100 Posts in 100 Days
As a young child, with the support of my parents, I began exploring different recreational hobbies and activities. I joined the Brownie Girl Scouts and acted in a play, but I was not fan of the outdoor camp. I was on a soccer team and liked to play fullback, but the sand fields we played on were brutal on the eyes and skin. The activity that became a way of life for me in childhood was gymnastics. What started as a “tag along” visit to my friend’s movement class at the original The Little Gym (with founder Robin Wes as our instructor!) became lessons through parks & rec and then full on training with academies and former All-Americans as my coaches.
Throughout my elementary school years, I spent more time in a gym than any other single activity. Even school. Along with all of the physical training, I was also taking in a fair amount of sports psychology and, arguably, mental training for life.
Also during my growing up years, my dad’s job required him to travel frequently. Weekends at home were a time to regroup and reconnect after being on the road all week. One of his weekly rituals was his Sunday morning golf game with longtime friends. Each week, they selected a different local area golf course and played a round.
I remember one particular week, when I was probably 11 or 12 year old, really well. It was Labor Day weekend, which often corresponds with my dad’s birthday. So it wasn’t a regular Sunday round of golf, but a tournament that he and his friends would play in. As it was his birthday weekend and a holiday, that also meant a family get-together for our extended family. Our house would be full and my mom would be quite busy with all the preparations.
Sunday morning came and my dad was getting ready to leave. We were standing in the family room and he didn’t seem all that excited about going. I asked him about it and he confirmed that he wasn’t sure he wanted to go. He knew everyone was coming over and my mom would be working all day getting things ready. “Besides,” he said, “I’m not going to win.”
Well. As only a pre-teen schooled in sports psychology can do, I exclaimed in no uncertain terms, “Of course you won’t win!” My dad looked surprised. I continued, “If you don’t think you can win, you won’t. If you want to win, you have to believe you can.” I think my dad laughed and agreed with me.
Off he went to the tournament and my mom started all of the party prep. A few family members arrived and helped with the party prep. A few more family members arrived and everyone was socializing and having fun. We were all mulling about on the deck and in the house, enjoying appetizers and snacks. The guest of honor, my dad, was not back from the tournament. This was well before cell phones, so there really wasn’t a way to easily check on his status.
Time was passing and my mom was getting more anxious. She had a house full of people and no guest of honor. She was weighing her options to keep waiting or to finish and serve the meal she had prepared for everyone.
Finally, the door between the garage and the house opened and my dad came walking in. He was smiling and happy. “Where have you been?” my mom questioned. “We have ALL been waiting for you.”
“The 19th hole,” he exclaimed. “Everyone wanted to celebrate with me.”
He turned to look at me, “I won the tournament!” And he looked at all of the family, “Shannon told me that if I didn’t think I could win, I wouldn’t. So, I changed my attitude and I won.”
This moment has become one of those “family legend” kind of stories, told over and over again. More than that, it’s been a running refrain between me and my dad ever since. Always thinking about the power of positive thought. Seems a fitting story for post #50 of 100 Posts in 100 Days.
By the way, here are the text messages between me and my dad this morning:
