Views from the Hot Seat...: Difficult Times Ahead?

Views from the Hot Seat...: Difficult Times Ahead?: How do we plug the drain?   I am not referencing plumbing or politics. Instead, I am referring to two key areas, both of which cannot l...

Difficult Times Ahead?

How do we plug the drain?

 

I am not referencing plumbing or politics. Instead, I am referring to two key areas, both of which cannot live without the other: middle/high school sports and officials. Both appear to be suffering, and I fear that unless the problems are soon rectified, interscholastic athletics as we know them today will be drastically altered in the near future. Trust me, I am not enjoying my commentary on these matters because I hold school competition quite dear to my heart. After spending pretty much a lifetime being involved as either a player, coach, or a referee, I find it quite difficult to turn my back and take a nonchalant attitude toward what I see brewing. Here is the two-pronged dilemma:

 

#1: Decreasing Youth Participation and #2 Decreasing numbers of officials.

 

#1: I am increasingly concerned as I view basketball box scores and talk with coaches about numbers of students unwilling to continue their participation in competitive school athletics. What began alarming me a few years ago was when I noticed that various schools could no longer field girls' junior varsity teams. This past fall I was further incensed when one local school district was not certain if it would have enough kids to even present a boys' varsity team; fortunately, a team was gathered and is competing this winter. Like many, though, my question is Why? How can an area like our Valley, one that is rich in basketball tradition and success, be faced with this lack of interest? Allow me to theorize possible causes:

     A. The standard line, of course, is that kids are different today, not willing to accept a commitment and live by it. Definitely, that plays a role but certainly is not the only reason. Kids dedicate themselves to so many different activities, so the commitment argument has merit, but much more contributes to this issue.

     B.  Travel teams and youth organized sports definitely play roles. For whatever reason, the brainwashing that kids must participate on organized teams as young as possible has been allowed to grow . . .and fester. While I suppose if I were a parent of a kid whom I envisioned was going to be a star, I would probably want him/her to continue to improve. However, the racket of travel teams has typically evolved into a cash cow for the organizers, regardless of the sport. In fact, this weekend over 4000 youths participated in Canton, Ohio, for the World Youth Football Championships . . .chi ching . . .I hear the cash registers from here! However, recognize that the kids who dominate most travel teams are the ones whose parents can afford it, with occasional exceptions. The downside, of course, is if kids are in organized, coached sports at a young age, the risk increases that the kids simply tire of sports, coaches, and competition as they often realize that their skill levels frequently equate to "average" as they grow. Additionally, kids who simply had not physically developed at young ages face an almost hidden rejection, thus losing interest. Again, this is not the whole issue, but it has to be part of it.

     C.  Parental pressure on both kids and coaches can destroy kids' enthusiasm for school sports. If parents continue to  criticize kids' performances and coaches' perceived slights, most kids will not want to subject themselves to that personal embarrassment. Parents may rationalize it by claiming that they are merely trying to encourage their kids, but I seriously doubt if most kids see it the same way.

     D.  Coaches' increasing demands in multiple sports put kids in awkward situations; for example, if the coach in one sport demands increased off-season time while another coach is doing the same, kids frequently say their lives will be easier if not trying to balance those two or three sports. Believe me, I understand why coaches do that--to be successful in an environment where the competition is getting better requires other coaches to do the same. However, every now and then kids will say they are quitting one sport to focus on another. Coupled with the number of "skills academies" that continuously surface, kids often envision glimpses of themselves as standout collegiate and even professional players--whether it is legit or not. Perhaps another part of the equation is that coaches themselves put pressure on kids and may not appreciate that they are even doing it.
     E.  Pay-to-Play is often cited as a major deterrent to kids' participation; I have trouble buying that school of thought in this era where we buy kids expensive cell phones, pay elevated prices for AAU, JO, and private instruction--seems like an excuse to me, yet it may also play a limited role in lack of numbers.

     F.  Losing is contagious, and, frequently, if kids have been exposed to much losing, a heightened awareness that sports = losing may begin to override the fun and benefits of being on a middle/high school team. If losing becomes the norm, it takes a special kid and a special coach to override that equation. To best understand, refer above to letter A--accepting that commitment may go against many kids' determination to overcome such an obstacle.

