobe over my clothes.”

“Of course I am going to write about this. This is mind boggling to me.”

“When I go to church I have to wear something over my clothes. Otherwise, I’ll have hair all over me, even though Jake sits in his own car seat.”

“This is too much.”

“It’s just a little cotton robe. When I get there, I always take it off, and before I get back in the car, I put it on.”

I said, “I’m telling you, these dogs are ruling our lives. When our daughter goes to work, she tells her dad to feed Daisy exactly at 8:30 am. Daisy is on a schedule. No, no, no, our daughter has put my sweet Al on a schedule, and he obeys.”

When Al left to pick up Whiskey from obedience school, I warned him, “You can’t be talking baby-talk to a hunting dog. You need to learn the commands.”

“I will.”

“No, I mean it. If not, that money has gone down the drain. You need to learn how to discipline Whiskey.”

“I’ll have the trainer go over it with me.”

“That dog is not a lap dog, it is a high-spirited hunting dog. You had no business with it in the first place.”

“I love my beautiful dog.”

“I guess it’s too late to give the dog back.” I said disgustedly.

Al defended Whiskey, “I know I was a little lax, but Whiskey is only seven months old.”

Al came home with Whiskey. She jumped out of the car and came in the house like a cyclone.

Al said, “Oh, she missed you, look how glad she is to see you.”

“Reeeeeeally?”

She has grown another foot in height and length.

I asked, “Is she trained?”

“She’s a little hardheaded, she is probably 85% trained. The dog trainer said Whiskey was a wild thing and needed a lot of loving.”

“I thought you had picked the meekest of the litter.”

“The trainer put dog biscuits on the counter and Whiskey didn’t jump up and eat them. She is really smart.

”

“Will she obey you? Do you know the commands?”

Al turned to our daughter and asked, “Tell me again what the commands were.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, “This is just great.”

She has only been home a week. Al blames Daisy, our daughter’s dog. He says that Daisy is making Whiskey wild. With the two of them, he can’t manage his dog.

I told Al, “You’ve got to own up to your own problem. You can’t blame Daisy for your Wild Whiskey’s problem. You both need discipline.”

I looked up and Whiskey, Sweet Al's Dog is waiting for me to drive her around.

Final Brushstroke! If you can’t handle Whiskey, don’t bring it home to Mama. Mama is getting a little testy.

You Don't Have to Win to be a Champion!

I do not know how Al and I landed on the channel for the Bull rider’s championship Event in Las Vegas, but we did. I learned something I didn’t know before, Even the best bull gets the title of champion for the year.

The rider wants to draw a mean bull with the highest points. The bull and the rider both perform for scores and titles. Interesting. Does the bull really think he’s performing? No. He’s just mad.

Some of the riders were riding with broken collarbones, an arm out of the socket and varioua injuries. Each rider said, “Just one more ride, then I can rest and get well.” They were determined to finish the season.

They interviewed one of the riders who was contending for the national title. He said he had a meltdown the day before. He had drawn a bull he had ridden before and that bull was his downfall, but that bull also brought his biggest scores. He said he was an emotional wreck. He needed that bull.

Silvano Alves from Brazil rode High Octane Hurricane to win the champion title and $1 million bonus payday. He was the first cowboy to win back-to-back year’s titles. He was the first to have earned over $2 million in his career.

But, for Chris Shivers from the USA, who had entertained the audience for twenty years, was saying goodbye to his fans. His ending didn’t turn out as well. Two-time world champion Chris Shivers rode his final ride on Smackdown. That mean, enraged bull made sure that Shiver wouldn’t finish as a Hollywood hero. He was bucked off. There was not a dry eye in the audience as they stood to applaud this great champion. They watched history pass as they saw him ride for the last time.

As one rider was waving in victory, another walked off in his final moment. He had been bucked off in front of his fans. Smackdown won that final ride and got the points, but Chris Shivers walked out of the arena as a champion.

As I turned off the TV, I couldn’t stop thinking about how the meanest bull made a champion out of him – kind of like our football season. It was the toughest season we have had to face, and face it we did!

I know football season is over for Pagosa, but I had to honor the team, the coaches, the parents, the fans and Ed Fincher with the Sun who covered the game, the mood, play by play perfectly.

Even though we lost, every week our grandsons fought over the sports page in the Sun. They wanted to see their name by the number of tackles and sacks. I heard one grandson say to the other (Wylie) grandson, “That was me, they got it wrong. I made that play.” Even the announcer at the game, confused the two Wylies. But believe me, they knew who made the tackle.

