But my husband and I had some ideas on how to improve the
sports program. We quietly set up a meeting and amicably presented them. At no
point (and I want to be very, very clear about this) did we discuss playing time
or whether or not a child deserved to make a team; also, the meetings weren’t about
our boys, but about all the students. At those meetings we presented some ideas
concerning oversight of the sports program, accountability for coaches’
behaviors; a more standardized method for conducting tryouts; and ways to better
promote inclusion for our young athletes. Ultimately, we felt our school’s theme
of a Christ-centered atmosphere was
not represented in our sports program – not by a long shot – and some changes
needed to be made.
So two meetings, with two different past administrations (again,
to be clear, the meetings weren’t with our current administration) and what
happened? Absolutely nothing.
Oh, we could have pursued it further. We could have gone to
the school board, or presented it at a PTO meeting, but at the end of the day
my husband and I looked at each other and realized: It’s just sports, for God’s sake. It’s a game with a
ball. In the grand scheme of things, none of it matters. Middle school (and
high school) is a blip on life’s radar. A blip.
So we let it go. Our two oldest sons had some great seasons,
and some not so great ones. They made most teams, but not all of them. Middle
school ended, and high school meant new challenges and issues: a football coach
who told one son that he wasn’t necessarily needed on the team; a son who made
the basketball team one year, but the following year was pushed aside for
players who never participated in tryouts or any of the pre-season practices;
coaches who saved spots for players still involved in other sports, thereby
ignoring those present and willing to play. Yes, there were issues, but we
dealt with them at home, as a family, as best we could.
Then this past week a friend shared on Facebook her helplessness
in dealing with her daughter’s tears due to a team sports situation, and even
though we have moved on (at least until our little guy is old enough to start
playing for the school) I felt compelled to comment; in fact, there were comments
from many people, most of whom were sharing honest, personal, and sometimes painful
experiences. The comments were not accusatory, but empathetic in nature. Most
importantly, they were encouraging dialogue.
That is, there was dialogue up until the point someone
expressed how they were offended by both the original post and the ensuing
comments and, just like that, no more dialogue.
Whoa. Refer to the last couple of sentences in Paragraph
One.
Offended? How, how
was this person offended? The comments weren’t about their pain; the comments weren’t their stories. Was this person offended by honesty? Offended
because we were openly talking about problems in our sports program, something
which most people only whisper about? Did this person think we should be going
through the channels instead of commenting on Facebook? (Well, refer to
Paragraph Two above. Been there, done that. Twice.)
Or maybe it’s because they thought we were complaining about
our school.
Look. My husband and I live in a great county in which there
are a number of great public schools a short bus ride away. We don’t have to send our boys to a Catholic
school. But we choose to do so, and the fact we are still there shows that we
love our school. We support it. We promote it. But that doesn’t mean it’s
perfect, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. Too often I have heard people
say, “It’s a great school; it’s not perfect, but …”
And they leave it at that. An unfinished sentence.
But what? It’s not perfect, but we just ignore that
un-perfect part? But we choose not to acknowledge certain issues? But it’s not
happening to me so it’s not important?
It’s not perfect, but we don’t care?
I recently watched Out
of Africa, and toward the end of the movie Meryl Streep’s character has
lost everything: her farm, her house, and her way of life. Before she returns to
her native Denmark, she is determined to find a place for a tribe of South
Africans who have been living on her land for generations. She appeals to her
neighbors, her friends, and even government officials for help, but they are
all embarrassed about her situation. They are offended because she is intruding in their perfect world with her
oh-so-imperfect problems.
Well, there is so much that is imperfect in our perfect
world.
Ever since his election Pope Francis has said that he prefers
a Church which is bruised and dirty from having been out on the streets; that
we need to come out of our comfort zones – leave our schools, churches and
homes – and go out to confront illness, poverty, ignorance, injustice, prejudice,
pain … all those elements of humanity which are messy. All those things which make
people not experiencing them, uncomfortable. Offended, even.
But how – from the comforts of our schools, our churches and
our homes – can we address all these things? It’s not so hard; as with most
things, it begins by standing on what is good, opening our eyes to the not so
good, and making changes right here in our schools, our churches and our homes.
And during the process – by making it about others and not about us – in big
matters and in small, in political arenas and in sporting ones, the good has
the potential to become even better.
So, fill in the blank with whatever is your circumstance
(school, church, home, family, government) and finish the sentence: It’s a great school; it’s not
perfect, but … but there’s room for improvement; but we are addressing the
issues; but we are making some changes; but we are learning, forgiving, trying.
Finish the sentence. And it starts from there.