 

Here's the deal: several schools in our valley today are struggling to get kids to remain involved. What must be attacked is the reason why. In solving any problem, of course, we seldom look in the mirror. Perhaps piecing together a puzzle of the causes may help lead to a solution. While this may have already happened (I hope so), perhaps affected schools could begin a collaboration with parents to seek input on what can be done to alleviate the problem. If not, I fear that schools will be dropping various sports in the near future . . . so get ready for the screams to begin then!

 

#2: The average age of officials in all sports in Ohio athletics today is 52, an alarming number. Typical officiating classes for incoming officials in our area have fewer than 5 participants, and that is in a good year. Bottom line is that individuals do not want to officiate. Reasons why are certainly varied, but I am convinced that most adults find it easier to be critical of officials than to make themselves get involved in the game. Running the risk of "back in the day" stories, I make my point. When I was in college, I took a coaching basketball class as a freshman; included in that curriculum was a presentation by an official who laid out the process for becoming a referee. I was interested in it, pursued it, and soon became a rookie official. Arriving at that destination was not easy, however, because I had to study the rule book "inside and out," learn the rules, and master--as much as possible--the details associated with officiating. Simply stated, it was not an easy task, but what I truly learned was how much about the game that I did not know or had not even considered. It was a humbling experience, believe me, but as the years went by, I found my confidence increasing, my understanding growing, and my enjoyment surpassing any expectations I had. In short, I loved it--the camaraderie with fellow officials, coaches, and players only re-enforced that I wanted to be involved with kids and sports for my career. Also, the money was not over-the-top, but I rarely felt I was underpaid; for me, the benefits far outweighed the negatives.

 

My point in telling my story is that I was not afraid to accept a new challenge, even one that put me in the firing line of coaches and fans. The truth is those experiences helped me when I did become a coach . . .no regrets. Using my experience as my litmus test, I struggle with why young people--specifically former athletes--will not accept the challenge of contributing to the preservation of youth sports. Maybe it is because they are reluctant to endure the antics of fans and coaches, maybe it is because they feel it is an infringement on their time, maybe they do not think the money is worth their time, or maybe they just feel they are above it. Regardless of the reasoning, middle/high school sports are at a critical juncture: if new officials do not emerge and "pay their dues," we should not be alarmed when games are cancelled due to no officials being available or only one official does the game because no one else is available. While the problem is growing, I am convinced most fans either disregard it or are not even aware of its severity. My appeal is to those former high school athletes who still have an interest in sports: you need money, you like competition, you want to stay in shape, you want a challenge--Get Involved! Without your taking the plunge, the future is looking quite murky.

 

High school sports are a key lifeline of a community--we cannot take them for granted. Periodically, I hear people talking about how so many others just don't care about a variety of issues, such as reading a newspaper or taking the initiative to vote; perhaps, though, if our beloved sports begin getting impacted, our attention may be slapped, and we may appreciate the beauty of middle/high school athletics!

 

I Plead Ignorance

I am a bit perplexed today as I continue my quest to fully understand the political maneuverings of the times. As we all know, after much partisanship posturing, a new Supreme Court Justice has been seated . . . hooray. Like so many, I have no definitive knowledge whether the Democrats staged a last-minute sabotage or the Republicans pulled a fast one--I know what I read and what I hear. I suppose that is the beauty of not being affiliated with either party because my vision is not warped by party allegiance, so I can attempt to view issues through a clear glass . . . sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. On Sunday evening's 60 Minutes, as I watched Senators Susan Collins and Heidi Heitkamp explain their respective votes for and against the nominee in question, I was convinced that both clearly, intelligently, and logically explained their reasoning--both had definitely done their homework and voted their conscience. I applauded both for their careful consideration and, from my seat, relatively unbiased choices. Regardless of which way the overall vote went, chaos was going and will continue to emerge . . . the can of worms has been opened.

 

With all that said, though, I am not sure that I understand a term that has been debated for and argued against. Until I have a clear understanding of this powerful word, I will remain skeptical of just exactly what is motivating this fight among political opponents:

 

                                                                     What is a Conservative?

