Inner shred…
This weekend I got in touch with my angry soccer mom…
On the way out the door Starshine ran down the stairs,
and sustained an almost identical injury to my knock down on the ice the previous Friday…
I saw her go down…
Tailbone,
bump bump,
head,
bang,
SCREAM……
Luckily our stairs are only four steps of old soft wood…
Even though she could hardly walk,
and sat in shock under a blanket in the car,
she wanted to go out to her Sunday morning game in Richmond…
We got there just as the game was starting…
It is very hard to watch your daughter stand there crying,
as she tries to explain to her two coaches that she wants to play,
but isn’t sure she can…
And it is even harder to watch three goals go into the net in the second half,
when she is the keeper,
and to see the disappointment in the other soccer moms in the bleachers…
Especially in the face of the mother whose daughter was in goal for the first period and got a shut out…
The mother who screams,
YOU have to be hungry for the ball!!!!
You HAVE to want it!!!!
You don’t WANT it!!!
I had to ask myself, over, and over,
Whose game is this???
And when another girl went down,
tripping in a way so that the wind got knocked out of her…
I almost couldn’t stand it…
Her dad half-watched from the sidelines on his cell phone…
I sat with his daughter until she got her breath back and then asked her if she needed a hug from her dad…
She nodded with eyes full of tears and when we walked over and I said to the dad still talking on his cell phone,
I think your girl needs a hug…
He looked like he didn’t know what to do…
But perhaps I’m projecting…
I think sports are great…
I’m really happy that my daughter has school friends who play winter soccer and because of that she wants to play too…
I like that she’s running around…
I like that she’s developing her coordination, her confidence, and new skills…
But I also have major issues…
And I’m willing to take full responsibility for them…
People love to go on about the emotion of the game,
and the beauty…
But healthy beauty and emotion are not incidental…
They require as much, if not more, care and attention than the physical aspects in sport…
And the capacity to grow healthy beauty and emotion is held in the adult environment that surrounds our children…
It seems to me that we are currently working with very limited capacity…
And unlike Dr. Gordon Neufeld’s claim,
there never were any good old days…
There are no better times to go back to…
We have to create what we want,
starting now…
And we’ll be able to as soon as we know what that is…
Until we centre ourselves on a vision and a story of co-creation,
we don’t have a hope in hell of growing any roots of empathy the depleted and toxic soil,
that is the legacy of colonization…
I’ve worked with a lot of other people’s children in my life,
and I’ve only just begun to creep up on middle age…
A few years ago a boy came to me from Kindergarten…
His teacher in the previous year had about as much creative energy as a raisin…
I like raisins…
They can be very sweet and they’re delicious in granola,
but if given a choice I’d rather eat a nice juicy grape…
I remember what this boy said to me in grade one,
at six years old,
his eyes as big as a horse…
Last year I cried every day,
because whenever we had to write I never had any ideas…
And this year I have so many ideas I can’t get them down fast enough…
I have digital footage of him talking about an airplane he built with plastic cubes that connect…
His work shows awareness and knowledge of symmetry, balance, aerodynamics, number, space,
and cooperation,
because he built it with his friends…
As the teacher I didn’t have to DO very much but provide the materials,
model some critical thinking,
hold the space for him to inquire and create with his own magic,
and listen with a lot of openness,
and love…
As he talks about his airplane,
he spits with excitement,
and honest pride…
This year he is in grade six,
and I heard that grade five was so rough he had become THE BIG problem in the school…
Crying everyday at an age when boys aren’t supposed to cry anymore,
and wanting his mom to be there at lunch…
If you’re a person who is both intellectual and feeling with eyes as big as a horse,
and you have a teacher who although physically pleasing on the outside,
embodies negativity on the inside,
you’ll simply shut down production,
in a flight for survival…
I love to play Scrabble…
And when I play,
I am committed to finding a way for the most interesting words to show up on the board…
I can be hungry for points too,
but I’m much more compelled by creative scoring…
And I’ll even sacrifice my own momentary opportunities for spelling glory,
to hold the space for someone else to make a beautiful play,
on words…
For the good of the whole…
Touch me, take me to that other place... (photo: Starshine)
The #5…
I want you to know that if I hadn’t been wearing a helmet today,
a good helmet,
I would either be laying dead in a morgue drawer right now,
or on life support,
as a vegetable,
at VGH…
And I was hardly moving…
Physics 11 was where I learned the theory,
