With Christmas behind us, I am patting myself on the back for successfully "low keying" it a bit this year. Despite that, I still have several presents lying around that need to be put away, and there is at least one thing in need of exchanging or returning, but other than that, Christmas is over. Hurray.
My favorite thing about this Christmas was a couple of activities I did that really lifted my spirits. They were those "once a year" or "once every few years" things you do that make you feel like you've experienced at least something special.
My mother and I went to see the Texas Ballet Theatre on Friday afternoon for their presentation of The Nutcracker. Despite my early dismay at realizing there was no orchestra (what kind of big city ballet dances to tape?), the quality of the sets, the dancers, and the costumes made me forget all about it. The Texas Ballet Theatre company is good. Darn good. The choreography was the classic choreography, but these dancers took it to its limits. I found the entire production to be very good. In fact, there are parts of the music that, when combined with the grace and beauty of the dancers, moved me to tears.
I have a bit of history with the Nutcracker. In Boulder I was on the board of the Boulder Ballet for many years, and I was the president of the ballet for a couple of those. I know more about the business of ballet -- fundraising, budgets, dealing with artistic personnel - than about the art of ballet, but I know more about that than most too, I suppose.
My time with the Boulder Ballet was more than a decade ago, but seeing the Nutcracker brought it all back. I really enjoyed being involved with the "project" side of putting on a big production. Ours was big too, and quite a logistical exercise. We did it at Thanksgiving time so that we could rent sets from bigger companies and get them back before they needed them, hire principal dancers from other ballets during their "vacation time," and use university dancers before they left for Chrismtas as part of our company. But even in Boulder, we had a real orchestra -- the Boulder Philharmonic, in fact, which eventually, as part of our maneuvers as a board (but after I was long gone) merged with our little ballet company. There may be a story behind why there was no orchestra in Dallas. In fact there was an "In memory of" section dedicated to a conductor, so I suppose he died suddenly and there was no one to replace him, and as I said, the show went on gloriously. It was a real treat.
On Sunday, my oldest woke up and asked "What are we doing today?" Having no formal plans, he suggested going to the Dallas Art Museum to see the King Tut exhibition. He has been talking about this for a few weeks, ever since his art teacher taught his Art I class about the ancient Egyptians and they studied ancient Egyptian art forms.
So because number one gets whatever he wants, and number two and spouse had no desire to go to the art museum, I took my son to see the King Tut exhibit yesterday.
I'm so glad I did.
In 1922, a group of archeologists who were already clearing out pharoahs tombs in the Valley of the Kings stumbled (literally) over the entrance to young King Tut's tomb. From the photos of the discovery it looked not unlike a storage unit full of stuff you have no room for in your house. Once removed, catalogued, identified, and cleaned (where needed) it was a treasure trove of possessions owned by a boy king.
We saw Tut's "game system" (a game board with two games, drawers for the pieces, and everything in tact), we saw his mallard-shaped cosmetic case (this was Egypt and he was royalty, so yes, he wore heavy eye liner and make-up), and we saw the coffin that his liver had been buried in. We saw the five gold treasures -- a necklace, a daggar and sheath, a headress, a couple others I can't recall -- that were among the more than 100 pieces of jewelry that were wrapped into the different layers of his mummy.
We saw gallery after gallery of ancient artifacts and treasures -- from Tut's grandparents tombs and from his own. We saw treasures that belonged to his father, also a king, and to his father's "main" wife, who was King Tut's mother-in-law. Yes, King Tut married his half sister, the daughter of his father's other wife, at the age of nine. At some point during his life he and his wife had two still born children, whose mummified remains were found in golden splendor with tiny baby death masks inside the King's tomb.
There is speculation that the tomb was never intended to be a King's tomb. Perhaps it was for the babies alone, but with Tut's sudden and unexpected death, they had to put him somewhere. The good news is that the treasures were preserved because grave robbers, who destroyed so much of ancient Egypt during the last 3200 years, never found the site.
The story of King Tut is amazing. It continues too, as a 2005 cat scan revealed no evidence of foul play, even though King Tut died mysteriously and quickly at the young age of 19.
I could go on about Tut, but just let it suffice to say that this exhibition was worth seeing. It's the same one that has been in and out off the U.S. over the last 20 or 30 years, but this was the first chance I've had to get to it.
The Dallas Art Museum has lots of other treasures. We spent a few minutes in the art galleries upstairs where we saw a Picasso and a couple Monets, a Renoir sketch and full painting, some beautiful works by Camille Pissaro, Rodin statues, and even a Van Gogh. We also saw some Mondrian paintings, which were interesting to me since I've worked with designers on Mondrian style brochures before.
My son loved the King Tut exhibition. We both had the audio tour, and that's the only way to go. Otherwise there is too much reading and not enough information anyway. It also makes it a self-directed tour, and it allows you to get the most from what's there.
Yes, I had some nice holiday events. Give me a ticket to the art museum or ballet for Christmas any year. I'm very thankful of having a big city nearby that offers these types of things. It's really nice to step out of your element into a world that is so much bigger or more beautiful than your own. Ballet, golden treasures, and art. Ahhhhhh. A perfect Christmas.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
How to Get Out of Doing Favors for Your Kids
In the interest of passing along my ever-growing knowledge of child-rearing, I have a lesson for today. It's "How to Get Out of Doing Favors for Your Kids."
This morning my 14-year old asked if I would bring him Burger King for lunch. This is a once or twice a year affair, usually during final exam week, which this is. Being the wonderful mother I am, and knowing that I had no meetings and would be home working all day and could probably use a break around noon, I agreed.
My morning went in the fashion that is typical of a successful publicist's high-powered office. It was shear chaos. From the time I got up until just before noon things were crazy. Good crazy, but crazy all the same. See, if you do your job right, putting out a press release (itself a time consuming and arduous processs of meetings, writing, editing, approvals, and pitching) is just the first part of the work. The money work comes when editors call, reporters e-mail, interviews are needed, and everyone is on deadline. Thus went my morning. Great hit with a major target newspaper, interviews happened yesterday, photos are happening today. All is well. But busy.
At precisely 12:20 I grabbed my keys, my wallet and my phone and headed to Burger King with an ETA at the junior high mandated as 12:55. My son had taken it upon himself to remind me of my task around an hour earlier. That's something he's learned to do since he knows how crazy my office can be. In his text he gave me his order: "Quad stacker, no sauce, add ketchup and mustard, large fries, large Coke." Even though it's the same order he's had since he graduated from "Double cheeseburger no pickle," he at least knows enough about me to feel a refresher course is necessary.
