Following Through and I Love You!

My younger brother played basketball throughout high school. My dad, a devoted father and fan cheered from the stands with what I remember being a never-ending chorus of "FOLLOW THROUGH!" (Of course I also remember him yelling at the refs for their glaring errors and on at least a couple of occasions, he incurred a technical foul for sharing such honest opinions.) Anyway, while visiting my brother at his "farm house" (think cool beach house, only instead of a beach there's a river with cows and horses grazing in the front yard) he was playing door-basketball with my two year old daughter. This involves a tiny little basketball and a net that has been attached to the back door. I was nervous because while the ball is rather little, this farm house is quite nice and I'm afraid my brother under estimates the amount of damage my precious pea can do with said ball. She tries to bounce. She tries to throw. Eventually my brother lifts her up for the slam. "WHOA! Did you see that follow through?" He cried. "She's a natural!"


My brother plays the role of adoring uncle quite well and he is amazed not only at Emma Claire's follow through, but my 6 year old's son remarkable and super-natural upper body strength and speed. You know, this all coming from an un-biased uncle! I had to laugh, though, at the follow through comment because in Coulter's short life with approximately 6 basketball games, I have had my own little chorus going. I'm not even exactly sure what it means but I just know to say it. Coulter likes to dribble a couple of times; run down the court and throw up a hail mary and all I know to say is, "Follow through!" (Besides, I think it makes me sound smart next to all the dads.)


The advice for me carried way beyond high school basketball. I often hear my dad's voice telling me to follow through. Gonna write a book? Follow through! Going back to school? Follow through! Whatever the goal, follow through! Today though, I'm thinking less of the message and more of the fact that it still rings in my ear more than 20 years later and it makes me question, what chorus are my children going to remember? What am I saying today that will carry with them?



I could seriously cringe at some of the things I have said to my children. I once told Coulter that if he didn't "turn it around" I was going to take him to the doctor for them to give him a shot. As in stick a needle in him for punishment. Who does that? Some of you may also remember my telling him that it was a good thing we didn't believe in spanking just before actually spanking him. More recently (and even more embarrassing,) he was screaming (as in AHHH!) in frustration and I thought it would be funny to scream too. It wasn't.



Every morning I hear myself telling him that we can't be late for school. "Come on. Let's go. We're late. We can't be late." Occasionly I even break out my jr. high cheer, "L-E-T-S- G-O, Le'ts go! Let's go!" I figure it's kind of like bringing a teaching (spelling) moment to the occasion. Being on-time is serious business, I am telling you. Coulter's school once had a pajama day for the entire school because there were no tardies. I can't deal with that kind of pressure. I mean seriously, what if every child is on time except that darn Fritz kid. No pajama day for us. Sometimes I fear him sitting on a therapy couch in 20 years explaining why he's 45 minutes early to every appointment. "Well, you see, my mom was always yelling, 'Hurry up! We can't be late!' And then there was this cheer..."



I mess up a lot, but one thing I know that I get right and the chorus I hope my children will remember, is hearing "I love you." Because while I've said a lot of dumb-o things as a parent (the above paragraph is only what I'm willing to admit publicly) my children know that they are loved. They know we are proud of them (you know, because we are such special Christians!) (see former blog about special Christians if that comment makes no sense) and they know that we love them. A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, my children are loved.



Basketball is over and we are knee-deep into soccer and baseball. I would say t-ball, but my ever so talented son with his super-natural upper body strength has successfully made the transition to coach-pitch (well, whatever, he's had two hits.) Anyway, I yell from the stands and cheer him on as if his college tuition depends on this very game. I'm no soccer mom, but I know to yell "dribble" and "turn it around" during soccer and "throw it to first" during baseball. I also know that when your son is last up to bat and thinks that he has hit a home-run because the Coach calls in all the runners, that all I'm supposed to say is "Way to go, dude! A home-run! Great job!"

I may have been known to threaten with medical needles but I would never squash my little athlete's spirit with something as ugly as the truth; I love my children way too much for that!