 

 Constantly, I have been bombarded with this term. Statements such as "Finally we are guaranteed a Conservative Supreme Court for many years," "No more of these damn liberal rulings," . . . are two personal ones I have heard in the last four days. However, when I asked a Conservative friend to tell me what a Conservative is, the response was "I don't know, but I am one." My counter response was "What the hell do you mean?" The conversation ended.

 

Allow me to think aloud for a few moments: Does being a Conservative mean that our country is perhaps headed to "a return to the good ol' days" where lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and transgenders no longer will have equal rights? Where attempts to balance racial equality will revert to yesteryear's standards? Where immigration will take a turn to "how it should be"? I am asking these questions--as stated in my title--because I am seriously ignorant of what "Conservative" means. My friends, I await clarification--please educate me.

 

On another political observation, we adults really have a way of screwing up situations, but I am not sure that we even know it. Because of my involvement with young people for a lifetime, I certainly would love to see the younger generation become immersed in knowledge and understanding of the political process. However, my observations are that so many just surrender and truly do not care. When they see a political establishment dominated primarily by seasoned politicians who are somewhat "long in the tooth," we would hope that the younger generation would recognize the respect those people deserve due to their longevity and devotion to the American cause. Unfortunately, what I suspect the young folks see is a bunch of decrepit old people--primarily white men--who ooze power and control and need to retire to the comfort of their home districts. In short, the constant bickering, accusations, and beat downs have done nothing to advance arguments; rather, they simply have turned off younger people, and, I suspect, many of the "not so young," as well.

 

Let's not kid ourselves: The more divided we are, the more divided we will remain. Waiting for a Wonder Woman or Superman candidate is getting harder with each passing day. As we continue to place blame on "the other side," the gap widens. As that fissure hardens, so many Americans of all ages are becoming less interested. For several years, I have advocated that the formation of a third political party holds the key for advancement, not merely survival of the political process.

 

I suppose it is a mute point: The younger generation doesn't really care . . . and it's our fault.

Our Voice Is Gone

The voice of the valley is gone . . . and I have lost another buddy.

 

Part of Tuesday evening, I attended calling hours at Dover's Toland-Herzig Funeral Home paying respects to the family of a good friend, Dick Farrell, who had lost his battle with Father Time. A sad occasion, of course, yet a celebration of a man who lived life his way, pedal to the metal with a soft underbelly that he was not afraid to show . . . if one knew him well.

 

In many ways, he was a man's man, a stereotypical ol' newspaper man who could smoke and drink with the best of  'em. He cherished interacting with others, loved conversation, held strong beliefs, possessed a humility allowing him "to agree to disagree" without affecting friendships, and remained loyal to his friends. Of course, he loved the newspaper business, but he recognized long ago that its future ran contrary to its past . . . to survive required a technological wizardry, and he was astute enough to plunge head on into learning the computer world.  

 

Saddened by the changing journalistic era, he understood--and reflected upon--how the world as he knew it was changing. Ultimately, he left the paid world of journalism and began writing his blogs, visible on Facebook and Twitter. While many of his generation despised those social media outlets, he embraced them, permitting him to offer his perspective of the world through a newer medium  . . . and for that so many of us are so grateful.

 

With that background now provided, allow me to describe the Dick Farrell I will remember:

 

I am pretty much a journalistic junkie who reads various papers and columnists. To this day, my favorite columnist is the long gone Southern humorist Lewis Grizzard. A weekly syndicated columnist, Lewis knew how to touch the common man. Often, he would make me laugh by writing a serious message while injecting Southern euphemisms into his work. I often told Dick that he was the Tuscarawas valley's version of Lewis. That would always force a smile and a laugh because Dick knew exactly what I meant: He was OUR voice of reason, common sense, and insight. Always aware that a newspaper's first job was to sell papers, he knew how to touch nerves with people. I suspect--in fact, I know--that he would play devil's advocate at times just to irritate people. His logic was that if they were irritated, at least they were reading his material. Translated, they were buying the paper!

 

Dick loved controversy because in his business that is what sells. I have to think that of all his columns--I should interject that I would love to see a publication produced that contained all his editorials over the years--he was most proud of his annual advice to parents of Little Leaguers. Every spring he would print it as his editorial, forcing parents to face their flaws in their ever-present attempt to make their kids stars . . . he humbled us all. Much to my pleasure, that exact column was framed and displayed in the funeral home. To me, it brought a tear because that was Dick, a guy who was getting his final say on the way out.

