The Days Go By

It’s a line from the Eagles 1975 classic hit, Tequila Sunrise: “The days go by.”

And they do. Whether you like it or not, whether you waiting for (or enduring) a tequila sunrise on a beach in Acapulco, or working in a coal mine in eastern Kentucky, or trading stocks on Wall Street, or writing songs in Nashville--- the days go by. Like wet sand slipping through our fingers, the days go by.

Lori and I have a friend who takes old videos and transfers them into a DVD. People give him their wedding ceremony, children’s birthday parties, anniversaries, and other significant life events. The quality on the DVD is better and more enduring.

So Lori has been going through all our family videos to see which ones we want our friend to convert onto DVD. The other night after dinner, she asked me, “Want to watch some of the family videos?”

Two and a half hours later, teary-eyed and smiling, we turned off the VCR. I went to bed, thinking that was the last of our family viewing. But the next morning, instead of the news in the background of our get-ready-for-work routine, Lori was playing another family video. “Look at that, would you?” she chuckled while putting on her make-up, pointing to then three year old Madi’s recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance.
That evening when I arrived home, there was Lori again, glued to the TV, video in, on the road to becoming a family video junkie--- this time watching the then young Dr. Whitlock preaching. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Your preaching style has changed. You used to be sooo loud, and you preached FOREVER!” I think it was a compliment, but all I could see was a fuller head of hair, no gray---and smoother skin on my youthful face.
We are a blended family, so our family video viewing takes twice as long. There was Mary-Elizabeth dancing, Harrison being awakened on Christmas day by the kisses of Skittles, his new puppy, Madi with her baby dolls, and Dave playing in his Davy Crocket outfit. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters---they were all there, through all those years.
The days go by: Mary-Elizabeth gave up ballet long ago; Madi’s baby dolls are somewhere; Harrison and I buried his Christmas day puppy, by then the grizzled Skittles, several years ago; And it’s been years since I could hold tiny Davey high above my head--- balancing him in one hand, the toddler sucking on his pacifier, kicking his chubby legs, giggling uncontrollably---and proclaim while laughing with him, “Behold, the child!”
Each moment was a moment, caught in time, pictured on camera, fleeting ever so easily, always so quickly, passing through time---time, the common denominator that levels us all until we are all equal, everyone of us dust.
But not dust in the wind, floating along random like, drifting in the currents of time, without meaning or purpose. Seeing years compressed in minute segmented videos reminds us of our two inescapable boundaries: birth and death. But as long as we travel, we can and should sing because we have hope of a forever life that endures beyond the family movie. As Moses said it in his prayer, “Satisfy us each morning with your unfailing love so we may sing for joy to the end of our lives.”
Yes, Moses, to the end of our lives, and beyond, to a life that extends beyond our lives. William Faulkner put it like this in his 1950 Nobel Prize speech, “I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among the creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.”
Maybe, just maybe, Don Henley and Glenn Frey---sipping straight tequila, waiting on the sunrise---were somehow, somewhere deep within themselves hoping for hope, thinking that there must be more, more than what is here, as “the days go by.”
And there is.

David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., can be reached at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or through his website at www.davidbwhitlock.com

Juggling Little League, Family, and God

I had heard the complaint before in other places, at other times. “I struggle with wanting my child to participate in summer little league baseball and still have time for our family events, not to mention participation in church,” the concerned mother told me over the phone. “It just seems like we can’t do it all.” In her particular situation, baseball games were being scheduled not only on Sundays, but on Sunday mornings--- a definite conflict for Christians who want their family to worship together. As a parent, and as a pastor, I understood.

This is not an isolated, local problem. The Wall Street Journal printed an article on July 21, 2010, about the challenge parents face when involvement in organized team sports begins to overwhelm families, interfering with vacations, stealing visits from grandparents, aunts and uncles, consuming weekends, leaving no time for family leisure and outings. Although the story focused on elite youth sport teams that often requires a year-long commitment, the gist of the report was that parents are pushing back and sometimes withdrawing their kids from these programs so that the family can maintain a more balanced and healthy lifestyle.

Let’s face it; few if any of the kids who play little league sports will ever make a career of it. Even of those that play competitive sports in high school, less that 1% ever makes it to the pros. For baseball it’s 0.44%; for football, 0.08%. If becoming a pro is the dream, the odds are not in your favor.

But team sports do have a definite positive side: sports can teach young people how to cooperate with one another in attaining a common goal; they can teach basic life skills---like how to deal with conflict--- and develop athletic abilities for further participation in competitive sports. Involvement in youth sports has been traced to improved self-esteem, lower obesity rates, and improved grades in school.

So, what to do about the time constraints youth sports--- particularly summer sports--- put on families? The problem is best dealt with before the season begins. When we give other people the permission to establish our priorities, they inevitably will. If we let the city’s little league game coordinator determine our summer schedule, he/she will. And it will likely be at our expense. A clear sense of priorities is the only way I know of steering the family ship through the sea of summer frustrations.

If the goal for your child’s involvement is to make him/her a more complete and integrated person, then let the coach or little league committee know your goals from the very beginning. If your priorities are God first, family second, and summer league baseball third, then why let a summer sports scheduler reverse the order of your life purposes?

After all, just how much is that first place trophy worth, anyway? Is it worth tearing up your family’s summer schedule? Only the parent can determine that. But remember, your priorities do reflect your values.

As a parent who rarely missed one of my son’s little league games, I have observed that the problem of over emphasizing competitiveness in youth sports is more frequently driven by parents who are trying to fulfill their own dreams as athletes through their children. Kids will generally take the sport about as seriously or lightheartedly as the parents and coaches do. I recall watching a coach shout at a 4th grader in a city league football practice: “What do you think this is?” he screamed, “Fun? This is football; it’s not supposed to be fun.”

“Really?” I thought. If it’s not fun how do you expect a child to continue playing the game? I switched my son to a different team with a coach who had a sports philosophy more compatible with mine.

Parents have to remember they are ultimately in control of their children’s activities.

Here’s the bottom line: if the parents refuse to have games on Sundays, or Sunday mornings, it won’t happen, unless coaches are willing to import players from another part of the country. And if they are able to do that, some city has too much money and somebody is thinking too hard about how to waste it. Remember this: youth sports are meant to be fun. In the words of Benny Rodriguez, in the 1993 film, The Sandlot, “Man, this is baseball. You gotta stop thinking. Just have fun.”

Life Matters is written by David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. His email address is drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com. You can visit his website, DavidBWhitlock.com.