but the ice is where theory met experience when my 5’5″ 150 lb.(pre-dim-sum weight) self was knocked over like a bowling pin,
by a big guy,
on skates,
who wasn’t watching where he was going…
and didn’t know how to stop…
Stick and Puck is dangerous,
even when you’re playing small on centre ice…
So I’m going to have to explore other options to find my game…
I left the rink immediately thinking it was because I was a girl that I didn’t feel like I had a place on that ice,
but when I went to the cashier to get a refund,
a man was there,
and he felt the same way…
He didn’t feel safe in that situation either,
and was wishing there were some other options,
because he loves to play hockey too…
Watching Ryan Johnson slam into the boards turned my stomach…
Million dollar salaries are not worth the risk of quadraplegia…
At Pho Thai Hoa (1625 Kingsway – note to self: next time order #98),
an hour or so after my fall,
a vision came to me in the steam of a bowl of #5…
A vision for a different kind of hockey…
A kind of reversal of Battle of the Blades,
for people who are captivated by a different kind of power,
than speed,
and violence…
Manifest destiny…
Due to an alignment of sorts…
I spent some time in Ontario last week…
My initial purpose was to attend a holistic learning conference,
and visit some art galleries so I that I could see some of the contemporary First Nations art I’ve been learning about up close and personal…
The conference was less holistic than a Lionel Ritchie concert,
and I felt more at home up the road at CasinoRama,
in front of a slot machine,
than I did in a room full of academics TALKING about contemplation…
Perhaps you’ve never experienced this level of incongruency,
or had awareness of it…
But just like a horse,
my body is like a giant ear and a hyper sensitive bullshit detector all rolled into one,
and my needle went way into the red…
I had to keep telling myself,
just keep an open mind…
But my head was clamping down,
as if I were wearing a helmet that racheted tighter and tighter with every word…
How can one even begin to contemplate in so much noise???
My mind was quiet.
but I couldn’t get the affected meditation voice,
belonging to the self-identified Integral theorist to silence itself,
Now breathe…
Go deeper…
Breath into your belly…
Let go of the worries of the day…
With EVERY inhale and exhale…
Now breathe…
Deeper…
One part of me wanted to spit nails in her general direction,
another part of me slept in compliance,
like a good girl…
But the smartest part of me wanted to run,
like a fugitive who could no longer hold her pose…
That was the voice that won out…
As far as I can remember,
I have never been in a purely deciduous forest,
in the Fall…
And this one,
surrounding Lake Cuchaching,
was spectacular,
for running,
and hiding…
In a strange way I felt like I was right at home in those trees,
surrounded in a clearing of collective memories…
Once back in the city of Toronto,
at the Danforth subway station,
on the way to the Art of Gallery of Ontario which is CLOSED on Mondays,
I was swarmed by TTC police for going in through the out door…
They wanted to know why I had entered through the bus bay…
Couldn’t I read and didn’t I have any money????!!!!
I told them I wasn’t from this place,
and that I was overcome by a rising of momentary confusion,
and disorientation…
I said I was sorry…
They said,
Sorry doesn’t work in the eyes of the law…
I said,
I can see that…
I paid my fare and wondered on being a criminal for not knowing your way on one’s home and native land…
The next day at Pearson International,
when I was thankfully on my way back to the more familiar territory of the westcoast,
a woman sat down beside me and reached for the ball of yarn in my bag…
She asked me what material I was knitting with,
and remarked with such pleasure when I told her it was hemp…
It is so fine, she said, as she rolled the ball in her hands…
Then she told me a story,
about her sixteen year old son,
his dream of alpacas,
and how it came true…
I got a big shiver and started to cry,
hard,
like I was remembering something,
both old and new…
The women didn’t worry about my tears…
She saw them for what they were,
and continued her story…
Her son went to his grandma’s for dinner when he was twelve…
He sat beside a woman whom he had never met before,
and told her about the small barn on the acreage his family had just moved to…
She asked this twelve year old boy,
If you could have anything,
what would you want for your barn???
He said,
I want an alpaca…
She just happened to be a collector and breeder of prize alpacas,
and said to this twelve year old boy,
I’m going to give you two of mine…
(FYI: alpacas are super pricey…)
The woman followed through with her promise,
because she knew that he would love those two alpacas…
Now this boy is sixteen and has increased his herd up to 18 alpacas…
and two suris,
that he breeds and shows…
He has learned equine massage to care for his herd,
and I can’t wait to find out more of his story…
His mom gave me his e-mail address,
for getting connected,
to the shiver…
I'm sailing away...
Canuck'd 