I was up playing poker the other night, a past time I love but probably shouldn't, and ended up next to a player whose years of playing poker far exceeded my years of life. It became immediately prevalant that Terry was a talker and that he loved being around the tables and the chatter of people far more interested in life than his neighbors in the McMinnville retirement community he calls home. I love sitting next to people older than myself because I find that they have far more wisdom than most of their younger counterparts, especially when the experiences that guided their wisdom didn't leave the individuals bitter.
With so many hands watched instead of played, conversation often becomes the norm and, in chatting with Terry, it came to light that he was an ex-Corvallis native (me being of the current variety). Talk Corvallis, especially recently after the resurgence of "Beaver Nation" thanks to leadership and belief in the athletic programs started by Mitch Barnhart and increased with the tenacity of Bob DeCarolis, and OSU athletics becomes a quick and expansive topic. Throw in that Terry played for the legendary Slats Gill and the painful decline of a once proud Men's Basketball program, the conversation quickly becomes a passionate discussion.
What makes a coach a great coach? How does a coach mold together a group of individuals into a team that believes in something more than individuality, to see that the whole is only as strong as it's weakest link? Connection. The honest understanding that the coach actually cares as much about their players off the court as they do on.
In watching the Beavers over the course of the past six seasons it isn't difficult to see where it all went south. John's first year, 2002, he won 6 Pac-10 games, winning at both USC and UCLA, as the Beavers finished with their highest conference finish since the wave of love last seen when the "Glove" roamed the hard court of Gill Coliseum. 2005 brought 8 Pac-10 victories and the first winning season in 15 years. A belief was beginning to circulate, "could the Beavers basketball be as real as the football team was becoming", but throughout it all you could sense a disbelief permeating the band wagoners; over time this disbelief turned to disgruntlement.
I hear talk from various athletes that John has lost his players respect, that they no longer listen to his message because it has become old. I have never met Jay but in reading about him (though the writers often jump between love and hate just as often as the band wagoners do) I hear that John loves coaching, loves to instill work rate, belief and passion. It seems he forgot one thing important thing along the way, you must have the trust of all those around you in order to have them believe in you. Be honest, at all times. What ever is happening, tell it like it is. Very few players are actually self involved enough to not see what is going on. Honesty breeds honesty and an open, honest environment is an environment most suited toward growth.
It is a matter of time before John is let go, he knows this and so do most if not all of his players. This probably makes his job even tougher as it seems, from what I have heard, that his players don't really want him around any more. This leaves John with a choice. Here's hoping that John can still go out fighting as seems to be his nature, I just hope his is an honest battle.
Bob DeCarolis has a tough task ahead of him, not so much in the firing of John, but more in the finding of the right fit for the current Beaver Nation, a nation that has become more accustomed to winning than ever before. No longer are the Beavs the doormat of the Pac-10. Wrestling, Gymnastics, Baseball, Softball, Football.... The Beavs are now competitive in almost every sport. Can basketball retrace its roots back to its glory and place in the current lore being written in the annals of OSU lore?
I know many people who can forsee these days, who wait in hope every year. I can think of one who will chat your ear off about it, so long as you'll let him win a few hands along the way.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Sunday, June 3, 2007
My father
I am not supposed to be standing up here in front of you right now. My father is not supposed to be dead, not at 64, not when he had just found a slice of heaven, not when he was finally happy again.
I recall little of my childhood, but I remember fondly dad's quiet wit and ever present middle finger come photo opportunities, nights of rating gourmet dinners prepared to perfection by mom and of futile morning attempts at bacon thievery. I remember so many sailing trips dreaded because I wouldn't be able to play ball with my friends all summer but that now, as the pace of life quickens to a point that the summers run together, I long to just climb aboard and to be once again awoken to mom's cry of "North" and then lullabyed back to sleep by the heavy, steady chugging of the boat's diesel engine, all the while guided along by a man whose mischievious little grin speaks volumes about his happiness.
I wish I had paid more attention to dad while growing up, to tap more into that expansive mind of his. I watched as he turned den and sewing room into one, took apart our cars for the sole purpose of putting them back together again, watched as he spent hours tinkering around in his workroom and on his boats and I wish I had paid more attention, asked more questions. He was a man who could build anything, fix anything, create anything. I'm just starting to fully realize the effect dad had on me, just how much of a role he had in making me the man I am today and I wish I had taken more notice.
