It might have appeared to go unnoticed, but I’ve got it all here in my heart.

This is a repeat from my old blog, a post I called “The Secret Hero.”  Just thought it beared repeating:

Last weekend, I heard a true story that floored me. Positively floored me.

About forty years ago, a man moved his wife and newborn son back to the tiny town in southwestern Wisconsin where he and his wife had grown up so he could teach math at his former high school and coach the football team he’d once played on. The man coached the team the way he had been coached: rigorous drills, hours of practice, and an almost unrelenting sense of discipline. One year, the combination of his coaching and a particularly talented team resulted in the school making it to the state championship playoffs for the first time in the tiny town’s history. Needless to say, the town buzzed with excitement and the coach and team were viewed by many as heroes of sorts.

But despite the fact that this particular team had the talent to win their games, the coach knew they had discipline problems. Even though he was only a few years removed from the team, he found that this bunch of players hadn’t acquired the same level of respect and discipline as had been pounded into him once upon a time. Many of the players were flagrantly disobedient, ignoring coach-imposed curfews and other school rules that, if violated, should have made them ineligible to play. One night, just days before the playoffs, the coach caught a majority of his team out drinking after curfew. He gave them a choice: go home now and he’d forget this happened or face the consequences. They laughed at him. The next day, the coach suspended those players from the team and without enough players, the team was forced to withdraw from the playoffs.

This decision was not a popular one. Parents called the school, outraged. Students leered at the coach in the halls. This was, as I keep saying, a tiny town and making it this far to the championship was a rare, rare occurrence. Many called for leniency out of consideration for this fact alone. The coach stood his ground. The players had violated the rules and were now paying the price. Eventually, the administration got involved, asking the coach to come in for a meeting to discuss the situation. The coach told them: “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m not budging. And I’m not coming in for a meeting so you can fire me. Let me save you the trouble: I quit.”

And he walked away. Eventually moved his family north and took up teaching at a tech college. I don’t know how the story ended for the town. I don’t know if the administration eventually reinstated the players and if they went to the playoffs. What I knew was that the coach stood up for what he knew was right and didn’t back down.

The story floored me for two reasons. The first reason was that it was anathema to everything I’ve ever experienced or observed in regards to high school athletics. I went to a high school where the athletes were just short of deified. Where the star wrestler (wrestling was HUGE in our town), who also happened to be the wrestling coach’s son, was beyond reproach; nothing he did academically or socially would have made him ineligible, despite the rules in the books. (He’d been held back twice. One rumor was that his father had done this so, by the time the kid got to his senior year, he’d be two years older and bigger than everyone else and pretty much unstoppable on the wrestling mat. I don’t know if I believe that. I do know that the guy was dumb as a stump so there was probably a more cogent reason he’d been held back two grades.) I think a lot of whizz-bang is made over ethics in high school sports in an attempt to make it seem like certain rules might be enforced but much of what I observed told me that many a blind eye was turned for many athletes whose conduct or academic standing should have disqualified them. So to hear about a man who actually had the guts (and remember, he was once a player on that team so he knew the importance of the playoffs) to stand up to essentially the entire town was really impressive.

The second reason the story floored me is because I found out that coach was my father. Last weekend, my parents and MyGuy^TM’s parents met for the first time over lunch and as the parents shared their various backgrounds, this story came up. I’d never heard this story. Never had a clue. I knew growing up that, for the first three years of my life, we lived in that tiny town in southwestern Wisconsin and that my father taught at the high school and coached. I even have spotted memories of the trailer home atop a hill where we lived. But in sharing stories of their younger lives with me, this particular story was one they’d never bothered to tell. I don’t know why. I think it’s amazing.

As the story came out, I turned to MyGuy^TM, a lump in my throat, and whispered, “I never knew this.” My voice said just how much I wish I’d known this longer. I’ve never had a bad relationship with my father. Despite the fact that he’s very much the alpha male, he never once pushed any of that testosterone crap on me. Never berrated me for not being a sports enthusiast. Never forced me to play sports. Always seemed to respect my decisions, even the ones he didn’t agree with. I’ve always loved and respected my father. Sure, I look down and mutter when I’m forced to admit he’s a Republican. But it’s more out of frustration than disappointment or shame.

I’d reached this saturation point where I thought I knew everything about my parents and nothing I could learn would surprise me. Finding out that my father went toe to toe with his hometown over a matter of principle shouldn’t surprise me; he’s a good man. But it did/does surprise me. I don’t think it adds any more respect (that’s probably impossible). It does, though, make me feel as though my instincts about him and the respect I feel have been truly justified.

Before we left that lunch meeting, I turned to my mother and said, “I never knew that about Dad and the football team.” Mom smiled, softly but proudly, and said, “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

This is true. Like I didn’t know how odd it is to discover a hero in plain sight.

Superman or Green Lantern ain’t got a-nothin’ on me.

I think if it took a long time for graphic novels to achieve any sort of mainstream respect in the literary world, it’s probably because comic books once had covers and dialogue like this.

Must resist compulsion to end every sentence I speak for the rest of the day with “Bzz bzz.”

Altogether ooky

Thanksgiving weekend, MyGuy^TM and I are headed to Chicago to see the pre-Broadway tryout of the new Addams Family musical, starring Nathan Lane and Bebe Neuwirth.  Vanity Fair recently unveiled the first photo of the cast in costume.