No sooner had I got on the road than I realized the roads were slick. Black ice here in Texas, especially over bridges. Since I have to cross several bridges over the lake to get to town, I slowed down to a comfortable speed, knowing as I did that my schedule would be all off due to weather. That was something my 14-year old would certainly not understand.
As I made it safely into town I realized I'd forgotten about the construction, yet my target location required that I go through the major road work area. I bit my lip and knew that traffic was another reason that didn't get me any understanding from my son. I've tried that before.
Once through the traffic snarls of the construction zone, I began multi-tasking and looking for my wallet and money. Quickly I remembered that both boys requested money for lunch today -- in fact even the one who wanted Burger King had taken my last ten dollars. A quick trip through the ATM would have to occur before I could hit the fast food line. Time was ticking. 12:41. I would never make it.
After saying a little prayer, I was pleasantly surprised to find the ATM lane free from traffic, even as I looked at the line at the McDonalds nearby. "Hopefully Burger King won't have a line," I thought to myself, knowing my son would never give me any credit if the drive-through line slowed me down.
I got the cash and meandered through the parking lots to return to the main drag and my destination. Driving into the parking lot I was careful not to hit the elderly gentleman, someone's grandfather, no doubt, who was moving slowly across the lot. Even Dylan might have understood that sort of delay, but it would not have gotten me off the hook for being late.
To my surprise, after the geezer was safely out of my way and I had waited for a truck full of workers to head back to their freezing cold outdoor jobs, I found myself first in line at the drive through.
I ordered the burger exactly as texted, drove to the window and paid -- over eight bucks. Ouch. Add that to the ten dollars I gave him for lunch and he could have had steak, I thought to myself, or maybe I said it out loud. I do that sometimes.
Burger bag and drink safely in the car, I waited for traffic to clear then quickly made my way back through town, through the surprisingly free from snarls construction site, through a green light toward the school. "12:54" my car clock said. "I can't believe it" I said outloud to myself. "This has to be some sort of miracle."
I pulled into the lot at 12:55, fully expecting my phone to ring and my son to say "WHERE ARE YOU?" But no. I went into the office, spoke to the receptionist, told her what I had, and she said, to my shock and dismay, "Sign in, you can take it down there."
As I signed in I thought about the fact that I had gone straight to work this morning without much care for my appearance. I knew I wasn't wearing make-up, wasn't sure if I had combed my hair, but a quick glance in the window of the door and I thought, "I look alright. No one will care."
I got directions to the cafeteria. (This is a new school this year, and I have never been to the cafeteria.) I'm not good with directions, and I was worried that I'd end up wandering the halls. As I left the office I thankfully ran into a friend. "Hi, Connie, are you going to the cafeteria?" Teachers are smart, and she'd seen the Burger King bag.
"How are you, blah blah blah," we said as we meandered down the hall. I was ever mindful of the slow pace we were moving as we discussed holiday plans, the school vacation, etc. Dylan would be pacing by now. But I was in the home stretch.
As we walked into a cafeteria full of kids, my friend said, "Dylan usually eats down there," and she pointed right as she turned left and left me standing all alone. I looked where she had pointed, and I didn't see Dylan. I was now aware of hundreds of teenage eyes staring at me. "They wish I was THEIR mom," I thought to myself, as I smiled and kept looking. Then I saw him: the apple of my eye, my baby boy, the reason I'd braved the elements and made the trek.
He was walking toward me, and as he did, I walked toward him. The signs of joy I had expected to see were missing, and fading fast into a frown. I wasn't that late, so it couldn't be that. I had Burger King, which his text distinctly requested. What could it be, my subconcious wondered.
As he reached out to take the food, he looked at me with what can only be described as a combination of pity and disgust, and he said, "Geez, Mom...[grunt], did you have to wear such a fruity shirt?" Only then, as he grabbed the bag and turned on his heels, did I realize the gravity of the situation.
My son's MOM came into the cafeteria. She didn't drop the food at the office for delivery as she had in the past. Not only did she COME to the cafeteria, but she came wearing a bright green sweatshirt with a GIANT CHRISTMAS TREE on it. OHMIGOD. My son's mother was wearing a glittery, admittedly goofy shirt, with tinsel and bulbs, and colorful bangles hanging all over it. It is a shirt I'll readily admit is not for public consumption. It's a home day holiday shirt, something you throw on when you get up in the morning but certainly NOT something you wear to the junior high to deliver food to your son.
As I walked away I also became cognizant of my snow boots that my jeans were haphazardly tucked in, and the scarf wrapped around my neck. I now could freely admit it. I looked like I was dressed to go to Santa's workshop. What a geek.
I sulked through the office and signed out, picked up my car keys I had left there and that were already in the lost and found, and called my husband, knowing he'd help me put it in perspective.
Within minutes, we were laughing. As always, he put the positive on the story: "Look at it this way...he won't ask you to bring him lunch any more."
That is, I'm sure, very true. And you know, after all that, that's just fine with me.
This morning my 14-year old asked if I would bring him Burger King for lunch. This is a once or twice a year affair, usually during final exam week, which this is. Being the wonderful mother I am, and knowing that I had no meetings and would be home working all day and could probably use a break around noon, I agreed.
My morning went in the fashion that is typical of a successful publicist's high-powered office. It was shear chaos. From the time I got up until just before noon things were crazy. Good crazy, but crazy all the same. See, if you do your job right, putting out a press release (itself a time consuming and arduous processs of meetings, writing, editing, approvals, and pitching) is just the first part of the work. The money work comes when editors call, reporters e-mail, interviews are needed, and everyone is on deadline. Thus went my morning. Great hit with a major target newspaper, interviews happened yesterday, photos are happening today. All is well. But busy.
At precisely 12:20 I grabbed my keys, my wallet and my phone and headed to Burger King with an ETA at the junior high mandated as 12:55. My son had taken it upon himself to remind me of my task around an hour earlier. That's something he's learned to do since he knows how crazy my office can be. In his text he gave me his order: "Quad stacker, no sauce, add ketchup and mustard, large fries, large Coke." Even though it's the same order he's had since he graduated from "Double cheeseburger no pickle," he at least knows enough about me to feel a refresher course is necessary.
No sooner had I got on the road than I realized the roads were slick. Black ice here in Texas, especially over bridges. Since I have to cross several bridges over the lake to get to town, I slowed down to a comfortable speed, knowing as I did that my schedule would be all off due to weather. That was something my 14-year old would certainly not understand.