I've had a hard time dealing with this, to this day it does not feel real. I know all of us here feel the same way on some level, the death of a loved one can numb deeply. I cannot imagine the depth of pain and sorrow my mom feels, losing her center of 37 years, but I am so grateful for the love and support this community has for her and dad.
I cannot say I understand life, the meaning of that plan that is supposedly guiding our way. I can't find the why in all of this, the reasoning, and don't know that I ever will, but that is the journey of life, sometimes it is not meant to be understood, but it always teaches. Hearing all of your stories I learned just how important dad was to every life he touched and gained a better understanding into the depth of his presence. Dad's passing is a sorrowing reminder of the frailty of life and that every moment we have is as precious as we choose to make it, how every day we have a chance to grow and guide.
Dad touched all of our lives quietly, but he left an indelible mark. He never was one for many words, but when he spoke you always found yourself listening. I know all of us in this room have a story about dad to tell, tales of being saved from mean twins voicing threats of locked ovens and tales of salvaged engines mid vacation thanks to a bearded and bespectacled man, tales of lives touched and lives saved. We will all truly miss dad, but we will feel his presence when Beethoven's fifth fills a room, whenever a middle finger is slyly flashed in a photograph or anytime we find ourselves tinkering in, on and around boats.
We say good-bye to you dad, but only in words, for you will always be with us, in our hearts and in our thoughts, in our prayers and our aspirations. We love you for teaching us the ways of the world and life and passing along your love of the beauty of water. Please watch over mom and all of us, please help guide and protect us. Good-bye dad. As Betty so eloquently spoke, "May you have fair winds and following seas" the rest of your journey.
I recall little of my childhood, but I remember fondly dad's quiet wit and ever present middle finger come photo opportunities, nights of rating gourmet dinners prepared to perfection by mom and of futile morning attempts at bacon thievery. I remember so many sailing trips dreaded because I wouldn't be able to play ball with my friends all summer but that now, as the pace of life quickens to a point that the summers run together, I long to just climb aboard and to be once again awoken to mom's cry of "North" and then lullabyed back to sleep by the heavy, steady chugging of the boat's diesel engine, all the while guided along by a man whose mischievious little grin speaks volumes about his happiness.
I wish I had paid more attention to dad while growing up, to tap more into that expansive mind of his. I watched as he turned den and sewing room into one, took apart our cars for the sole purpose of putting them back together again, watched as he spent hours tinkering around in his workroom and on his boats and I wish I had paid more attention, asked more questions. He was a man who could build anything, fix anything, create anything. I'm just starting to fully realize the effect dad had on me, just how much of a role he had in making me the man I am today and I wish I had taken more notice.
I've had a hard time dealing with this, to this day it does not feel real. I know all of us here feel the same way on some level, the death of a loved one can numb deeply. I cannot imagine the depth of pain and sorrow my mom feels, losing her center of 37 years, but I am so grateful for the love and support this community has for her and dad.
I cannot say I understand life, the meaning of that plan that is supposedly guiding our way. I can't find the why in all of this, the reasoning, and don't know that I ever will, but that is the journey of life, sometimes it is not meant to be understood, but it always teaches. Hearing all of your stories I learned just how important dad was to every life he touched and gained a better understanding into the depth of his presence. Dad's passing is a sorrowing reminder of the frailty of life and that every moment we have is as precious as we choose to make it, how every day we have a chance to grow and guide.
Dad touched all of our lives quietly, but he left an indelible mark. He never was one for many words, but when he spoke you always found yourself listening. I know all of us in this room have a story about dad to tell, tales of being saved from mean twins voicing threats of locked ovens and tales of salvaged engines mid vacation thanks to a bearded and bespectacled man, tales of lives touched and lives saved. We will all truly miss dad, but we will feel his presence when Beethoven's fifth fills a room, whenever a middle finger is slyly flashed in a photograph or anytime we find ourselves tinkering in, on and around boats.
We say good-bye to you dad, but only in words, for you will always be with us, in our hearts and in our thoughts, in our prayers and our aspirations. We love you for teaching us the ways of the world and life and passing along your love of the beauty of water. Please watch over mom and all of us, please help guide and protect us. Good-bye dad. As Betty so eloquently spoke, "May you have fair winds and following seas" the rest of your journey.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Life passes by
I sit in the basement of my parent's house. As I type these words I pull my athletic top up over my mouth to ward off the cold, to keep the chill in my bones from shaking my fingers so badly that typing becomes a chore. Nothing I do can stop the cold; no amount of heat from the fire place, no blanket, no hat for my head can keep out the chill because the permeation of cold I feel is far more than physical.
