Farewell

Tonight, I sat on my couch scrolling through IG, and saw the VOGUE cover. I fought to hold back tears. I am allergic to weepy, but tonight (albeit the dam held) I allowed myself to feel the sadness. It was really happening. I failed, and VOGUE made it real.

This might be how many felt the day their bigger-than-life hero Magic or Mike or Kobe hung up their jerseys. The small crack in the reflection of who they could be hurt just a little, but they understood. They knew it would happen one day. The injuries would be too much or lives would take sad turns or the love of the game wouldn’t be enough, and the player would walk away. They would stand in the center of the court, sweating, hands on hips, head hung to reach the mic spilling their love out for all those ready to drink it in. Their gratitude for the moments gained and lost would fill the arena and hearts would swell. The fans would be forever grateful for the shared experience. It helped them seek higher, and dream farther.

My 43-year-old self has little energy for dreams these days. I could very easily spend my life laying in bed and eating quarts of ice cream for breakfast. But deep down, the parts of me still forming ideals about life, love, and the ridiculous pursuit of happiness held one dream so close to the chest it ached. I allowed life to smother it, I suppose. I let rent and ridiculous spending choices and lack of belief that it could happen slip in and kill it quietly. It seems silly, really, to lament a moment in time that never existed (nor perhaps ever will), but nonetheless, I do.

The sun is beaming on center court, and the grass is long since worn by days of play. The beige earth peeks beneath the green as if it hadn’t been cared for at all. But those of us who had been glued to the bodies decorated in gleaming white below, know it had. We know this is the moment the grounds had been given special care. I smile. I am here. Finally. I am here, grinning ear to ear, ready and willing to pour every ounce of self into this moment because it is what I dreamt of for a decade (or more). She enters, chocolate skin covered in white…quiet confidence laced with a maturity only age (and perhaps mothering) could lend. I watch as she moves for hours with an athletic grace I have only seen a few possess. Win or lose (but preferably win), I will drink in every second.

The dream plays out in New York, too, and involves pizza, bagels, and shopping but the outcome is the same. I am there, watching one of the greats leave it all on the court for what is to be one of her last.

My heart is heavy at the thought of packing it away and leaving it on the shelf with the rest of the dreams deterred. I promised myself–I pushed it out into the Universe. I would sit in England or in New York or even here in Atlanta and watch her play. It wouldn’t be from behind a computer monitor under the office fluorescents or from the small screen of a phone. It wouldn’t be from the living room. It would be live…a living, breathing experience. Serena had been my reminder over the years to be better, push harder, live in the skin God envisioned, and never, ever, be apologetic about being the best. Never. I ignored that reminder (more often than not) and fell into patterns of life I wasn’t called to, but nevertheless, I carried it, for better or worse. And for just a moment, I wanted to breathe it in with the fresh air. Yet…

Time moved–it IS moving. Time didn’t stand still and wait for me to get it together. It never once asked how it was going. It never once sat me down and said to get my shit in line. Instead, time just kept being time. I sit, staring at the VOGUE cover wondering how many more things I would allow to get in the way of….well….anything. Time never stood still. Life never stood still. I did.

I suck at tennis, by the way. I tried to play. I even attempted the grunts and the fast serves (they never ended up standing ON the court–ever). I tried the tennis skirts and the back and forth sway at the baseline. It all went terribly wrong. But I tried. That was the extent, though. Hobbling back to the car, I knew I couldn’t touch her path (not that I was really trying). I had my own and (after icing my knee) I had to get about the business of walking down it. The knee healed and the tennis rackets sat in the garage gathering dust. Time never waited for me to walk the path. It never sent any reminders–except for one, decades later. “Farewell”.

I have resigned myself to watching her, on television, move to the center of the court, hands on hips, and spilling her love out for all those who wish to drink it in. I will be sad, and, perhaps in the sorrow, drop a tear or two, but it will be more for myself and less for her. She owned her time. She set her sights and kept moving toward the mark–beautifully imperfect. A move forward is still a move in the right direction. She gave Time its marching orders and it obeyed.

As I sit and watch her go, I will hold dear the lazy days of tennis watching and the very real connection to something outside of myself. Recognizing the moment the sisters appeared, social class nor money could keep possibility out. I will hold dear the dream, the inspiration given and the realization that anything…everything…is possible…Even while sitting on the couch, with a pint of ice cream watching the G.O.A.T grunt her way into victorious retirement.