As I made it safely into town I realized I'd forgotten about the construction, yet my target location required that I go through the major road work area. I bit my lip and knew that traffic was another reason that didn't get me any understanding from my son. I've tried that before.
Once through the traffic snarls of the construction zone, I began multi-tasking and looking for my wallet and money. Quickly I remembered that both boys requested money for lunch today -- in fact even the one who wanted Burger King had taken my last ten dollars. A quick trip through the ATM would have to occur before I could hit the fast food line. Time was ticking. 12:41. I would never make it.
After saying a little prayer, I was pleasantly surprised to find the ATM lane free from traffic, even as I looked at the line at the McDonalds nearby. "Hopefully Burger King won't have a line," I thought to myself, knowing my son would never give me any credit if the drive-through line slowed me down.
I got the cash and meandered through the parking lots to return to the main drag and my destination. Driving into the parking lot I was careful not to hit the elderly gentleman, someone's grandfather, no doubt, who was moving slowly across the lot. Even Dylan might have understood that sort of delay, but it would not have gotten me off the hook for being late.
To my surprise, after the geezer was safely out of my way and I had waited for a truck full of workers to head back to their freezing cold outdoor jobs, I found myself first in line at the drive through.
I ordered the burger exactly as texted, drove to the window and paid -- over eight bucks. Ouch. Add that to the ten dollars I gave him for lunch and he could have had steak, I thought to myself, or maybe I said it out loud. I do that sometimes.
Burger bag and drink safely in the car, I waited for traffic to clear then quickly made my way back through town, through the surprisingly free from snarls construction site, through a green light toward the school. "12:54" my car clock said. "I can't believe it" I said outloud to myself. "This has to be some sort of miracle."
I pulled into the lot at 12:55, fully expecting my phone to ring and my son to say "WHERE ARE YOU?" But no. I went into the office, spoke to the receptionist, told her what I had, and she said, to my shock and dismay, "Sign in, you can take it down there."
As I signed in I thought about the fact that I had gone straight to work this morning without much care for my appearance. I knew I wasn't wearing make-up, wasn't sure if I had combed my hair, but a quick glance in the window of the door and I thought, "I look alright. No one will care."
I got directions to the cafeteria. (This is a new school this year, and I have never been to the cafeteria.) I'm not good with directions, and I was worried that I'd end up wandering the halls. As I left the office I thankfully ran into a friend. "Hi, Connie, are you going to the cafeteria?" Teachers are smart, and she'd seen the Burger King bag.
"How are you, blah blah blah," we said as we meandered down the hall. I was ever mindful of the slow pace we were moving as we discussed holiday plans, the school vacation, etc. Dylan would be pacing by now. But I was in the home stretch.
As we walked into a cafeteria full of kids, my friend said, "Dylan usually eats down there," and she pointed right as she turned left and left me standing all alone. I looked where she had pointed, and I didn't see Dylan. I was now aware of hundreds of teenage eyes staring at me. "They wish I was THEIR mom," I thought to myself, as I smiled and kept looking. Then I saw him: the apple of my eye, my baby boy, the reason I'd braved the elements and made the trek.
He was walking toward me, and as he did, I walked toward him. The signs of joy I had expected to see were missing, and fading fast into a frown. I wasn't that late, so it couldn't be that. I had Burger King, which his text distinctly requested. What could it be, my subconcious wondered.
As he reached out to take the food, he looked at me with what can only be described as a combination of pity and disgust, and he said, "Geez, Mom...[grunt], did you have to wear such a fruity shirt?" Only then, as he grabbed the bag and turned on his heels, did I realize the gravity of the situation.
My son's MOM came into the cafeteria. She didn't drop the food at the office for delivery as she had in the past. Not only did she COME to the cafeteria, but she came wearing a bright green sweatshirt with a GIANT CHRISTMAS TREE on it. OHMIGOD. My son's mother was wearing a glittery, admittedly goofy shirt, with tinsel and bulbs, and colorful bangles hanging all over it. It is a shirt I'll readily admit is not for public consumption. It's a home day holiday shirt, something you throw on when you get up in the morning but certainly NOT something you wear to the junior high to deliver food to your son.
As I walked away I also became cognizant of my snow boots that my jeans were haphazardly tucked in, and the scarf wrapped around my neck. I now could freely admit it. I looked like I was dressed to go to Santa's workshop. What a geek.
I sulked through the office and signed out, picked up my car keys I had left there and that were already in the lost and found, and called my husband, knowing he'd help me put it in perspective.
Within minutes, we were laughing. As always, he put the positive on the story: "Look at it this way...he won't ask you to bring him lunch any more."
That is, I'm sure, very true. And you know, after all that, that's just fine with me.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Proud to be an American?
I used to be proud to be an American. I even made a conscientious effort to buy an American car the last time around. In fact, my husband and I have bought four Fords in the last five years -- three of them brand new cars. They have been great cars, so I have to disagree with the ad shown at left in one respect. I would change the headline to "You wouldn't buy our overpriced cars."
Now I bought American after years of driving expensive imports, including Saabs and Beemers. In all honesty, our decision to switch to American cars had less to do with the fact that they were American than with the fact that we live in the boonies and have a nice Ford dealership here. I used to drive a BMW sedan, but every time something went wrong -- and it was frequently -- I had to drive it to Dallas for servicing or sit and listen to some grease monkey tell me why I should buy a Ford. With my BMW, every time something went wrong it was $1500 -- minimum. So we bought Fords.
First my husband bought a small commuter car - a ZX2. It was "cute." I think I told him it was cute one time too many, so he traded it for a Mustang. The Mustang still gets good mileage, but it looks a little less "cute" and a little more "cool." It's not fancy, but it's paid for. Out of necessity for hauling kids and sports gear, I bought an SUV. Initially I bought a Ford Escape. It was brand new, and it was pretty, but it was pricey, and there was something not quite right with the size. The engine was way too fast for the size of the car, and I never felt safe in it. When I'd step on the gas, that thing would go, with the rear end fishtailing onto the highway. Within a few months I was back at the dealership asking to trade. I traded "up" to a Explorer. It has an even bigger engine, but it's a much heavier car, and I have really liked this car. It holds seven people comfortably, has a rack on the top for our luggage, the two boys can spread out on road trips, and it is hefty enough to pull our boat. It's been a great car -- for more than 180,000 miles.