I came up for the weekend to see my dad. He has gotten worse. That is so inadequate in describing what I see before me. No amount of warning, no intellectual understanding could prepare me for seeing my own father like I saw dad. How does one go from a man willing to fight, to live life and battle to a shell, an individual devoid of all but pain and hopelessness, in such a short time? Two weeks ago he helped me with the gutters. Two weeks! Now he cannot even rise from the couch without help, without doubling over in pain from the effort.
My father, a retired anesthesiologist, one of the smartest men I have ever met, a man who could build, create and fix anything can no longer hold a meaningful conversation. High on Morphine and Oxycodone he slurs his speech and talks of grizzly bears. You can see the pain, not pain of a physical nature (thank God) but the pain of being helpless, of watching his own body fail him.
I cannot fathom how hard this is for him. To see the sands of his life fall knowing there are only a few grains left, to have all of those you love not be able to help, to rather possess only the power to hover and hope they are bringing more than annoyance. All he wants is for it to be over, for the pain and the suffering to end so he can rest. I tend to agree with him, until I see mom. Her world will end when dad passes. I pray that she finds the strength to carry on, to see the world as a good place rather than a world that took her world from her.
I haven't cried about it. I've felt the emotion, the rush of blood, the tingle of sadness that causes my hair to stand on end four times now but, save for a couple of tears, nothing. I know it will come. The realization that my dad, the man who raised me, who taught me to pee standing up, to understand the world and how it works, to sail and to be a man is going to be gone in less that a month. That will hit with a power that scares the life out of me.
Each time I've started to cry, felt the wave of emotion flood over me trying to pull me under, it stops. The tears vanish, repressed out of fear. I'm know I am afraid to cry; I'm afraid to see and feel the pain and suffering of at least 15 years of life lived, of love and innocence lost.
A favor:
I ask that you view life deeper than a surface existence. It often feels like everyone is only aware of what is immediately in front of them and notices only how it affects them. How can we lose sight of what all experiences mean to others.
Live life with the thought that everyone, everything around you is connected. Everything has a relevance to you and you, in turn, have a greater relevance than you may have ever imagined. You have the chance to make a difference in everything you choose to. Don't take life for granted, don't expect things, rather, ensure their value by showing it means something to you. Life can change with such suddenness. Don't be caught with things you wish you had done, things you wish you had said. Life is too short.
I came up for the weekend to see my dad. He has gotten worse. That is so inadequate in describing what I see before me. No amount of warning, no intellectual understanding could prepare me for seeing my own father like I saw dad. How does one go from a man willing to fight, to live life and battle to a shell, an individual devoid of all but pain and hopelessness, in such a short time? Two weeks ago he helped me with the gutters. Two weeks! Now he cannot even rise from the couch without help, without doubling over in pain from the effort.
My father, a retired anesthesiologist, one of the smartest men I have ever met, a man who could build, create and fix anything can no longer hold a meaningful conversation. High on Morphine and Oxycodone he slurs his speech and talks of grizzly bears. You can see the pain, not pain of a physical nature (thank God) but the pain of being helpless, of watching his own body fail him.
I cannot fathom how hard this is for him. To see the sands of his life fall knowing there are only a few grains left, to have all of those you love not be able to help, to rather possess only the power to hover and hope they are bringing more than annoyance. All he wants is for it to be over, for the pain and the suffering to end so he can rest. I tend to agree with him, until I see mom. Her world will end when dad passes. I pray that she finds the strength to carry on, to see the world as a good place rather than a world that took her world from her.
I haven't cried about it. I've felt the emotion, the rush of blood, the tingle of sadness that causes my hair to stand on end four times now but, save for a couple of tears, nothing. I know it will come. The realization that my dad, the man who raised me, who taught me to pee standing up, to understand the world and how it works, to sail and to be a man is going to be gone in less that a month. That will hit with a power that scares the life out of me.
Each time I've started to cry, felt the wave of emotion flood over me trying to pull me under, it stops. The tears vanish, repressed out of fear. I'm know I am afraid to cry; I'm afraid to see and feel the pain and suffering of at least 15 years of life lived, of love and innocence lost.