 

While I could share many stories, two will suffice to capture his charisma. A mutual friend and occasional golf partner, Max Nedele, shared this with me two years ago. Max made it clear that before he actually had met Dick, he had pretty much despised him because Dick used "to piss him off" with his editorials. A typical Tuscarawas County man, Max holds strong beliefs--where he got them is his business, but he rarely agreed with Dick. Upon meeting, working, and golfing with Dick for several years while both were in retirement, Max and his opinions gradually underwent a change. In short, he began to see a bigger picture, one that allowed him to understand a different perspective. As Dick's illnesses began to intensify, Max sat with me one afternoon on the Zoar Golf Club patio and shared that he loved Dick, that he was one of his best friends, and that he just could not stand to see Dick suffering the way that he was. If Dick were to hear that, of course, he would say, "Shut the hell up, Max, and quit whining around," and I feel certain that he would then wink at me. Their manly banter aside, the two cared for each other deeply, finding a friendship that was so meaningful to each . . . although they would never admit it to each other . . . man-code, you know.

 

My second story involves a recent summer evening I spent in the summer room of Dick and his wife Suzanne's home, visiting with the two of them. I was told later how much he enjoyed our interaction, but it was I who will cherish that memory. Our conversation was certainly friendly, humorous, and insightful as we discussed our lives, his family, his oxygen-deprived state, sports, golf, Max, politics, the newspaper business, and his distrust of Donald Trump. We laughed, commiserated, and griped--through our lives, the two of us certainly had a mutual respect for one another, although it was one that we simply never verbalized . . . man-code, you know. Bottom line, however, was that we both knew but did not want to admit that his time on earth was fading. When I prepared to leave, he walked to the garage with me, switching from his in-house oxygen tubes to his garage tubes, where we bid our farewells by shaking hands. My take was to tell him "to keep hanging in there" (a statement that seems so weak as I write today), and his words were his signature "God love ya." My truth is that when I drove away, I thought that might be the last time I would ever see him.  A few weeks thereafter, he was admitted to the Cleveland Clinic where he fought his battle until his demise. I never saw him again.

 

So, today, he is gone. I write this with absolutely no intent to provoke sympathy--my heavens, no. Rather, I write this as a tribute to a man I enjoyed tremendously, a writing voice I loved to read, and a personality that reflected his way, whether others agreed with him or not. I am going to miss him, but believe me when I think of Dick Farrell, a smile will cross my face. What better compliment could a man offer another . . . man-code, you know.

 

 

 



Making Sense of This Cluster

Language shapes our interpretation of messages.

 

If I call a person a freak, weirdo, or idiot, I have created an unflattering picture with negative connotations. Contrasting that, if I call that same person different, unique, or eccentric, I have created a picture that characterizes but does not necessarily belittle the individual. Regardless of what words I use, I am somehow influencing the message that is received.

 

I mention the above because I--like most of us in this country--am still trying to understand just what the hell is going on with the current immigration debate. Any time I am perplexed about an issue, I typically revert to my knowledge of fundamentals. While I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer, I am quite confident in my ability to break down issues  to their barest form, the fundamentals. Thus, as I try to make sense of what has occurred in the past few months, I find myself  reviewing what I teach in my Walsh University English 102 classes: the basics of rhetoric. Having said that, please come along with me for a quick reminder of the fundamentals of persuasion as I lead into my mindset of trying to understand this significant immigration issue!

 

First, it is always essential to understand the simplest definitions of key terms; in this case, the following must be understood:

*Rhetoric (Rhetorical Situations): Language (verbal and nonverbal) that is being used to persuade;

*Logos: Logic, strategies, and evidence that are being used to shape an argument;

*Pathos: Emotion that is being used to help influence an argument;

*Ethos: Credibility and trustworthiness of the person(s) presenting the argument.