I understand why American car manufacturers are in trouble though. It's not so much about the cars they make, at least not the American cars I have experience with. It's about the way you are treated at car dealerships. Through the years, and before we moved to this small town where there is a really good dealership, I had learned to avoid that car buying experience like the plague.
If you go in to trade a car, they rip you off and give you far less than the car is worth. When you're caught up in the car buying experience, you don't really notice, but most people have buyer's remorse the day after they've made the trade.
If you trade in a car that you still owe money on, they are happy to roll the balance into your new car loan. That way you start out with a new car that you owe more on than it's worth, not to mention the fact that the second you drive it off the lot, it becomes a used car and is worth far less than you paid for it.
My most recent dealings with car dealerships have come while shopping for a car for my teenage son. I'm no fool. I know that no teenager needs a new car, so I've done some shopping around. I have shopped online, on ebay, and I've shopped in person at dealerships. I am not going to make payments on a car for a kid, but no matter what you go in for, the guys on the car lot always want to sell you something else. If you want to find something for $5000, they show you something for $15000. If you decide you're willing to pay $10,000, they want you to buy a new car for $23,000.
This process has been so frustrating that I finally gave up. In fact I won't go near a car dealership, except for service. Service at a dealership is great. But apparently fewer people are having their cars serviced regularly, so those of us who do go in are footing the bill. We get upsold all sorts of things that we probably need but didn't go in for in the first place.
I've gone in for a simple oil change ($30) and spent $500 on all sorts of maintenance they said I needed. I've gone in for a tire rotation and been scared silly by mechanics who tell me I'm just miles away from a major blow out that could result in the end of my life, so I've bought new tires. I've also gone in for a simple servicing and spent WAY TOO LONG in the waiting room. The last time I went to my local dealership, I was there three hours. THREE HOURS! As much as I love those guys, there were people coming and going while I sat and sat, probably while they looked for something else to fix on my car. After the second hour, that got old.
So if people don't want to buy cars from car dealers, and they don't want to get their cars serviced at the dealers, the dealers are going to hurt. If the dealers hurt, the manufacturers hurt. If the manufacturers hurt, the auto workers hurt, and if the auto workers hurt, we're told, everyone suffers and the economy goes into a tailspin.
I don't necessarily buy it. I think if the car dealers were honest, and the service people were efficient, the general public wouldn't avoid buying cars or having them serviced.
I think the biggest problem is the price, which is caused by the unions. The union guys make $60- $80 an hour, and a lot of them don't do anything physically demanding or that requires a brain. Yet because it's the UAW, they have power. They are the cause of the high prices on American cars and the lack of competiveness for U.S. auto makers. They are the cause of making cars cost so much that the average citizen has had to go far into debt beyond what he or she could afford to buy a car to get him or her to that job where he or she doesn't make enough money to make the payment.
When combined with the unscrupulous banks that have let those people buy those expensive cars (and homes) in the first place, it's just one big circular mess. Is it an easy fix? No! Is it because American cars aren't made well? No.
I think it boils down to greed. Greed at the top of the auto companies and absolutely at the banks, greed at the union level, greed at the dealership level, and even greed at the consumer level.
Proud to be an American? Not really. But if I can ever afford to buy an American car again, I will. I have had good experience with the quality. It's the price and now the financing I have a problem with.
I do not want our government giving the auto makers federal money -- our money. They have received enough of it, and they have frittered it away. Let the auto workers lose their jobs. Let the execs at those companies lose their jobs and their golden parachutes. Let the bank executives lose their jobs. Then maybe they'll have to work for a living like the rest of us.
Now I bought American after years of driving expensive imports, including Saabs and Beemers. In all honesty, our decision to switch to American cars had less to do with the fact that they were American than with the fact that we live in the boonies and have a nice Ford dealership here. I used to drive a BMW sedan, but every time something went wrong -- and it was frequently -- I had to drive it to Dallas for servicing or sit and listen to some grease monkey tell me why I should buy a Ford. With my BMW, every time something went wrong it was $1500 -- minimum. So we bought Fords.
First my husband bought a small commuter car - a ZX2. It was "cute." I think I told him it was cute one time too many, so he traded it for a Mustang. The Mustang still gets good mileage, but it looks a little less "cute" and a little more "cool." It's not fancy, but it's paid for. Out of necessity for hauling kids and sports gear, I bought an SUV. Initially I bought a Ford Escape. It was brand new, and it was pretty, but it was pricey, and there was something not quite right with the size. The engine was way too fast for the size of the car, and I never felt safe in it. When I'd step on the gas, that thing would go, with the rear end fishtailing onto the highway. Within a few months I was back at the dealership asking to trade. I traded "up" to a Explorer. It has an even bigger engine, but it's a much heavier car, and I have really liked this car. It holds seven people comfortably, has a rack on the top for our luggage, the two boys can spread out on road trips, and it is hefty enough to pull our boat. It's been a great car -- for more than 180,000 miles.
I understand why American car manufacturers are in trouble though. It's not so much about the cars they make, at least not the American cars I have experience with. It's about the way you are treated at car dealerships. Through the years, and before we moved to this small town where there is a really good dealership, I had learned to avoid that car buying experience like the plague.
If you go in to trade a car, they rip you off and give you far less than the car is worth. When you're caught up in the car buying experience, you don't really notice, but most people have buyer's remorse the day after they've made the trade.
If you trade in a car that you still owe money on, they are happy to roll the balance into your new car loan. That way you start out with a new car that you owe more on than it's worth, not to mention the fact that the second you drive it off the lot, it becomes a used car and is worth far less than you paid for it.
My most recent dealings with car dealerships have come while shopping for a car for my teenage son. I'm no fool. I know that no teenager needs a new car, so I've done some shopping around. I have shopped online, on ebay, and I've shopped in person at dealerships. I am not going to make payments on a car for a kid, but no matter what you go in for, the guys on the car lot always want to sell you something else. If you want to find something for $5000, they show you something for $15000. If you decide you're willing to pay $10,000, they want you to buy a new car for $23,000.
This process has been so frustrating that I finally gave up. In fact I won't go near a car dealership, except for service. Service at a dealership is great. But apparently fewer people are having their cars serviced regularly, so those of us who do go in are footing the bill. We get upsold all sorts of things that we probably need but didn't go in for in the first place.
I've gone in for a simple oil change ($30) and spent $500 on all sorts of maintenance they said I needed. I've gone in for a tire rotation and been scared silly by mechanics who tell me I'm just miles away from a major blow out that could result in the end of my life, so I've bought new tires. I've also gone in for a simple servicing and spent WAY TOO LONG in the waiting room. The last time I went to my local dealership, I was there three hours. THREE HOURS! As much as I love those guys, there were people coming and going while I sat and sat, probably while they looked for something else to fix on my car. After the second hour, that got old.