A favor:
I ask that you view life deeper than a surface existence. It often feels like everyone is only aware of what is immediately in front of them and notices only how it affects them. How can we lose sight of what all experiences mean to others.
Live life with the thought that everyone, everything around you is connected. Everything has a relevance to you and you, in turn, have a greater relevance than you may have ever imagined. You have the chance to make a difference in everything you choose to. Don't take life for granted, don't expect things, rather, ensure their value by showing it means something to you. Life can change with such suddenness. Don't be caught with things you wish you had done, things you wish you had said. Life is too short.
Friday, April 20, 2007
The needs of media
Oh come on. How is it we make a news story of three potential NFL draft picks admitting to the use of marijuana, especially when one of them is poised to become the youngest player ever to play in the NFL (and not because he attempted to Maurice Clarrett it, rather, because he is smart enough to not only graduate two years ahead of schedule, but strong enough to lead the Cardinals as Captain at the age when most guys are trying to figure out where their Bio 103 class is). How is this a story?
I can absolutely, without reservation or hesitancy (heck, if they let me I'd be leveraging all my assets in Vegas against it) state that they were not the only three of the 200+ athletes the NFL suits were analyzing last weekend who have partaken in the smoking of marijuana. This wager is me going solely off of societal numbers, if I were to delving into how much the lifestyle of the collegiate athlete differs from the norm, I am sure I could convince the government of France to wager its GNP against it.
It is sad that instead of looking at this as three athletes who were honest, even with the fear of consequence, the media choose to portray them as potential risks. Risks of what? Pulling a Ricky Williams? I think we all know Ricky had a few more demons than the average man.
I understand the media's need for a story, filler to add bulk and substance to a paper. Marijuana always catches an eye and sells a paper, but what of the question of integrity? How is this story solely about drug use, and not more about values and moral compasses?
I know, I know, speculation, especially when no tests were failed, can bring with it a world of trouble and a mountain of litigation. I guess I just value honesty more than the I fear a potential drug problem. I guess I am ignorant enough to think that an athlete's fear of losing their ridiculous lifestyle is fear enough to stave off most idiotic choices.
I wish Clavin, Gaines and Amobi luck. I appreciate your ability to be straightforward and honest. You are better individuals for it.
I can absolutely, without reservation or hesitancy (heck, if they let me I'd be leveraging all my assets in Vegas against it) state that they were not the only three of the 200+ athletes the NFL suits were analyzing last weekend who have partaken in the smoking of marijuana. This wager is me going solely off of societal numbers, if I were to delving into how much the lifestyle of the collegiate athlete differs from the norm, I am sure I could convince the government of France to wager its GNP against it.
It is sad that instead of looking at this as three athletes who were honest, even with the fear of consequence, the media choose to portray them as potential risks. Risks of what? Pulling a Ricky Williams? I think we all know Ricky had a few more demons than the average man.
I understand the media's need for a story, filler to add bulk and substance to a paper. Marijuana always catches an eye and sells a paper, but what of the question of integrity? How is this story solely about drug use, and not more about values and moral compasses?
I know, I know, speculation, especially when no tests were failed, can bring with it a world of trouble and a mountain of litigation. I guess I just value honesty more than the I fear a potential drug problem. I guess I am ignorant enough to think that an athlete's fear of losing their ridiculous lifestyle is fear enough to stave off most idiotic choices.
I wish Clavin, Gaines and Amobi luck. I appreciate your ability to be straightforward and honest. You are better individuals for it.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
An attempt
I have been asked by a friend, a hot soccer mom friend, to begin my writing career again. She fancies my work I guess (and no, we've established that's all she fancies - though I am great with her kids I hear). The problem is I don't know what to write about. I do... I have so many topics running through this tangental mind of mine it is amazing I remember which street I live on.
She tells me, "write about a story. Pretend you are a fifth grader coming home and telling your mom about Johnny's chocolate milk shooting straight out his nose and all over Billy's face." I try, but the words are blocked. Clocked by self doubt, fear of failure and a pervasive laziness (yes, perpetuated by all of the aforementioned). So many excuses...
I'll try...
My world stopped today. It has happened to me twice before in my life, but both of these were positive.