 

Here is the situation, as most anyone who follows the news understands:

 

We have a serious immigration issue in our country; this cannot be disputed, regardless of whether various news reports downplay its severity or heighten its intensity. The problem exists. One needs to look no further than this summer's ICE arrests in our neighboring Stark County to recognize that illegal immigration is affecting Ohio. Even closer, one look at the Dover City Schools will attest that the school system is currently seeking answers--both academic and financial--of how to effectively manage the blending of ESL (English as a Second Language) students into the system without disrupting the quality of education and the taxpayers' pocketbooks. Make no mistake: the problem is here and apparently appears to be growing significantly by the month.

 

Nearly two months ago, a zero tolerance policy preventing parents (or guardians) from bringing their children into the United States was implemented by the President Trump administration (although the semantics of whether it was a law or a policy, begun by President Obama or President Trump remain subject of discussion for many). From that implementation, a significant citizen pushback ultimately led to a reversal of that zero policy (although many dispute that the pushback was the true reason for the reversal). So, as it stands today, families are painstakingly being reunited--somewhat successfully--as both parents and children are methodically being traced so reunification can occur. However, despite whatever has occurred, the problem of illegal immigration into our country remains. Little has been solved.

 

Understanding  this predicament is heartwrenching, of that we cannot argue. However, looking at the situation from a rhetorical perspective, perhaps we can have a more solid understanding of why I have labeled the immigration issue a "cluster."

 

Logos: This is the heart and soul of any argument--what logic, evidence, statistics, personal anecdotes, case history, . . . can be provided to support the persuaders' points? While I have clearly stated that I am not an ardent supporter of our President's character (to be explored under Ethos), I must admire him for having the tenacity to attack this problem. Despite many people's anger toward the family separation, I am still eagerly awaiting a feasible solution to the problem. What can we do to stop the overrunning influence of illegal immigrants? Yes, our country needs immigration; so many of the immigrants/refugees are hardworking, productive people who simply want to make a living and escape the dread their previous lives have presented. So, the argument of painting all of them "with the same brush" is foolish and is merely an example of hyperbole (exaggeration for effect) designed to stir the masses with anger and agreement with our country's leader. That exaggeration is simply ignored by me. I am confident that Case Farms, for example, would cease to be the business that it is without the immigrant labor. Of course, we like to think that such businesses are taking the jobs of homegrown Americans . . . truly laughable to me. So many of our American unemployed are that way because they simply have chosen not to work; therefore, this immigration argument must also present the side that immigration labor is essential to so much of our country, of which I have provided only a snapshot. However, the economic truth is that our country cannot afford the escalating costs of maintaining unfettered immigration. Simply put, our country's claim of welcoming diversity is being put to the test--something must be done because without a reasonable and fair alternative, our country as we know it could be bankrupted beyond our current beliefs. The logic clearly indicates that something must be done and done soon; without a fix, we are in deep trouble.

 

Pathos: The images that were presented on our nightly news, on our newspapers' front pages, on our magazines' covers, and on our social media websites are the reason the zero tolerance policy(?) was stopped. Any opportunity to tug at the heartstrings of people is an effective rhetorical device. Seeing and hearing small children and infants influence us, oftentimes in a way that allows us to forget the logic and focus on the emotion. As other examples, why do telethons invariably highlight a child confined to a wheelchair, news programs feature crying mothers sobbing over the loss of their children, or charity events call for increased financial contributions because "after all, it is for the kids"? All are designed to use emotion and vivid imagery to provoke a desired reaction. I clearly understand the power of visuals to persuade an argument, but the strength of an argument is not found in those strategies if the audience recognizes that the power of an argument is in the logic, not the emotion. On a simpler note, parents should imagine if we responded only to the pathos presented by our kids' logic rather than our more mature logic--the kids would get whatever they want whenever they want. Repeating my point, I am convinced that--in the public's eyes--the zero tolerance issue was tossed due to pathos, not necessarily logos.