So if people don't want to buy cars from car dealers, and they don't want to get their cars serviced at the dealers, the dealers are going to hurt. If the dealers hurt, the manufacturers hurt. If the manufacturers hurt, the auto workers hurt, and if the auto workers hurt, we're told, everyone suffers and the economy goes into a tailspin.
I don't necessarily buy it. I think if the car dealers were honest, and the service people were efficient, the general public wouldn't avoid buying cars or having them serviced.
I think the biggest problem is the price, which is caused by the unions. The union guys make $60- $80 an hour, and a lot of them don't do anything physically demanding or that requires a brain. Yet because it's the UAW, they have power. They are the cause of the high prices on American cars and the lack of competiveness for U.S. auto makers. They are the cause of making cars cost so much that the average citizen has had to go far into debt beyond what he or she could afford to buy a car to get him or her to that job where he or she doesn't make enough money to make the payment.
When combined with the unscrupulous banks that have let those people buy those expensive cars (and homes) in the first place, it's just one big circular mess. Is it an easy fix? No! Is it because American cars aren't made well? No.
I think it boils down to greed. Greed at the top of the auto companies and absolutely at the banks, greed at the union level, greed at the dealership level, and even greed at the consumer level.
Proud to be an American? Not really. But if I can ever afford to buy an American car again, I will. I have had good experience with the quality. It's the price and now the financing I have a problem with.
I do not want our government giving the auto makers federal money -- our money. They have received enough of it, and they have frittered it away. Let the auto workers lose their jobs. Let the execs at those companies lose their jobs and their golden parachutes. Let the bank executives lose their jobs. Then maybe they'll have to work for a living like the rest of us.
Monday, December 1, 2008
You know you live in a small town when...
My city slicker friends always marvel at how I manage to live out in the sticks like I do. They come visit once in a while and make a big deal out of driving CLEAR out here, a whole 45 minutes from downtown Dallas. Of course, it's true, it is a whole different lifestyle. Instead of murder and mayhem in our newspapers, we get to read about the activities of the local Garden Club, Literary Club, Civic League and Chamber of Commerce. We get to read about our student athletes and prom queens and about the sermons at the gazillion churchs that dot our byways. My mother, who is very active in just about every club in town, gets her picture in the paper quite frequently. But this past week we all had a good laugh at the "news" when we opened the local paper. To the right is the big news item about my mother, Ruth Boswell, winning a pair of pruning shears at the local garden club meeting. Now this is something you won't find in the Dallas Morning News.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Incongruity
At the risk of turning away some avid readers of this blog (welcome back both of you), I am going to share something very personal. If you're here because you're interested in publicity or copywriting services, please back out of this blog and back into http://www.outreachpr.com/copywriting.htm (my website) for a visit to my portfolio. Otherwise, get ready for something a bit .... out there.
If you're still here, remember, I warned you. This is personal.
I believe in God, and as such I pray. I took to reading the bible a few years ago, and I have learned a lot. At this point I know I have read the entire bible at least a couple of times in my life. I go to church in spurts. I've been in an off-spurt for about six months, maybe a year. Before that I was in an on-spurt for a year or so. That's sort of the longest on-spurt of my life, but it was significant.
Anyway, what I do know is that since I turned over all my troubles and concerns to God, I've been much more at peace. When you have the weight of the world on your shoulders and you're trying to make ends meet, achieve your client objectives to ensure continued business success, etc., it can be tough.
Before I gave my problems over to God I used to wake up in the middle of the night worried. I worried about whether a certain editor would write a story for a certain client. I worried about getting my work done and where the next work after it would come from. I worried about cashflow and paying my bills. I worried about my kids, their friends. I just worried. Things always seemed to work out, but I sure worked hard to make everything happen. Since I gave the worrying part over to God, it's a lot easier.
Now I focus on solving the problems, not worrying about them. I have more work than I can possibly do, with quality people who pay me when they say they will what they say they will. I didn't go find these people. Somehow they found me. Each and every one of them make my world somehow better. I help them promote their businesses and create awareness of their events and activities and I hope I make their lives better too.
They did not randomly find me. I asked for them in prayer, and they came. Call it coincidence, call it good karma, call it effective internet marketing and brandwidth...whatever you call it, it's happened.
What I do with what comes my way, I believe, determines what else I might be "eligible for." I am on a path to the next level. I want to achieve for my kids and for my own future. I don't have a lot of choice, so I have to just keep plowing ahead.
The other day when I was praying, I got a message. This has happened maybe twice in my life. (Or at least only twice when I've had ready access to pen and paper or that I've been paying attention to the idea of a RESPONSE to my prayer.) This particular day I was making breakfast and praying and being very positive, and I got these words. I wrote them on my white board in my office, because it was so clear it was like someone said it outloud. I didn't know what any of it meant, and it was coming so fast, I just stopped, went into the office and started writing. Here's what the words, still there, say:
"Do you see the ridiculousness of your endeavors?"
and
"One person can't do it all."
and
"Incongruous"
There's more, but that's a lot. So we'll start there.
That day, after I got the kids off to school I jumped back into my routine and ignored what I'd written on the board, a little, but it was definitely on my mind. I began to look for ridicuolousness and incongruity. Wow. Those are heavy, heavy, way heavy things. Who talks to you like that? I looked up incongruity, flipped it to the positive, and started evaluating my day based on the word "congruity." Pretty quickly, I found some, but not a lot. I saw opportunities for more.
I swiveled in my chair where back on the white board I'd written:
"Incongruity between your responsibilities and your lifestyle."
Wow. What does that mean? Which part of my lifestyle? Is it the "do everything for everyone while making enough money for the entire family" part? Hey, that fits with the previous thing: "One person can't do it all."
Other lifestyle issues: Hmmmm...this does get personal and although I never think about how my choices are "bad," but maybe they are. With all the work I have to do, do I really have time to go to the hockey rink four times a week, particularly when I have a spouse who is not incapable of making two round-trips if needed every few weeks at least. Can I make all the away football games, and drive taxi to the endless junior high social calendar, feed a neighborhood full of kids at the house all the time and keep the cupboards full of snacks and the fridge of drinks? Can all the laundry be clean and my clients still be served? And can I do this on my own?
No, probably not. But which part has to go. I've been evaluating. It really doesn't have to go away if I share the work. I've spent a lifetime meeting people who do what I do, but I've met very few -- maybe five -- that I would hire, and most of them are so good they're as busy or busier than I. There are another two that I would consider partnering with. Maybe three. Am I ready to give up the lifestyle and drive to the city? Do we need to change the way we get everything done so that I can have someone share the burdens and responsibility?
Also on the white board I see, from that same day:
"New Ideas"
"Seize"
"Leverage"
The day I wrote those,I remember, it was if the words were going straight from somewhere else through my arm to my brain...What the?!?!?
For the last week, with this pretty amazing conversation and documentation in mind, I've been evaluating my activities with more clarity. I've gone back and asked for focus, and I have received some, but I have a lot to figure out myself, as well.
I have been focusing on my responsibilities and evaluating my time management based on everything -- ridiculousness of the endeavor, who can help me do it (or if I can do it myself), my lifestyle, including how much sleep I try to operate without, my not infrequent evening or weekend escapes into a glass of wine (that can become a few and there goes the productivity or the interest in making dinner) and my personal need for either stimulation, focus or perhaps even medication to keep me going on the productive path. (I am one of the few unmedicated people I know. Is that in itself a problem? What is God's perspective on medication?)
Yep. It's all under the microscope, and it came not from my own mind, but from some mysterious voice. Perhaps that voice is in my head, but I really don't think so.
Can you take me higher? Let's go there....let's go there...The song by Creed is one of my favorites. I understand it better now.
If you need help understanding this, please don't hesitate to ask. I think that's part of what I'm supposed to do, and what I'm doing in my actions every day. Under a new microscope. It's an interesting place. I feel very honored to be getting direction from someone other than myself. It's hard to rely on me all the time.
Obviously, if you've read this far you have to understand that all of the above has caused a pretty brutal personal examination for me and for my work and for my life. My brain actually hurts, and I've honestly only gotten through the first half of this one converation. That whole second part -- the seize, leverage, new ideas thing is still out there. By nature I am not competitive or aggressive. I like to be comfortable and have worried about little else. I have passed up some of the most amazing opportunities that have honest to God dealt with superstars and incredible worlds well beyond my own existence. I didn't seize then and probably should have. I need to prepare to seize now. Times are going to get tough, so it's time to win the game.
First I have to master this universe.
I think my goal this week is to identify sources of help. If you're reading this and you're one of those, don't hesitate to let me know.
If you're still here, remember, I warned you. This is personal.
I believe in God, and as such I pray. I took to reading the bible a few years ago, and I have learned a lot. At this point I know I have read the entire bible at least a couple of times in my life. I go to church in spurts. I've been in an off-spurt for about six months, maybe a year. Before that I was in an on-spurt for a year or so. That's sort of the longest on-spurt of my life, but it was significant.
Anyway, what I do know is that since I turned over all my troubles and concerns to God, I've been much more at peace. When you have the weight of the world on your shoulders and you're trying to make ends meet, achieve your client objectives to ensure continued business success, etc., it can be tough.
Before I gave my problems over to God I used to wake up in the middle of the night worried. I worried about whether a certain editor would write a story for a certain client. I worried about getting my work done and where the next work after it would come from. I worried about cashflow and paying my bills. I worried about my kids, their friends. I just worried. Things always seemed to work out, but I sure worked hard to make everything happen. Since I gave the worrying part over to God, it's a lot easier.
Now I focus on solving the problems, not worrying about them. I have more work than I can possibly do, with quality people who pay me when they say they will what they say they will. I didn't go find these people. Somehow they found me. Each and every one of them make my world somehow better. I help them promote their businesses and create awareness of their events and activities and I hope I make their lives better too.
They did not randomly find me. I asked for them in prayer, and they came. Call it coincidence, call it good karma, call it effective internet marketing and brandwidth...whatever you call it, it's happened.
What I do with what comes my way, I believe, determines what else I might be "eligible for." I am on a path to the next level. I want to achieve for my kids and for my own future. I don't have a lot of choice, so I have to just keep plowing ahead.
The other day when I was praying, I got a message. This has happened maybe twice in my life. (Or at least only twice when I've had ready access to pen and paper or that I've been paying attention to the idea of a RESPONSE to my prayer.) This particular day I was making breakfast and praying and being very positive, and I got these words. I wrote them on my white board in my office, because it was so clear it was like someone said it outloud. I didn't know what any of it meant, and it was coming so fast, I just stopped, went into the office and started writing. Here's what the words, still there, say:
"Do you see the ridiculousness of your endeavors?"
and
"One person can't do it all."
and
"Incongruous"
There's more, but that's a lot. So we'll start there.
That day, after I got the kids off to school I jumped back into my routine and ignored what I'd written on the board, a little, but it was definitely on my mind. I began to look for ridicuolousness and incongruity. Wow. Those are heavy, heavy, way heavy things. Who talks to you like that? I looked up incongruity, flipped it to the positive, and started evaluating my day based on the word "congruity." Pretty quickly, I found some, but not a lot. I saw opportunities for more.
I swiveled in my chair where back on the white board I'd written:
"Incongruity between your responsibilities and your lifestyle."
Wow. What does that mean? Which part of my lifestyle? Is it the "do everything for everyone while making enough money for the entire family" part? Hey, that fits with the previous thing: "One person can't do it all."
Other lifestyle issues: Hmmmm...this does get personal and although I never think about how my choices are "bad," but maybe they are. With all the work I have to do, do I really have time to go to the hockey rink four times a week, particularly when I have a spouse who is not incapable of making two round-trips if needed every few weeks at least. Can I make all the away football games, and drive taxi to the endless junior high social calendar, feed a neighborhood full of kids at the house all the time and keep the cupboards full of snacks and the fridge of drinks? Can all the laundry be clean and my clients still be served? And can I do this on my own?
No, probably not. But which part has to go. I've been evaluating. It really doesn't have to go away if I share the work. I've spent a lifetime meeting people who do what I do, but I've met very few -- maybe five -- that I would hire, and most of them are so good they're as busy or busier than I. There are another two that I would consider partnering with. Maybe three. Am I ready to give up the lifestyle and drive to the city? Do we need to change the way we get everything done so that I can have someone share the burdens and responsibility?
Also on the white board I see, from that same day:
"New Ideas"
"Seize"
"Leverage"
The day I wrote those,I remember, it was if the words were going straight from somewhere else through my arm to my brain...What the?!?!?