The Pagosa Pirates are champions. You might question 7 losses and 1 win and wouldn’t call them champions, but I see it differently. They played hurt because they didn’t want to disappoint their team.

This was a hard year for the team. I saw it as a practice year for something better to come next year. The season started with the announcement that we would be in another class, which meant we would be playing tougher teams with big points.

We were a young team. Our young men of Pagosa Pirates practiced for weeks in the hot sun before school started, several of them were playing positions they had never played before. They were not seasoned for their tough opponents.

Some choices were made to preserve the integrity of the ball club. It was a hard call for the coaches, but necessary. Throughout the season, a couple of strong players left the team for one reason or another. The team needed them, but they pulled together and stepped into those positions.

Because of the small number of players, several of the young men, played both offense and defense during the whole game. They didn’t get time to rest, while other teams, who had double the players, brought in fresh players in the second half.

During a couple of games some of the young men came off the field defeated and sobbing. They had played their hearts out, they were pushed around, pulled to the ground, tired and they couldn’t get a winning score. They worked through those emotions. By the end of the season, they took the losses in stride.

We had one win. The football team’s tradition is to sing the Pirate’s Team Song after the win. The team grabbed the words to the song in the last five minutes of the game. The victory song had not been sung to date. They belted it out to the fans. That was a proud moment. They did get to sing their victory song once.

Our team did not give up. They made every team fight for the win. They played hard in every game to the finish.  Our last game of the season was with Bayfield, our biggest rival. We had two seniors and they had seventeen. We made one touchdown and you would have thought we won the lottery.

We were all singing, “We made a touchdown, la, la, la, la, la,” That touchdown was like gold to us. It proved that our boys didn’t give up.

Those two seniors on the team were our grandson, Slade Wylie and Keith Archuleta, whose mother followed the team all over the state of Colorado. These two young men started playing the year that Yaffle began in their 5^thgrade.  They presented flowers to their proud parents. But like Chris Shivers, they left the field for the last time without a win.

I realize we are small fish in a small fishbowl, but for some of our kids, they are playing for a college scholarship. Pagosa is a football town. I’m a proud grandmother and Pagosa lets me be one.

Final Brushstroke! As Chris Shivers walked out of the arena bucked off for his final ride, he walked off as a champion.  This season our boys did, too.

Looking into a Man's Mind with a Microscope

When I left home for Bible Study, my sweet Al assured me he had tightened the bolt on the battery connection, and everything was working fine.

He gave me instructions, “If the alarm beeps, it means the cable is disconnected from the battery. Pull up the hood and reconnect the battery. There is a little switch under the dash that turns off the alarm. (When my purse was stolen, my beeper was taken, too.)

I made it to town, no problem. After the Bible Study, feeling like I had met with God, I thought all was well. I jumped into the car. It wouldn’t start. I pulled up the hood, connected the battery, I flipped the switch under the car dash, the alarm continued to beep, and the car was dead as a doorknob.

I worked and worked, trying to connect the battery while the alarm was sounding. A good soul came to my distress. He tightened it again. He said, “The connection looks like someone has taken a sledgehammer to it already. You really need to have this replaced.”

The car started, and I said, “I’m not going to the grocery store, I’m not going anywhere but home, Al is going to have to deal with this problem.” On the way home, I thought, I can do this. I’ll stop by the parts store and get the part. I’ll leave the car running. Al can put it on when I get home.

I stopped at the parts store. I walked into a man’s world. Three customers looked up. I said to the man at the counter, I need a battery cable. He said, “How long.”

“No, you don’t understand, I don’t need battery cables, I need to replace the cable to the battery. Come out to the car and let me show you.” I heard a chuckle from a couple of the male customers. I paid no attention. I was a woman on a mission. I took the employee out to the car, opened the hood, and pointed to the trouble. He said, let me get the manager.

The manager came out and I explained that the cable kept jumping off the battery and the alarm would go off. The manager listened patiently.

He looked at the situation, and said, “Oh, you just need an end. It’s called an end.”

I asked, “Do you have one?” I went on my tale of woe again. “I live out on the Blanco, wa,wa,wa,wa. If I could get what I needed, then Al wouldn’t have to come back to town.”

“Yes, I have one. I understand, I live further out than you do, when I go home, I don’t want to turn around and go back.”