 

Ethos: This point is central to any argument: if the person delivering the message cannot be trusted, is not seen as reliable and honorable, and has a track history of lying and bullying, why should we buy into the message? Of course, I can assume that most readers will understand that I am referencing our current President. As stated in a previous blog, I despise his character. Thus, his message gets garbled with me. Yes, I get the logic and I understand pathos's role, but the persistent changing of the President's mind, the documented history of lying, and the general lack of trust I have in him undermines his credibility. When he makes a statement, I simply cannot buy in--like the boy who cries wolf, the President has dragged me this direction before only to disappoint me (need I provide examples?). This is the crux of my dilemma: I recognize we are facing a serious problem, but I simply am shaken by the man leading the crusade. Please forget the Democratic vs. Republican drama that many fight . . . I am not involved in that catfight. This issue supersedes any of that nonsense--this drama is about solving a problem, one that presents a serious threat to our economy on so many levels. Allow me to go a step further; our media--many sources of which I do trust--have also done their share of undermining progress by choosing words such as "ripped the child from the mom's arms" instead of saying "removed the child from the mom's arms." Please recognize that certain agendas are being advanced depending on which source is being referenced. Again, the news source's credibility can be shaken by the implied bias that often surfaces--was the child ripped or removed from the mom? Yes, the word choice does make a difference, the source that reports it  makes a significant difference, but nothing is as influential as the person delivering the message.

 

One other point I must address in this lengthy blog today is a fallacy known as confirmation bias--reading and believing only that information supporting one's points of view. Most of us--including me--are guilty of this to a certain degree. As I have stated many times in previous blogs, to see a situation rationally requires us to look beyond our own perspectives and biases and attempt to develop an understanding of both sides of an issue. If all we see is our perspective, we are pigeonholing ourselves, and any open mindness is gone. Recently, I read a book recommended to me by a longtime friend. Through the book Secret Empires, I was challenged to see the Presidency and our country's legislators from the perspective of persistent corruption. I mention this only to make a point: I need to continually be exposed to thinking that forces me to develop a more thorough understanding.

 

Put it all together, my friends, and here is what I am seeing from my seat: To understand persuasion at any level and in any form, we must understand how language works and how arguments are manipulated. Merely listening to a loud voice is seldom an indicator of open-minded thinking; if we force ourselves to rationalize, to understand others' perspectives, and to recognize the power of language, we can intelligently understand what a sound argument looks like. Understanding divisive situations such as immigration demands that we educate ourselves beyond the simplistic.

 

Without close reading, listening, and thinking, we can often fall for anything.

Previous blog entries can be found at michaelagunther.blogspot.com.

Views from the Hot Seat...: Forever Young

Views from the Hot Seat...: Forever Young: "Why don't you write more frequently?" is a question I have been asked many times since I began writing this blog five years ...

Forever Young

"Why don't you write more frequently?" is a question I have been asked many times since I began writing this blog five years ago. My response is quite typical: I write when something moves me to do so. Oftentimes, I have no idea why certain thoughts infiltrate my thinking--today is one of those days.

 

For whatever reason, I miss my sister.

 

It's no special occasion such as a birthday, an anniversary, or a family event. I would assume it is related to something spiritual, perhaps, but I truly have no idea what that would be. Bottom line is that on this day, her image continues to appear in my mind. Because I best express myself through the written word, allow me a trip down memory lane where maybe I can make sense of my thoughts.

 

As I look back, my life has been a series of mostly positive events with a few negatives dropped in just to add a bit of flavor to my experiences. I find it easy to say that my upbringing was solid with strong parenting and loyal friends. However, having a sister who died at 32 in the prime of her life (with a family consisting of a son, a daughter, and a husband) was one of those moments that I guess I have never truly "come to grips with." Even today I sometimes find my voice cracking and tears forming when a conversation includes her name. Strangely, it does not hurt to talk of her; actually, I feel proud when I do so, but I still emotionally feel that connection. Even more odd is that we were not truly "blood" siblings; she was adopted as was I, both from different parents. However, that oddity is certainly irrelative when it comes to our emotional bond.