For the last week, with this pretty amazing conversation and documentation in mind, I've been evaluating my activities with more clarity. I've gone back and asked for focus, and I have received some, but I have a lot to figure out myself, as well.
I have been focusing on my responsibilities and evaluating my time management based on everything -- ridiculousness of the endeavor, who can help me do it (or if I can do it myself), my lifestyle, including how much sleep I try to operate without, my not infrequent evening or weekend escapes into a glass of wine (that can become a few and there goes the productivity or the interest in making dinner) and my personal need for either stimulation, focus or perhaps even medication to keep me going on the productive path. (I am one of the few unmedicated people I know. Is that in itself a problem? What is God's perspective on medication?)
Yep. It's all under the microscope, and it came not from my own mind, but from some mysterious voice. Perhaps that voice is in my head, but I really don't think so.
Can you take me higher? Let's go there....let's go there...The song by Creed is one of my favorites. I understand it better now.
If you need help understanding this, please don't hesitate to ask. I think that's part of what I'm supposed to do, and what I'm doing in my actions every day. Under a new microscope. It's an interesting place. I feel very honored to be getting direction from someone other than myself. It's hard to rely on me all the time.
Obviously, if you've read this far you have to understand that all of the above has caused a pretty brutal personal examination for me and for my work and for my life. My brain actually hurts, and I've honestly only gotten through the first half of this one converation. That whole second part -- the seize, leverage, new ideas thing is still out there. By nature I am not competitive or aggressive. I like to be comfortable and have worried about little else. I have passed up some of the most amazing opportunities that have honest to God dealt with superstars and incredible worlds well beyond my own existence. I didn't seize then and probably should have. I need to prepare to seize now. Times are going to get tough, so it's time to win the game.
First I have to master this universe.
I think my goal this week is to identify sources of help. If you're reading this and you're one of those, don't hesitate to let me know.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Far Worse than Ring Around the Collar
I grew up in the era when homemakers were proud women who took care of their families needs, cooked, cleaned, and made sure their husbands had delicious coffee to drink and "no dirty rings" around their shirt collars.
I remember my mom standing in our 1970s sunkin family room with the orange, black & brown shag carpet at the ironing board, ironing clothes while watching soap operas, the Watergate Hearings, and news, which when I was kid was a lot like an episode of G.I. Joe. Vietnam was raging, and every night on the news was like the opening of M.A.S.H., with helicopters whirring and young boys in fatigues running around.
My household is very different then that. My ironing board has never been in my living room, and in fact I have one that comes out of the wall in my laundry room, but I've never really used it. I send my husband's shirts to the dry cleaners or he takes care of them himself. I used to think I was pretty good at doing laundry, but after yesterday, I've decided differently.
In one fell swoop, yesterday I ruined my youngest son's entire "wardrobe." Fortunately that consists of t-shirts, but yesterday every one of his shirts ended up looking like something those guys on TV when I was a kid were wearing. Camo.
Now, how did I do that? Halloween actually did it to me. A week or two before Halloween the kids and the neighbor kids had been up in our attic digging around. They found my husband's hunting gear, which hasn't been used in at least 17 years, and adopted a pair of camo coveralls and the camo face paint for part of their Halloween festivities.
Sadly, the coveralls were in Dill's laundry, and the face paint was in the pocket of the coveralls, and I threw the whole mess in with about a dozen of his most favorite t-shirts and some other clothes. The best example of what happened is shown in the photo above.
Now I've been known to wash money, wallets, ipods, and telephones, because my children don't know how to clean out their pockets. If I'm picking laundry up off the bathroom floor, I rarely take the time to check all the pockets. You would think I would have learned, but I tend to be a slow learner when it comes to these types of chores.
Anyway, after four washings, the color still hasn't come out of most of the shirts. I plan to buy some of that OxiClean that guy screams about on TV to see if it will help, and if not, Dill will get a new "wardrobe" at Hollister this weekend.
Sometimes I wish times were different and I could focus solely on the chores of motherhood and wifedom. Instead, I have to make money every month to help keep this relatively crazy household afloat. Since I don't have what you might call a "real job," and haven't for more than a dozen years, I have to do that basically out of thin air every single month. To say that's pressure is an understatement. The fact that I'm even trying to do laundry at the same time should score me some points. But it doesn't. The kid with the ruined t-shirts (his favorites) gives me no points at all.
My neighbor who is almost 90 speaks of raising her kids and of the "help" she had. She had a full-time housekeeper and someone to tend to her four kids. She didn't work, but her husband was in the oil business and owned a company that did quite a bit of entertaining. Her job was the entertaining. She tells me that before he got home from work all the kids were scrubbed and clean, with combed hair. She had on a nice dress, make-up and pearls. Boy, is my house different than that.
When my husband gets home I'm usually still working. If it's a particularly busy day, it's quite possible I have on sweats and a make-up free face. If the kids are home, they certainly aren't scrubbed and clean either, and if it's toward the end of the week, it's rare that there are even groceries in the house, let alone dinner in the oven or on the table. The table is where the mail gets dumped, and where school books and backpacks and purses and other junk resides. I clean it off a couple times a week and we try to sit there and eat a few times every week, but most of the time we're running around to sports events, hockey practices, or I'm playing tennis. A lot of nights it's "fend for yourself" time with regard to food, or we're handing the kids money to go to town for pizza or burgers or Subway.
I gave up a while ago trying to be the perfect homemaker. Over the years I've been through spurts of having "help," and it was the best money I think I ever spent. I had a nanny when the boys were infants, and a sitter who spent the night when they were toddlers and pre-school age, back when I was in corporate and we had evening events to attend as part of my job. I have had cleaning ladies who kept my house looking spotless. But with the changes in the economy and the added expense of a son playing hockey, declining investments, and college looming on the horizon, I cut out a lot of the "extras" that I thought I could live without.
But after ruining my son's wardrobe yesterday and looking around my house, I think I need to reconsider. I need household help. I used to feel guilty being home, sitting at the computer while the cleaning ladies were working so hard, so I would leave and go work out. That made me feel even guiltier. But as I look at my mess of a house, and the ruined laundry, and the dirty dishes, I think I need to get some help once again.
Monday, October 20, 2008
How to be a hockey mom.
If you're looking for a political commentary, click away. This post is going to be a few dos and don'ts for real live hockey moms, in hopes that moms, dads, grandparents and any others involved in hockey or other sports may learn something.
