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Inherited Idiosyncrasies – Peeling Oranges · 20 April 2024

Trying to peal oranges with a continuous peal is a strange idiosyncrasy that I inherited from my dad.

I am not sure that you can actually inherit idiosyncrasies, but it does not really matter. I am going to say that I did. After all, if we had a discussion about it, it would be a silly argument about nature versus nurture, and since I am just writing a blog, I would win the argument anyway. After all, a blog is, by its very nature, just a one way street. I know. People have the opportunity to comment and such, so it can be interactive. At least to a certain extent.

At any rate.

It has been a few years since my dad passed away, but I still think of him and my mom often. Often times I think of my dad when I peal oranges. I know. It is a strange time to think of him, but it will make sense in a moment.

My dad used to like to peal oranges in one spiral peel. I think he started doing it with the Mandarin oranges. You know, the little ones that are practically bite-sized. For some reason, their peels seem to hang off them like baggy pants or something. And for some reason, my dad decided that he was going to peel them in one spiral peel from the top to the bottom. I would say that he saw it on a YouTube video, but those were not a thing back in the day. I know. It seems like videos and the internet have always been around, but that is not the way people learned things back in the day. I am not sure how Dad learned about peeling his oranges, but I know it was not through the internet.

At any rate.

The interesting thing is that it was pretty easy to do the spiral peel thing with the little Mandarin oranges. But to do so on a navel orange or any other type of orange was something altogether different. Their peels did not hang off of them like baggy pants. They were held tight on those oranges. So the spiral peel thing was not a thing with them. At least not a sure thing. Still, my dad often tried it on them. At least I think he did.

What I know for sure though is that I tried to copy my dad. On many things, but especially, on peeling oranges in that spiral fashion. Which is why I am not going to debate whether I inherited the idiosyncrasy or not. Yes, I know that I watched him peel those Mandarins and other oranges. Yes, I learned that behavior. But I am sure I inherited the notion that I could do it whether my dad could or not. Which is to say that regardless of the type of orange, I try to peel it in one long spiral piece from top to bottom.

I must say that I am proud of myself when I accomplish the spiral peel on a regular orange. I know. It is not that great of an accomplishment. Still, I get pleasure out of doing it. Partly because it is a fun thing. And partly because even being proud of myself when doing something silly is one of those idiosyncrasies that I inherited from my dad.

Well, I did not really talk much about inheriting idiosyncrasies, but that is okay. I really just wanted to remember my dad for one of the strange things he taught me. One of those idiosyncratic things that I inherited from him.

By the way, if you decide that you want to spiral peel oranges from now on, you can say that you inherited the idiosyncrasy from me. And you can say so whether we are related or not.

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The Cross Dangling from My Neck · 13 April 2024

I wonder about the cross dangling from your neck. You see, I have a cross dangling from my neck too. I do not display it prominently. It usually dangles beneath my shirt rather than over it.

Many people are sporting crosses these days. Tattoos and jewelry are most noticeable. And when I see them, I always want to ask the wearer, “What does that cross dangling from your neck mean to you?” I want to ask the question because I want to have a discussion. And I want to know because I had to ask myself that question when I started wearing a cross.

I had been contemplating getting a cross when I received it as an anniversary gift from my wife. As I was contemplating the cross, I wondered why I wanted one. I wondered if it would just be a meaningless symbol or if it would be something more. More than that, I wondered how I would answer somebody when they asked me, “What does that cross dangling from your neck mean to you?” I wanted to be sure of my reasons for wearing the cross before I took up my cross. And I figured out two reasons for wearing my cross.

First, I wear the cross as a reminder to me of whose I am. Yes, whose, not who. I know who I am. I am just a guy striving to become a mediocre man. I am normal. Average or below. Like I said, striving to be mediocre. But whose I am is much more important than who I am. For I belong to God. Jesus is my Master and I am not ashamed to say it. The Bible uses the word “slave” or “servant” to describe a follower’s relationship to Jesus. We cringe from those words today. But perhaps we should not. Perhaps we should rather embrace them. At least when talking about our relationship to the one who paid the ultimate price for our freedom. You see, Jesus died for every bad thing that I have ever done or will do. Everything that goes against God has been paid for. The cross is the symbol that tells me the debt has been paid. God is appeased. I am free. And that goes for all followers of Jesus.

So since the cross means that my debt has been paid, since it is my bill of sale, I wear it to remind myself that I am not my own. God has paid my ransom. I am His. And as such, I will do what He says to do. He is the Master. I am His slave. Which is perhaps why people do not want to follow Jesus. The free gift of life costs too much. But does it really? Is obedience out of gratitude that much to ask when we weigh it against the reward? Life forever in God’s presence seems to be more of a gift than I could ever hope for. So first and foremost, I wear my cross to show that I belong to Jesus.