~SM

The Planner Failed To Plan

You ever know about something early yet nothing gets done? It isn’t entirely your fault, though. Life happened, kids got all needy with their needs and your financial sitch got dicey a few times. You knew none of that was going to get in the way. You saw said thing coming and then it all pretty much went to shit.

I am a little light in the pocket and on a normal April Thursday, I would not be phased. Only, this April Thursday is different. It is the wrong time. Graduation is a month away.

Remember said thing you saw coming? Imagine you saw it coming eighteen years ago and stood idly by while the slowest train in history pulled into the station. You had a daily reminder living and growing before your very eyes yet you didn’t plan. For shame.

On paper, before kids, it is easy to say “We will save $5 a week until he/she is 18.” Or “Well after they are born we will start saving for college.” But when life hands you lemons and you have no patience for lemonade you wave off their little $5. Suddenly the furnace is broken or you need just one more day of gas or you have no job and you think ‘I have plenty of time.’ And instead of saving you start surviving.

Here, eighteen years later I realize (painfully) the planner failed to plan. Ain’t that somethin’? The one person who can compile planners, charts and papers at the drop of a hat didn’t prepare for this moment. And here I stand staring blankly at the nothingness I have to offer.

Life lesson #75: plan for the inevitable. There are a few things that happen in life we have the responsibility to actually prepare for death, birth, flat tires, car breakdowns, and at least one hospital visit. If you have kids, high school graduation always comes (at the same time in life…go figure).

Luckily, most high school graduates who are itching to take the real world by storm don’t care much about dinners or brunches celebrating their accomplishment. About 99% of these young men and women are clamoring to shed the flimsy gowns and uniform dress attire and head to the nearest party. Spending their first moments of freedom with their elders and parents isn’t exactly top of mind. And because of that, I release myself from all the guilt of not being planner perfect and responsible.

Even though I would prefer to have the graduation brunch of a lifetime with cloth napkins and delish chef specialties, I know it isn’t worth the trouble. He really won’t care. And even though I failed to plan for the inevitable, it isn’t decorations or amazing graduation gifts he is concerned with. Deep down, what matters to him most is that we are there. He cares that we are somewhere in the crowd proud of him for being his own kind of great.

~SM

Hard Head = Soft Arss

Oh, the joy of selfish, self-centered, selfish (did I say that twice?) teenagers. They are truly what makes the world go ‘round. Them and all their ‘Me Me Me’. It makes the world a much better place and it provides parents of said teens a respite from the everyday struggles of Life Life Life. Said no one ever.

Being a parent of a teen makes you question every wrong thing you ever did…EVER. I find myself sitting in the dark going over the boneheaded, disrespectful, annoying, self-centered things I ever did to The Parents. I was often met with general hissed words that went something like ‘as much as your mother/father does for you….the least you could do is…stop being so damn selfish….’ You know, typical parent to teen conversation.

But parents are dumb. They don’t know anything. They have no clue how it feels to be [insert asshole teenage issue here]. They are all old and stuff. What do they know?

Welp, parents know more than you, assclown…is what she doesn’t say to her eighteen-year-old-self-absorbed-know-it-all child. Instead, I stand down. I wave the white flag and snicker behind their back. Know why? Yea, you do. You know why. You know the moment they step foot onto that real-world sidewalk life comes fast. Cars break down, paychecks get sucked up by everything but wants, love hurts, food does not just magically appear in the pantry, and the decision between a gallon of milk or a gallon of gas is life changing. See, they don’t know that. They have no idea what they are about to walk into.

But those are lessons you just simply cannot teach. They just have to cut teeth on ’em, as the old folks say. It is a train wreck hard for us to watch, but for them it is necessary.

When the teenage monster rears its ugly, hormonal, pimply, smelly head, I rarely say a thing. There will come a time when they are sitting in the dark and think back on every idiotic moment and cringe. They may or may not apologize. They may or may not pick up the phone just to hear my voice or come visit just for a hug, but I will know they know. Life isn’t so easy, is it? Can’t always have your way, can you? Pouting doesn’t work out there, does it? Mmmmhm…didn’t think so. It is okay, you needed to figure it out for yourself. No amount of yelling, grounding or PS4/iPhone snatching was going to get through that thick skull. Only life can do that (wink).

~SM