Let me preface this post by saying I have not put a lot of thought into this, and I am certainly no expert. I've made my mistakes as a sports mom through the years. Perhaps there's something about hockey that attracts a specific breed. Or maybe it's the added stress the sport puts on your wallet, but a good hockey mom learns to manage that stress and deal with other issues, like when your kid doesn't get much ice time.
The number one rule of being a hockey mom: the MOM part, and the examples you set are WAY MORE important than the HOCKEY part. Here are a few specific dos and don'ts.
1. Ice time is not a birth right. It's something a hockey player earns. If you want your kid to have more ice time, it is YOUR responsibility to make sure he has the skills he needs. DO invest in plenty of practice time, camps, private lessons, whatever your kid needs. Otherwise, he will sit on the bench more than you'd like to see.
2. If you think your kid deserves more ice time, DON'T tell the coach he's stupid. That will not result in your son getting more ice time. Guaranteed.
3. DON'T leave it up to your teenage son to get to practice at 5:30 a.m. on his own. Get up and take him. If he shows up only every other time or shows up 15 minutes late or without a helmet or without all the equipment he needs, he's not going to get more ice time.
4. DO understand that although you can buy your way on to a team, there is no guarantee your kid will play as much as you want or even as much as the other kids on the team.
5. If you want your kid to play, DO take him to open hockey, drop-in hockey, private lessons, camps, spring training, buy him a net and a shooting pad, encourage him to practice. Support him by helping him get better. The better your kid is, the more time he'll play.
6. DO NOT isolate yourself from the other parents. If we don't know who you are, you don't bring your kid to practice or you don't come to the games, we can't tell you about all the opportunities for your son to get private lessons, open hockey, drop-in hockey, and more practice time, etc., etc.
7. DO come to practice. This is where you see exactly where your kid's skills stand up to other kids. It's where it becomes blindingly obvious whether or not your kid has what it takes or doesn't. If he doesn't, get him some more practice, camps, private lessons, put him on a second or even a third team to get the ice time. If you aren't willing to do some of this, or you really can't afford it, save your money and pull him off the ice altogether.
8. DON'T let your kid get involved in hockey unless you are ready to make some sacrifices yourself. Hockey is more than writing checks. It's spending time with your kid in the car on the way to practice, and before and after games. It's talking about what went right and wrong, about the other kids he's spending time with, about what camps, extra ice time, and additional practice he might need or about how much he's improved and how proud you are of him.
9. Hockey gives you great opportunities to talk about real life lessons like anger management, fairness, safety, nutrition, hygiene...even the importance of good grades. It's an opportunity to forge a bond with your kid that you will never regret. It's certainly worth a little lost sleep and the time it takes.
10. Finally, if you have something to say to the coach, do it in private. Do it calmly. Don't stand in the middle of the rink lobby and start pointing your finger and screaming. Calmly make an appointment to talk to the coach. Hockey coaches are great people. They know more about your kid and his ability to play hockey than you do. They don't mince words, they will tell you exactly why your kid doesn't get ice time. Coaches are about more than winning, they like to develop players. They like to see kids improve. Yelling at the coach won't buy your kid any favors.
That's it. I'm sure there's more. Like I said, I'm no expert. But in the four or five years I've been involved in hockey I've learned a few things. It can be a great sport, or it can be an agonizing sport. As with everything in life, you get out what you put in.
Let me preface this post by saying I have not put a lot of thought into this, and I am certainly no expert. I've made my mistakes as a sports mom through the years. Perhaps there's something about hockey that attracts a specific breed. Or maybe it's the added stress the sport puts on your wallet, but a good hockey mom learns to manage that stress and deal with other issues, like when your kid doesn't get much ice time.
The number one rule of being a hockey mom: the MOM part, and the examples you set are WAY MORE important than the HOCKEY part. Here are a few specific dos and don'ts.
1. Ice time is not a birth right. It's something a hockey player earns. If you want your kid to have more ice time, it is YOUR responsibility to make sure he has the skills he needs. DO invest in plenty of practice time, camps, private lessons, whatever your kid needs. Otherwise, he will sit on the bench more than you'd like to see.
2. If you think your kid deserves more ice time, DON'T tell the coach he's stupid. That will not result in your son getting more ice time. Guaranteed.
3. DON'T leave it up to your teenage son to get to practice at 5:30 a.m. on his own. Get up and take him. If he shows up only every other time or shows up 15 minutes late or without a helmet or without all the equipment he needs, he's not going to get more ice time.
4. DO understand that although you can buy your way on to a team, there is no guarantee your kid will play as much as you want or even as much as the other kids on the team.
5. If you want your kid to play, DO take him to open hockey, drop-in hockey, private lessons, camps, spring training, buy him a net and a shooting pad, encourage him to practice. Support him by helping him get better. The better your kid is, the more time he'll play.
6. DO NOT isolate yourself from the other parents. If we don't know who you are, you don't bring your kid to practice or you don't come to the games, we can't tell you about all the opportunities for your son to get private lessons, open hockey, drop-in hockey, and more practice time, etc., etc.
7. DO come to practice. This is where you see exactly where your kid's skills stand up to other kids. It's where it becomes blindingly obvious whether or not your kid has what it takes or doesn't. If he doesn't, get him some more practice, camps, private lessons, put him on a second or even a third team to get the ice time. If you aren't willing to do some of this, or you really can't afford it, save your money and pull him off the ice altogether.
8. DON'T let your kid get involved in hockey unless you are ready to make some sacrifices yourself. Hockey is more than writing checks. It's spending time with your kid in the car on the way to practice, and before and after games. It's talking about what went right and wrong, about the other kids he's spending time with, about what camps, extra ice time, and additional practice he might need or about how much he's improved and how proud you are of him.
9. Hockey gives you great opportunities to talk about real life lessons like anger management, fairness, safety, nutrition, hygiene...even the importance of good grades. It's an opportunity to forge a bond with your kid that you will never regret. It's certainly worth a little lost sleep and the time it takes.
10. Finally, if you have something to say to the coach, do it in private. Do it calmly. Don't stand in the middle of the rink lobby and start pointing your finger and screaming. Calmly make an appointment to talk to the coach. Hockey coaches are great people. They know more about your kid and his ability to play hockey than you do. They don't mince words, they will tell you exactly why your kid doesn't get ice time. Coaches are about more than winning, they like to develop players. They like to see kids improve. Yelling at the coach won't buy your kid any favors.
That's it. I'm sure there's more. Like I said, I'm no expert. But in the four or five years I've been involved in hockey I've learned a few things. It can be a great sport, or it can be an agonizing sport. As with everything in life, you get out what you put in.
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