(I must digress for a moment. We Christians have co-opted the most vicious form of torture and death that the world has ever known to be a symbol of life. But in reality, the symbol could have and maybe should have been an empty tomb. After all, the empty tomb shows God’s resurrection power. The empty tomb is the symbol that tells me Jesus’ words were true. He is God. The empty tomb gives Jesus credibility. The empty tomb is the lynchpin of the Christian faith. Without it, there is no Christianity. But how do you depict an empty tomb? How do you wear an empty tomb around your neck? You do not. But a cross? That’s the ticket. It is easy to make. It wears well as a piece of jewelry. And it is full of meaning. At least to the wearers who rely on resurrection power.)

The other reason I wear my cross is so that others can tell me when I misbehave. When I am not acting like Christ would want me to act, people can point to the cross and ask if I am really His emissary. The cross is an invitation to others to hold me accountable to God. Now I know that some people do not know exactly what that means, but that is okay. For in inviting others to hold me accountable to God, I am inviting others to a conversation about what God really says. And I welcome that with open arms and open mind.

Nobody could ever really give a full description of their take on theology in a short blog post. After all, there is so much to say about grace and forgiveness and a whole lot more. And even though I will probably not ask many people what that cross dangling around their necks means, I certainly invite others to ask me. Your answer might be different from mine, but I still ask the question, “What does that cross dangling from your neck mean to you?”

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Four Inches · 6 April 2024

If you know me or have read my blog for long, you know that I coach athletes who throw the shot, discus, and javelin. I often say that I coach the throws, but in reality, I know that I coach the athletes who do the throws. Which means that I deal with personalities. Which is the best part of coaching. And perhaps the most challenging.

We all know that everybody is unique. I know. Some people think that they have doppelgangers out there. People who look and maybe even act just like them. But I do not agree with those people. I think that everybody is unique. Which is a difficult thing when teaching and coaching because it means that one size does not fit all. One coaching technique does not work with every athlete. One form of praise and encouragement does not work with every person.

Take Maddy. Maddy is an exceptional athlete. She works hard every day. She listens and takes instruction. She applies that instruction to get better. True, she does this in her own unique Maddy fashion. She has this gruff exterior, but it hides her softer side. It hides the fact that she really cares. Not just about her own performance, but about her teammates and everybody around her. Her false bravado hides her true nature. She is a softy.

Which is not to say that all her gruffness is a façade. In fact, I think she is tough as well as gruff.

The thing is that Maddy’s toughness and gruffness is only toward herself. Yes, she wants the best from those around her. Ask her lifting partner, Lily. They push each other to be better than they were the day before. They want the best for each other. And for themselves. In the weight room. On the mat (they are both wrestlers too). And in throwing. They want the best for each other, but Maddy does not demand perfection from anybody but herself. (Lily is like that too, but in a different way. But that is a different story.)

I see this drive for perfection every day of Track and Field (T&F). Maddy wants one more throw at the end of practice. She thinks that even her farthest throws are too short. There is something wrong with each attempt. And she is right. But nobody ever attains perfection. It is a matter of doing the best we can to get close. Maddy does not see it this way. She knows that she can always do better. I love this about her even though I try to temper it with a bit of perspective. Unfortunately, Maddy will not have any of that. She knows that she can always do better.

The most poignant example of Maddy’s drive, self-deprecation, and gruffness was when she got her first Personal Record (PR) this year.

Maddy is a rare talent in discus at our school. Her freshman year, she was one throw away from going to the state competition. (Sorry for bringing up the memory.) Last year as a sophomore, Maddy was chasing the school record. (I probably should never have told her how close she was.) Her farthest throw of the year was not the school record she sought. But even though she went to the state competition, she felt her season was not complete because she did not get the school record.

This season, Maddy has had some nice throws. One of those throws on the day before the day of this writing, Maddy got her first PR of the season. I knew it was a good throw. And I was pretty sure it was close to the school record. When we heard the distance, Maddy did not jump for joy. She did not relish her PR. Instead, she said in anguish, “Four inches.” She knew that she was a mere four inches short of the school record (which has stood for twenty-four years).

I love all my athletes and students. I celebrate with them in their successes. I grieve with them in their failures. And I do the best I can to give them the personal encouragement that they need regardless of the situation.

I celebrate and grieve with Maddy. She got her first PR of the season! Just four inches short of the school record.

[Note: The day after this writing, Maddy got her second PR of the season. She broke the school discus record this time. By more than four inches.]