Perhaps only slightly coincidentally, the acquisitions department at work chose the Addams Family as our theme this  year. That’s me as Uncle Fester (and Thing).

It’s like looking in a mirror!

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.

Last night, I saw my 3, 483,942 community theatre production of FIDDLER ON THE ROOF. I have a notorious soft spot for this show. It’s one of the first musicals I remember being introduced to as a child.  Some of my fondest theatre memories are from the first production of it I ever did–where I played Motel.  Having seen several (million bajillon) subsequent productions, I now realize that there are several unwritten rules that apply to every community theatre mounting:

• The director will feel obligated to cast more people than can usually fit on the available stage, as though actually trying to populate a small Eastern European vililage or outnumber the audience.
• Instead of hiding the worst actor in the company in the chorus where he can do minimal damage, he will be handed the role of Reb Nachum the beggar and allowed to zombie his way through three lines.
• Motel will be played by the gayest man in a tri-county radius.
• Due to a lack of men, women will be forced into fake beards and moustaches, doubling as daughters, Russian ruffians, and priests.
• Shortly before opening, Mendel, the rabbi’s son, will realize how few lines he actually has and will overact the hell out of each of them in order to make a more memorable impact with what little stage time he’s given.
• The Fiddler will pretend to play the fiddle. Very. Badly.
• No two people will pronounce “Tzeitel” the same way. There is no guarantee that one of the many pronunciations will be correct.

 

 

You die today.

Please let this be even half as cool as the promo suggests.  PLANET OF THE DEAD was a disappointment.

 

All the little birds on Jaybird Street

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I hate Twitter.

I have an account that I use for work and I’ll admit it has its pros (as well as several large, festering cons).  But overall, I get frustrated by empty, exuberant tweets (OMG! So excited! I can’t believe it!) and people who need to tweet every second of their lives, thus filling my window with stupid shit (Just ate ice cream! Awesome!)

All that being said, my new internet addiction is to the FakeAPStylebook.  Offering regular tweets on the “correct” way to write, the FakeAPStylebook has given us these recent gems:

“Replace “situation deteriorated/worsened” with “shit [just] got real.” Ex: On day three of the hostage crisis, shit got real.”

“While it’s tempting to call them ‘baristi’ because of the Italian roots, the plural of ‘barista’ is ‘journalism majors.’”

“Use “Asian” for people, “Oriental” for objects and “Bad-Ass” for Bruce Lee.”

“Uruguayans, Poles, and residents of former British colonies must always spell out Doctor Who.” (So true.)

“The correct spelling is ‘Mr. T.’ People who type out ‘Mister’ are fools to be pitied.”

“You cannot libel the dead. You can, however, libel the undead. Vampires have powerful lawyers and hypnotism, so be careful.”

“If you start a sentence with an action, place the actor immediately after or you will anger Christian Bale.”

“”Your” and “you’re” may be used interchangeably if you are an idiot.”

 

Here’s one internet spawn I wouldn’t mind seeing get a book deal.

You’re out of control!

MyGuy^TM and I caught WHERE THE WILD THINGS are this weekend. Everything you’ve heard about it is true: from the excessively positive to the overwhelmingly negative. Yes, it’s a kids movie that’s not for kids. Yes, it’s dark and very depressing. Yes, it’s brilliant in a lot of ways.  I enjoyed it. MyGuy^TM was less enthusiastic initially.

As we discussed it later, I gave my viewpoints. Essentially, I saw this movie as an allegory for autism.  Max displays so many telltale signs of kids with this condition–quick mood swings, disproportionate emotional responses to relatively innocuous stimuli, an inability to control rambunctious behavior–and when he escapes to the island (filled with “depressed monsters,” as one friend of MyGuy^TM ’s put it), Max finds himself trying to battle these inner demons.  Maybe not quite what Sendak had in mind but he’s endorsed the movie unreservedly.  (If you really want to go dark, you could ignore the autism diagnosis and suggest that it’s early onset bipolar disorder with the monsters embodying the voices in his head. I prefer the autism theory. Although, given my theory, the whole film gets even darker given it’s tagline: There’s one in all of us.)

Maybe I’m overanalyzing, trying too hard to figure out what the filmmakers had in mind. In some ways, I think the movie is too clever for its own good. (If I were in the mood, I’d try to figure out what the hell was up with the owls, “Bob and Terri,” who fit less neatly into my interpretation of the film. I’m sure there’s a supremely symbolic layer to that segment that I’m missing but I’m not sure I have the energy to dig at it.) I think the people who hate this movie didn’t expect an arthouse kids flick and wanted a more literal interpretation of the book. Meh.

All in all, I liked it more than I thought I was going to. The irony is that MyGuy^TM was super pumped for this based on the previews while the previews did nothing to convince me I wanted to see it. We kind of crossed paths after seeing it but I think he’s appreciating it more since I gave him my interpretation.  I’d say go see it.

As if his soul in that one word he did outpour

James Earl Jones reads Poe’s “The Raven.”

Happy Halloween, y’all.

Some dreams are foolish but don’t let them go.

Series Two of BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE begins airing Nov. 13 in the UK.

And there was much rejoicing.

Who is the leader?