My Li'l Lady

Here's a piece I did for my daughter during the Ozarks Writing Project Summer Institute in June. It's one of my favorite pieces I did, but I hadn't shared it here because you really have to see her dancing to believe it. As luck would have it, my wife caught a pretty good sampling of her dance moves yesterday in the kitchen, and these moves were too good not to be shared.



Tiny Dancer

Little gal, you had me at hello. You came into this world and put the stranglehold on your father's heart before you or he even knew what had happened. Perhaps it is more fitting to say that you became part of my heart, inseparable and imperative. I know this because when I heard you whimper or cry in the night those first few months, I was up and ready to do whatever it took to reassure you that you were cared for and loved.

Time has flown since your infant days, and it grows more evident each passing day that you are mine and I am undoubtedly yours. No longer a baby, you're now a three-year-old, long-haired fairy with feisty opinions on fashion and an insatiable appetite for all things princess-related. Still, despite the overabundance of pink clothes and Tinkerbell paraphernalia, you gladly oblige your dada by returning my "M-I-Z" with the proper "Z-O-U," giving life to my slim hopes that, like your precious jewel of a mother, you'll care about football.

But that's about me, isn't it? Can I tell you, little lady, the things you do that I love most?

I love when you cock your head, bat your eyes, and melt my heart with your full-toothed grins. I love when you bull your way up onto my lap, forcing your brothers aside and claiming me as your own. I love when you instruct me on how a lady sits and ask me to follow your lead. I love when you ask for a stuffed animal before bed...and then another...and then another...and then ten more so that you're eventually sleeping with a plush zoo.

But here's what I love most. Sometimes you dance. And, trust me, your dancing is like nothing I've ever seen. Your movements are an eclectic mix: one cup Charleston, a dash of Mambo, a pinch of Ballet, a dollop or so of what the kids call the Stanky Leg for pizzazz, and a hearty measure of epileptic seizure...the perfect recipe. You gyrate, flail, spin until dizziness nearly brings you to the floor, and occasionally call to mind the Seinfeld episode where Elaine dances at the wedding (you don't get that allusion now, but we'll watch reruns).

The best part, though, comes in the middle. You typically close your eyes while dancing, but inevitably, you will pause, turn towards me, and, as if only to warm my heart, gaze back at me with an approval-seeking grin. And I want so badly for you to know that I do approve. I passionately and wholeheartedly approve of you in every way imaginable.

The truth is, sweetheart, that your dad has a Father, too, and I only wish I could dance recklessly about with my eyes closed, only opening them to check for Fatherly approval. Sadly, I spend too much time scared of what I might not see if I closed my eyes. Eyes wide open, I fearfully scan the room to gauge the disapproval my measured steps are receiving from the wallflowers who don't even have the guts to look a young girl in the eyes at the punch bowl and too cool to step on the dance floor. I'm nothing like you; you who is without pretense and has no knowledge of posturing.

I have a lot to learn from you, princess.

You're too young to make a promise, but I want you to make it anyway. Promise me you'll keep dancing. When you find out the world can be a scary place, dance. When you find out that friends are only human, dance. When people try to tell you your self-worth is determined by their asinine judgements, dance. When some young boy breaks your heart (likely causing me to do something that will offer me opportunity to start a prison ministry from the inside), just keep dancing. And if, for a moment, you open those big, beautiful brown eyes, promise that you'll glance at me for approval because God knows I approve of you; completely and without reservation.

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A Conflicted Fan...

I love collegiate sports. I love the way fall Saturdays are consumed with more college football than a person can possibly take in. I love how in March, college basketball basically walks in like it owns the network television schedule. Though I'm not naturally the biggest baseball/softball fan, I'll gladly take in a game if my team, the Missouri Tigers, are involved. There's no better way to say it than to sipmly say this: College sports are awesome.


However, this morning, I ran across an article by Pat Forde on Yahoo Sports that once again stirred up an ongoing conflict I have as a sports fan.

In the article, Forde mentions the new facilities being built at the University of Oregon for the Ducks' football program. Forde writes:

"Oregon is dumping $68 million of Nike kingpin Phil Knight's money into a new 'football operations center.' Among the accoutrements you get for $68 mil, the Eugene Register-Guard reported, is a private hot tub and steam room for the coaches, 'each with a waterproofed video center . . . so they can watch video while taking a soak.'"

The money being used here, as I understand it, is primarily donor money, and I certainly don't think it my place to tell the head honcho of Nike how the recipients of his cash should use it. They can use that money for whatever purpose they mutually agree on.

Still, I can't help but wonder if this is just another symptom of what's wrong with college athletics, specifically in the world of football. It's hard, if not impossible, not to admit that college sports, as we know them, have gotten fiscally out of control.

A few stats of note:

• Urban Meyer, Ohio State football coach, will make $24 million over the next six years (that's guaranteed money, not including any bonus cash).
• In addition to all the other details of Penn State's mess, they now must also pay roughly $4.5 million in severance to assistant coaches fired when the new head coach came in and cleaned house.
• The University of Florida's athletic department's expenditures run in the neighborhood of $113 million.

These stats are just a sampling of the ridiculous amounts of money that universities have to shell out to have prominent athletic programs. Still, these teams I noted are just the "big boys," right? Surely it's only the top tier who spends this kind of money? True, but there's a developing trend in sports where smaller Division-1 FBS programs are trying to live like those at the top of the food chain.

When these smaller programs try to live as if they're the University of Texas or Alabama, the university is left to pick up the hefty price tag of their pursuits of prominence. Adam Weissman of The Atlantic reports that in 2010, only 22 of all FBS athletic programs turned a profit. He also reports that of the 120 FBS football programs, 51 were "in the red" with a median loss of almost $3 million. Where does money come from to cover that kind of cost? As an educator, I'm scared to ponder that question.

All of these figures, along with scandals like the one at Penn State or the USC/Reggie Bush debacle, are the worst aspect of the sports I love. I know that these kind of facts force me to face important truths, but as such a college sports nut, it's just far less than enjoyable to think about the fact that collegiate sports, at its core, is just another big business.

I don't want to watch a game knowing that it's all about cash. I want to believe that the triumphant moments I've watched such as Christian Laettner's buzzer-beater, Vince Young's single-handed takeover of the BCS championship game, or Boise State's stunning takedown of powerhouse Oklahoma were about the thrill of competition, the will to win, the drive to be the best...not about the almighty dollar. But, perhaps there's no room for such idealism in the market-driven world of college sports.

(From The Wall Street Journal back in 2007)

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Rams

A lot of Facebook folks commented on the album I put up containing pictures of our oldest son, Ramsey.  I posted those so I could access them for a photo essay project I needed to work on today in class at MSU.  In all honesty, I just chose random photos of him because I figured I could make something meaningful from them.  However, after I put together a first draft, I didn't really feel like I'd crafted a meaningful piece.  I settled on something by the afternoon, but couldn't help myself; I had to go back and do it again.  And I'm glad I did.  I think the final product says what I wanted (and needed) to say about my son.  He's amazing, and I don't want to ever be the dad who just thinks that is an understood truth.  I want him to know that I think the world of him and that I may actually be learning more from him than he will from me.  I'm no pro when it comes to photographic video editing, but I think this says what I wanted to say.

Silence is Golden

Proverbs 17:28

  "Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent,
  and discerning if they hold their tongues."

Maybe I'll keep my mouth shut today. Unlikely, but a guy can dream.