I'd been trying to reach my parents for the last couple of days and assumed that since they weren't answering they were just out cruising on their boat, a simple joy they both enjoyed often. Mom called around 7, you could hear it in her voice. "Strokes. Paralysis of the left hand. Problems with vision." That's all I heard . The world kinda stopped.
A month ago he was fine. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, in a little pain, scared and angry, but alright. Now... It's been a week and a half since I've seen him and I hear "lost a lot of weight" from my brother. What the hell does that mean?
Shit man, a month ago he was fine. Fine.
She tells me, "write about a story. Pretend you are a fifth grader coming home and telling your mom about Johnny's chocolate milk shooting straight out his nose and all over Billy's face." I try, but the words are blocked. Clocked by self doubt, fear of failure and a pervasive laziness (yes, perpetuated by all of the aforementioned). So many excuses...
I'll try...
My world stopped today. It has happened to me twice before in my life, but both of these were positive.
I'd been trying to reach my parents for the last couple of days and assumed that since they weren't answering they were just out cruising on their boat, a simple joy they both enjoyed often. Mom called around 7, you could hear it in her voice. "Strokes. Paralysis of the left hand. Problems with vision." That's all I heard . The world kinda stopped.
A month ago he was fine. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, in a little pain, scared and angry, but alright. Now... It's been a week and a half since I've seen him and I hear "lost a lot of weight" from my brother. What the hell does that mean?
Shit man, a month ago he was fine. Fine.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Anti-depressants
I started taking anti-depressants two weeks ago and have begun to wonder if it isn't a chemical imbalance I struggle with, rather, I think I am more comfortable in a negative place. It is comfortable for me to see everything from a perspective of negativity because everything seems to make more sense. Maybe it is because I am so accustomed to the melancholy, or maybe it is because the world (through my eyes) truly is a sad place.
I don't doubt that meds work, nor do I doubt that the ones I am currently on may take time to notice full affect, but I do wonder if I really want the help. Perhaps that is what is holding me back. I have had many days of extreme exuberance (and no, I know the symptoms of manic/depression and don't fit) and recall a day when life was not only easy, but when I truly cared about everyone around me and spent all of my hours getting to know everyone by finding out who they were and what they believed. I also know the exact time frame of when it all stopped. I know why the cloud came and what caused the current cycle of self-abuse, of negative emotion and thought, of melancholy and infinite sadness as Billy Corgan would say.
Too many people lean too heavily upon drugs to get them through life, not all of which are prescribed. I know the feeling, a desire to vanish, a desire to shut off the pain, to close down the mind's thought processes for a minute, a desire to remove oneself from the boredom or pain of life, if only just for an instant. I also know the pitfalls associated with a life of immediacy.
I am, through self-counseling, (not recommended by the way) and adhering to my medicinal calendar, working my way slowly back to the time of exuberance and ease. I know the journey is not an easy one, nor is it short. I just hope that along the way I learn more about myself and how I got to be who I am so I am more capable of true change along the way.
I don't doubt that meds work, nor do I doubt that the ones I am currently on may take time to notice full affect, but I do wonder if I really want the help. Perhaps that is what is holding me back. I have had many days of extreme exuberance (and no, I know the symptoms of manic/depression and don't fit) and recall a day when life was not only easy, but when I truly cared about everyone around me and spent all of my hours getting to know everyone by finding out who they were and what they believed. I also know the exact time frame of when it all stopped. I know why the cloud came and what caused the current cycle of self-abuse, of negative emotion and thought, of melancholy and infinite sadness as Billy Corgan would say.
Too many people lean too heavily upon drugs to get them through life, not all of which are prescribed. I know the feeling, a desire to vanish, a desire to shut off the pain, to close down the mind's thought processes for a minute, a desire to remove oneself from the boredom or pain of life, if only just for an instant. I also know the pitfalls associated with a life of immediacy.
I am, through self-counseling, (not recommended by the way) and adhering to my medicinal calendar, working my way slowly back to the time of exuberance and ease. I know the journey is not an easy one, nor is it short. I just hope that along the way I learn more about myself and how I got to be who I am so I am more capable of true change along the way.
Friday, March 2, 2007
human nature
It is interesting, the transition from infant to adult. Especially interesting is how the perspectives of the world can change and be altered by the smallest thing, or by a perpetual state of misinformation. I saw a picture in The Oregonian yesterday of two Sumatran tigers cubs cuddling with two baby orangutans who, according to the caption, "would never be together in the wild, but have become inseparable playmates after they were abandoned by their mothers", and was struck by the sheer simplicity of childhood.