“Thank you for understanding. How much does an end cost?”

“$5.00.”

“I’ve gone through all this pain for $5.00? I can’t believe it.” I paid him, and I drove home.

Al was in the yard. “Al, we need to talk.”

He said, “Oh no, this sounds like trouble.”

“You better believe it. For only $5.00, you have put me through agony. I’ve driven through town with the alarm beeping, and I’ve been stranded time and again. When I leave home, I pray that I can get home again. I bought an end for the battery, please put it on.”

Al couldn’t understand. He said, “I tightened it really tight.”

I told him, it wasn’t about tightening really tight, but to buy an end.

After putting on the part, he said, “It was so tight, I had to take a breaker bar to loosen it.”

I thought to myself, I know, I saw what it looked like. Sometimes I would like to choke my sweet Al, but I need him too much to live without him. Maybe, I’m looking at Al’s world through a microscope and I need to turn it around and look through the telescope. Possibly, I need to see the bigger picture.

Final Brushstroke! Only $5.00 took care of the problem. We live in two different worlds, but what would we do without each other?

Make Room in your Heart - A Mother's Son

The phone rang. I checked my Caller ID. I didn’t recognize the name. I thought twice about answering the phone, and then, I did. I told the caller, “I don’t know you.”

He said, but I know you. I read your article on Champions. “Tell, your grandsons, if they get knocked down to the ground, tell them to look up and tell their opponents, ‘Give me your best. Your worse is not good enough.’”

Of course, that peeked my interest, since we are all so full of ourselves. I continued talking, “How do I know you?”

“You know my mother. She lives in Pagosa.” He told me her name.

“I know her. She is a beautiful mother and woman.”

He continued. “I’m a veteran and an alcoholic. I got out early from the Special Forces, with an honorable discharge. I have killed and I have seen killings. I was once a champion and a leader. Leaders do not die easily; neither do champions. I know.”

“I’ve been drinking and thinking. Though you are slammed to the ground, and your tears are mingled with your own blood, your tears become your strength. It’s not about you, but the ones that are counting on you. Your tears give you strength.”

I was compelled to listen to this broken man. I couldn’t hang up the phone. I had to make room in my heart for him. He wanted me to know he still had life and hope in him.  I immediately thought of him serving our country. He saw things people shouldn’t have to see, and he dealt with it the only way he knew how.

His mother and family have cried many tears for this beautiful soul. A mother will always be a mother, no matter if her son is fifty-nine years old, and is her heartbreak. Because of what he has been through, he understands how his tears have become his strength; but he can’t help his mother with her tears.

He continued talking. “For a long time, I wouldn’t lead people to victory any more, but for my family’s sake, I’m willing to do it. I’ve caused a lot of pain. My family says I can’t stop, but if I admit to myself, ‘I can’t stop,’ then I’m dead. I tell my family, don’t make the same mistakes I have. But, they don’t listen.”

This phone call hit me between the eyes and pierced my heart. My own thoughts ran through my mind during the phone conversation. Make room in your heart for those who are broken and bruised. Be willing to be pierced by a man who is crying out for understanding.

I think of Simeon, who waited his whole life to see His Messiah. He was told by the Holy Spirit he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ.

He took Mary’s child in his arms and blessed God. Then he said to Mary, Jesus’ mother, “Behold, this Child… Yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul also, that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

My soul has been pierced by God’s messenger. He used a veteran who struggles with alcohol, who cared enough to call me and encourage my grandsons. Before, I probably would have walked passed him on the streets, and not given him the time of day.

Today, I embraced a mother’s son and felt her tears. I felt his tears, also. I write this article to a mother who lives in Pagosa. “Your son pierced through my soul and revealed my heart. Don’t lose heart. God used him as a messenger today.”

To my special friends who support and read this column, I pray this Christmas Season, your willingness to make room in your heart for God’s messenger.

Final Brushstroke! God’s messengers do not always come neat and tidy. In fact, the True Messenger and Message came as a baby to a place where there was no room for him. And yet, He brought God’s tidings, “Peace on earth. Goodwill toward all men.”

Reader’s Comments: “You hit the target and scored big time this week. I just read your “Champion Article” and I’m sitting here crying. It was touching. You could feel the torment and anguish the football team went through, all the struggles, the defeat, but you could also feel how proud they were and how they had the energy to keep going for the team’s sake. They didn’t let anyone down. This was the best article, yet. Vanessa M. Pagosa Springs.