 

From the beginning, my sister Carol was better than I. She was a smarter student, a more quality person, and a more engaging personality. Filled with a freckled face, her smile was infectious, and her charm was so obvious. I suppose somewhere out there she had those who did not like her, but I seriously doubt that many exist. From her days of attending Dennison St. Mary's Elementary School to her time as a student at Indian Valley South and Akron University, she was a disciplined, dedicated student and friend. From a religious perspective, she was so devoted to the teachings of the Catholic Church from the time she was young. I, on the other hand, was not necessarily the opposite, but I was a bit more of a renegade than she. School for me consisted of being a smart ass, wishing I was outside playing sports rather than sitting in a classroom listening to a nun lecture me about why I needed to know this or that. Carol liked church; I did not. Having to sit still for an hour with neatly combed hair, a quiet mouth, and a rambunctious spirit did not add up to a pleasant experience. Getting my butt dragged out of church by my dad and getting spanked was pretty predictable; Carol, of course, did all the kneeling and praying as demanded by the old-school church. No, she was not the chosen one, but my orneriness certainly raised her status within the family. I am smiling as I write this--she was so good.

 

As her life unfolded, she did all the typical moves to ensure a level of popularity: cheerleader, band member (days I was subjected to her practicing her flute, which came after her clanging the cymbals!), track participant, student council representative, class officer, . . .--the picture is clear. Of course, she seemed to attract boyfriends, which I thought was pretty cool because they were athletes I looked up to. As high school wrapped up, she moved on to what was then Akron University. Naturally, she excelled, receiving a 4.0 practically every semester. In time, she married her high school sweetheart, Jay Huston, a man I admired then and still do today. In short, they were a perfect couple, although for the first few years of their married life they lived in Marietta as her husband completed his petroleum engineering degree while she worked as a secretary, often surviving on popcorn and water while they struggled to "make ends meet" in their rented trailer. Soon thereafter, though, they began a family, moving to a small plot of land outside Port Washington, Ohio, having a son, Jayson, and a few years later a daughter, Samantha. In short, the storybook small town love affair was well underway.

 

In time, her husband began climbing the oil/gas hierarchy leading them for a period of time to relocate to Texas where he assumed a significant leadership role within the Halliburton Company. Soon, though, they missed their roots and returned to Tuscarawas County, residing in Bolivar and then building their dream home on the outskirts of Dover. While here, she was a teacher at New Philadelphia High School as well as an adjunct professor at KSU Tuscarawas. Within this period, though, the dream bubble began to take on a different slant. During this return stretch to our county, she was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, one that ultimately took her life within fourteen months, leaving her husband with two kids, ages three and five. Sparing the details of those fourteen months is certainly deliberate; my point is not to invoke sympathy but to compliment her bravery, strength, and devotion.

 

You see, I learned so much from her that still influences me today. As I matured in my behavior and in my thinking, I realized what a special gift she was, While she was sick, I do not recall her complaining as we watched her body deteriorate. Instead, she was upbeat despite her fatal prognosis. Her children were always first, her thoughts of others exceeding her failing health. Like so many cancer victims, she had brief stretches where it appeared all was in remission only to be humbled by its dreaded return. Through it all, she demonstrated such courage that I so admired. In truth, at that point in life, I could not understand where that courage was coming from. She was fighting a battle we all strongly suspected she could not win, but she continued the fight. What mattered to her, I suspect, was that she was going to give it hell until the end . . . and that she did.

 

As so many of us know, when someone near to us passes away--particularly someone young--we are shellshocked, having little clue how to resume our normal lives. However, we also know that we do ultimately compose ourselves and return to an event-filled, new life. When Carol passed, I vividly remember my brother-in-law Jay comforting me by saying, "We don't have to understand life; we just have to live it." Simple words, of course, but they remain so reassuring to this day, and I oftentimes find myself repeating them to others when they, too, experience the passing of a loved one. Additionally, borrowing the words of Edgar Allan Poe, "No one ever dies as long as there is someone to remember," I have been blessed to confront deaths of friends and other family members with whatever strength is required, and I relate it to those two sayings.

 

Today, I miss my sister. In my mind's eye, she is still that curly-haired girl with freckles, a grin, and a motivation to be somebody special. Truly, she left her own legacy, spawning a beautiful daughter who looks so much like her, a son who loves adventure, and a husband who regrouped his life and married a charming, wonderful woman who met the challenge of raising Carol's two children and treating them as her own, an accomplishment I will never forget.

 

In a nutshell, I benefited so much from Carol's life, and, fortunately, I matured into someone who still is nowhere near her grace and class yet someone who was smart enough to learn from those better than I. So special she was, and she, of course, will always remain forever young (as my man Bob Dylan echoed) to me.