We grow up in a world that teaches us more to worry about our surroundings and be wary of those that are different than ourselves instead of seeing the world for what it can be, a place of peace, love and hope. Why do people become bad? What is it about their past that skews their minds to think it is acceptable to place harm upon another solely to satisfy a void in their own existence? At what point does one cease to understand their role in the cycle of pain and hurt? More importantly, what can be done to correct it?
Parents all know that children come into this world with different personalities. Take my best friend back East, Mark, and his two kids. Noah is five and one of the nerdiest, most intelligent and diplomatic kids you will ever meet. Sethy though, at three, is an absolute terror, vastly intelligent but always disruptive and pushing the envelope. I joke with Mark that his wife Shana and I had a fling; sadly I think he may one some level begin to believe me.
I assure you though that both of his kids came from the same set of parents, yet possess vastly different perspectives on the world, but who, because of the love and acceptance they receive at home, are, at their core belief, like-minded. These teachings come from Mark and Shana who, every day, work to expand the minds of their children to include and encompass everyone around them, to love and to be loved, to know and watch for trouble, but to expect good rather than bad.
Parents have such an amazing power over their kids, much more so than most can even fully grasp. I had an interesting conversation not long ago with my mother, a woman who's political views are righter than Rush. She argued with me that the war in Iraq was a good thing because "these people are going to keep coming for us. They hate us and will stop at nothing so we need to go in there and wipe every one of the terrorists out". I argued rather that we needed to go in and talk to their children, their parents and their leaders to change the perspective, otherwise we will be perpetually fighting a war that will have no end of willing volunteers (watching your mother and father die in front of you is a great motivator to avenge).
Think back to your own childhood and your interactions with your parents and the adults that surrounded you. What characteristics of yours can you trace directly to these interactions? A better question is what characteristics would you like to change? Now ask yourself if you are creating the same characteristics in your children, are you perpetuating the cycle, or breaking it in hopes that your kids will avoid many of the same pains in exchange for a better chance at the great joys life can bring?.
A child's mind is a tabula rosa of sorts, meant to be molded and shaped. Are we shaping love, or hate?
We grow up in a world that teaches us more to worry about our surroundings and be wary of those that are different than ourselves instead of seeing the world for what it can be, a place of peace, love and hope. Why do people become bad? What is it about their past that skews their minds to think it is acceptable to place harm upon another solely to satisfy a void in their own existence? At what point does one cease to understand their role in the cycle of pain and hurt? More importantly, what can be done to correct it?
Parents all know that children come into this world with different personalities. Take my best friend back East, Mark, and his two kids. Noah is five and one of the nerdiest, most intelligent and diplomatic kids you will ever meet. Sethy though, at three, is an absolute terror, vastly intelligent but always disruptive and pushing the envelope. I joke with Mark that his wife Shana and I had a fling; sadly I think he may one some level begin to believe me.
I assure you though that both of his kids came from the same set of parents, yet possess vastly different perspectives on the world, but who, because of the love and acceptance they receive at home, are, at their core belief, like-minded. These teachings come from Mark and Shana who, every day, work to expand the minds of their children to include and encompass everyone around them, to love and to be loved, to know and watch for trouble, but to expect good rather than bad.
Parents have such an amazing power over their kids, much more so than most can even fully grasp. I had an interesting conversation not long ago with my mother, a woman who's political views are righter than Rush. She argued with me that the war in Iraq was a good thing because "these people are going to keep coming for us. They hate us and will stop at nothing so we need to go in there and wipe every one of the terrorists out". I argued rather that we needed to go in and talk to their children, their parents and their leaders to change the perspective, otherwise we will be perpetually fighting a war that will have no end of willing volunteers (watching your mother and father die in front of you is a great motivator to avenge).
Think back to your own childhood and your interactions with your parents and the adults that surrounded you. What characteristics of yours can you trace directly to these interactions? A better question is what characteristics would you like to change? Now ask yourself if you are creating the same characteristics in your children, are you perpetuating the cycle, or breaking it in hopes that your kids will avoid many of the same pains in exchange for a better chance at the great joys life can bring?.
A child's mind is a tabula rosa of sorts, meant to be molded and shaped. Are we shaping love, or hate?
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