Liberation Through Thought

Soccer tryouts began as it always does. I entered the gym of the club, offering a few hello's and how are you's to my players. They were scattered around the gym, waiting for Coach. Some were chatting as they aimlessly waited for the signal to begin. Others were kicking soccer balls back and forth. This is my third year coaching and I am loving every moment. How can you not enjoy middle and high school kids? They have such interesting and diverse personalities. I put my phone on vibrate and placed it on the top bleacher, out of harms way. Grabbing my paper pad and pen, I turned with the intention of gathering these incredible kids together to begin practice. That notion vanished when I laid eyes on the 17-year-old boy convulsing on the gym floor. Kids can be kids. For one fleeting moment "practical joke" entered my mind. It was wiped clean by the terror and confusion on the faces of my players. No. Please don't let this be real. I quickly moved to his side, n...

     I asked my mom about her reading life. I wanted to know if she really was reading as fast as I thought she was all those years. I wanted to know if she really absorbed what she was reading, or if she was using warp speed as I had been. Had her reading speed changed over the years? She told me when she was in the fourth grade (it was a split fourth/fifth grade class) they had speed reading tests. They read a book very fast and had to answer comprehension questions. They were trying to teach her to pick out words in the sentences without having to read the whole thing – just being able to get the gist of it and still answer the questions correctly. Even now, she says she understands everything about the story. If something is really boring in the story, she will speed read it very quickly; glancing at each line and picking out the pertinent information, and then move on. “I think you have to have the capability to read the sentence, and if you don't know the wor...

The Chair Today my mom said, "Let's cut your hair!" I looked at her from beneath my shaggy mop and decreed quietly, "I'm outta here." No luck I'm afraid for she dragged me by my ratty, red t-shirt to THE CHAIR. "This is so not fair," I mumbled miserably. On goes the old, stained sheet, which has seen one too many cuttings. It will resemble a ghost costume by the time she's done. "Chin up, keep your head straight," she quips light- heartedly, "let's not procrastinate." She just doesn't understand my dilemma, I quietly fume, as she came back into the room with those glinting sheers in hand. Snip, snip, say the silver knives as they rid my follicles of (I was sure) more than split ends. I dread the thought of a new picture; to family members she will surely send. Grumpy and growly I fold my arms across my chest, slouch in THE CHAIR with the worst scowl; my best. ...

A keyhole glimpse about a woman whose heart has been cracked too many times, her soul shattered and crushed beneath the wheels of life. She has suffered so long she is unaware of the decay. She has lost herself in the debris. Others have said, "God is only making you stronger". She has prayed often for God to stop making her so strong. The true mark of unhappiness can only be seen in the depths of a soul. One can glimpse it on the surface; preening itself for others to see in shadows of tears gliding down a pale cheek. Shocked by it in the eyes of a morose woman whose breath has been stolen by the incomprehensible suffocation threatening the very life she leads. Enamored by the destruction it causes; comparable to the raging wars around the world. Of this unhappiness births a virtue she adopts like a child. She expresses a view of chastity, locking all her heart's doors in fear of the world beyond. She no longer entertains the meaning of love, nor the mere concept of...

This year, I have not gone to school on the weekends as much simply because of the 25 minute drive one way. However, in the past month, I have needed to pop in to work on paperwork for case conferences. I invite my brothers along because they enjoy being able to get on the computers and play (at our parents house there is only dial up - not cool they say) and let's face it: this is brothers and sister spending time together even if their eyes are glued to the screens. This past Saturday, I brought my youngest brother, Blake with me. He's (sad I have to think about this) 15 years old, a freshman in high school. He has such a huge personality it is no wonder that he never gets bored. He can entertain himself. I love being around him because he reminds me to open up, to let go, to have fun. The following is the culmination of our day spent at my school. The kid is my hero. Sometimes you have to allow your brother to entertain you. You never know what kind of evidence you...

Time Piece Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The distinctive rhythm of the time keeper. The soothing rhythm a young child listens to when she sleeps in her mother's old room at Grandma's house. The deafening rhythm in the hospital room as a family quietly grieves for their loss. The annoying rhythm of a count down, adding pressure and anxiety to those watching the minutes and seconds diminish. The exciting rhythm as a child anticipates the return of his father from a long business trip. The energetic rhythm as people rush to and fro in their busy lives. The slow rhythm as children anxiously wait for delicious treats to finish baking. The procrastinating rhythm to a boy watching in trepidation for his bobber to 'go under'. The never-ending rhythm to a boy and girl asking again "Are we there yet?". Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The distinctive rhythm of the time keeper.

With every change of season people look, expect and hope for signs. Spring may well be the most anticipated season. The hope a furry and rather unreliable and unpredictable creature won't extend the winter season another six weeks. The anticipation of minute bulbs popping up and bursting open like the acne of nature's face. Those first, precious bulbs create a stir in people's souls - the need for warmth. The expectation of 'nicer' weather. For me, it is the first rain married with a temperature close to sixty degrees that causes the stir. Walking my dogs Thursday night around 8:30 pm I noticed a peculiar wetness to the air molecules bombarding my face. Could it be? Enlisting my other senses, I wanted to be sure I wasn't fantasizing. Sure enough, I could smell nature's odor. That particular earthy scent enveloping everything. Like a teenage boy who has just begun to play or exercise - an almost musky fragrance wrapped cleverly in sweetness. The stony we...