Playing Offense - dedicated to my dear friend Susie Garry Weber

Years ago, when I was an English teacher, I was introduced to the phrase “bean counter.”  I had absolutely no idea what it meant.  I had gone into the principal’s office to voice a concern.  He responded with the phrase, “Well, Kim, there are a lot of bean counters in the world, and you just have to acknowledge and accept that.”  I had absolutely no idea what that meant.  I called my dad.

Back up 15 years from that moment.  It is junior high basketball.  I am tall, so it allows me a ticket to the court.  I played the center position from the first time I walked on the court until the last.  Let’s just say, at some point I realized that 5’ 9” is not an advantage of a center. In the meantime, I am burning up hormones on the court. 

So, we are at the end of the Jr. High season.  I am home, making dinner and setting the table.  Dad says, “How’s basketball Tootse.”  I offer the general middle school banality. However, at our dinner table, I  decided to poll the audience about my latest lack of denotative skills.

Me:  Do any of you know what defense or offense means?

Dad: What do you mean?

Me: Well, the coach uses those words a lot. 

Dad: Yeah?

Me: I don’t know what he means?

Dad: What do you mean, you don’t know what he means?

Me: Well, he yells, “Play defense,” and everyone else seems to know what it means, but I don’t.

My dad (and brother but that was kind of normal) just looked at me – speechless.  I knew what I suppose to do when I had the ball, and I knew what I was suppose to do when I didn’t.  Who knew it had names?  Obviously, everyone but me.

About 2 months ago, I was sitting with my father at chemo. I rarely missed a chemo appointment as it was time with dad where I got to watch him do what he did best - make others feel better.  As I perused my email on my laptop, I got white.  An ongoing issue that has been causing me undo stress had risen its ugly head again that morning. 

I never talked to dad about issues that dealt with conflict. Some of it was because as a kid, any conflict I had usually was at school.  If the conflict was with a teacher, the response from dad was, “You fix it, or I will.  You are not going to like how I fix it.”  That meant that the teacher was always right, and I needed to suck it up and make it right.  If the conflict was with another student dad would say, “First, you are not nearly as important as you think you are.  There is no way they are giving this as much thought and energy as you are.”  If he actually saw evidence of unfair treatment he would point out, “Well, if they pick on you, they are leaving someone else alone. Toughen up.”

So, here I am with mean kids again.  That is a lesson that I have learned over the years. No matter if you are 9, 19 or 49, there will always be mean kids.  I look over at dad and decide to have him read the email. I brace for the advice. 

“Quit playing defense.  Grab the ball, control the game and play smart offense” was all he said. This time I understood the terms clearly.