being there
Watching YaYa’s basketball games has been a nail biting experience – and I’m not one to bite my nails. The level of competitiveness has long passed the “fun-to-fun” stage leaving YaYa on the sidelines for much of the game. Unfortunately, when he does go in, he’s inadequately warmed up and out of synch with the rest of his teammates. Subsequently, errors happen.
My thoughts went back to when BoBo was the same age. Aside from BoBo seemingly gifted with sporting ease, BoBo had a deal of time playing the competitive balls-out basketball with his dad, older brother, and often times many other guys that just hung out around our house. In contrast, YaYa has only me: his mother whose historical aversion to any-sport-which-utilizes-a-ball is justified many times over. I’m good for about 30 minutes of H-O-R-S-E, or Around the World, but that’s it. I basically…SUCK.
When I arrived in the parking lot to watch YaYa’s last basketball game, I was relieved to have the season finally come to an end. While I feel it is 110% essential that I be there, I must admit that I have (in previous moments of nail biting frustration) wondered why.
I glanced at my stubby little fingernails (with fresh manicure already chipped off) and sighed. Perhaps now they can grow back. As I walked toward the gym a woman stopped me to ask for directions to the hall. I pointed to the darkened building. She looked at her flyer with frustration. I tried to encourage her, “Are you early? They’ll probably be here in a few minutes.” She nodded and went back to her car to wait. I entered the gym and was met with stares. I was late but, still. I wondered why everyone seemed to be looked at me.
“monkey donut”
I’ve always thought of my stepson as a pillar of strength — nothing ever phasing him. But a few days ago I was reminded that even strongest buildings are vulnerable to stressors. So before I even rolled out my mat today I chose to dedicate my practice to DD with hopes he would somehow benefit.
When the instructor began she described a picture of a clown balanced on a balloon, with more than a dozen balls in the air to be juggled, and a monkey with a pin in hand threatening to burst the bubble that holds the clown and all that his is juggling — I thought “OMG. This is going to be so perfect.”
Each one of us yogis could easily relate. How often do we find ourselves juggling a vast array of jobs, to-dos, and the responsibilities-essential-to-another’s-well-being. Whether we like clowns, or the Cat in the Hat with the cup, milk, cake, fish, rake, toy ship, etc, no matter how well we are balancing it all, so often we feel that if one more responsibility or task was given to us, we’d fall apart and let everything go to ruin.
“More ease; Less effort.” That was our mantra, or the thread that would weave the string of poses into one fabulous workout and a fabulous practice to dedicate to DD. As we moved through the poses, or asanas, I thought of him. As I stood on one leg with the other outstretched in front, wobbling and trying my best not to fall, she had us scan our bodies for where the areas that were working too hard. I found I could ease the work in my back by straightening out my leg and flexing my toes. “Less effort; More ease,” she called. And I thought of him trying to balance a full-time highly-demanding job, graduate school, and all the responsibilities of living in this stressful day and age. He does it so well, you’d never know he was feeling worn by the demands.
In the mirror, my eyes fall upon a yogi with one of the most perfect eagle poses I’ve ever seen. Everything about it, at least on the outset, whispers “ease.” But when we are asked to grow our pose, this same yogi wobbles and her eagle falls apart completely. My eyes return to my own image. I stare back at myself, serious and full of effort. I take a deep breath and remind myself to find ease. My eagle grows and I can almost see a smile peering out from behind my crossed arms.
hold your head high
Things just don’t come easy for YaYa. He fight just to pull off average grades, and fights even harder for a few minutes of playing time. And still, he holds his head up — even if he has to do it with his hands.
I suppose it can be a reminder to all of us to hold your head high even when things don’t go your way.
we’re off to see the doctor
Perhaps he’s not the most wonderful doctor of all, but Dr. F is pretty darn cool. I’ve known him since the days of bedside nursing when he was in his fellowship (I think), or residency. Anyway, I sent him an email after YaYa spiked a fever of 102.8 degrees fahrenheit and he told us to come on down.