This was my first Friday helping out as a P.E. aide at my son's elementary school. The kids were playing kickball, and an ambitious few immediately snatched up the prime positions. My son and about a half-dozen of his second-grade classmates were sent to the outfield (the rules were loose). Upon reaching his spot on the far edge of left field, my son promptly plopped down in a sulking heap -- defeated before he'd begun.
It wasn't the best sportsmanship, but I could relate.
I'm back in the job-hunt game after 10 years of getting up every morning and knowing exactly what my role would be that day and feeling confident in my ability to succeed at it.
In the outfield, there was a lot of smack talk and clashing bodies. Some kids love that kind of rough-and-tumble competition. My son isn't one of them.
When it was his team's turn to kick, my son gave the ball a fine wallop, but the pitcher and first baseman were too quick. He was out. Defeated again.
I cringed inside as he stomped off, slunk down behind the bench and blinked back the burn of tears. "Come on. Get up. You can do this," I telegraphed mentally from across the field. But I bit my tongue. This wasn't my game.
When it was his team's turn back on the field, he picked himself up, brushed off the dirt, rubbed his eyes and immediately stepped forward to claim the pitcher's mound.
The first few rolls didn't go smoothly, but he soon found his groove. With each pitch that went well, he stood a little taller. He knew what his job was, and he felt confident in his ability to do it. It wasn't about being center-stage. It was about being given the chance to show what he could do without having to claw his way past his peers to do it. It was about feeling that what he did mattered.
A lot of newspaper journalists have been tossed to the outfield lately, replaced on the diamond by their more tech-savvy peers. I've felt myself slumped in a heap of self-pity on more than a few occasions of late. The game has changed on me, and I don't know the rules.
I've lobbed a few applications out there, but the response has been less than inspiring.
Still, I want back in the game. I'm going to find my place, even if I have to take a few ego-crushing hits to get there.
Come on. Get up. You can do this.
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Isn't it great how hanging out with kids can help you remember (or sometimes realize for the first time) those most important bits of "life lessons" that help us grow and cope with our worries?
ReplyDeleteIt's important to believe that you can do it, no matter how many times you have to pick yourself up, brush off the dirt, and wipe the eyes. It also helps to have a supportive team. We are all rooting for you Anne, because we too believe you can do it.
Final comment, way to go at being a P.E. aide at your son's school. You definitely know the game when it comes to being an excellent parent.
Thank you for the vote of confidence. You are right about the kids. They teach as much as they learn.
ReplyDeleteAaaw, just thinking of him on that field actually brought tears to my eyes. Good for him, finding his confidence.
ReplyDeleteAs for you, my friend... I don't even know what to say... I am so sad that you won't be here anymore... But you will, YOU WILL be moving on to bigger and better things. I have no doubt.
Your comment brought tears to my eyes, Sam. So I guess we're even.
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