A Hockey Mom's 'AH HA' Moment

I recall vividly the day my son came to me and said, "Mom, I want to play hockey." That was the last thing I expected to hear from my 9-year old who had never even been on a pair of ice skates. "Honey, there is no hockey here," I quietly replied. "Uh huh, Mom! I heard it on the radio." Well, of course, I laughed hysterically, but he was insistent and oh-so serious. As I thumbed through the local newspaper, there it was--the dreaded hockey registration notice. It appeared that a group of residents in a nearby town were starting an organized hockey league.

Therefore, I did what I thought every other mother in my predicament would do--signed him up! Only later did I discover that a few of my friends thought I was crazy--driving 40 miles every day after school for practice and spending weekends going to games and tournaments in Canada and North Dakota, traveling even as far as Grand Forks, ND, and Moorhead, MN. Was I really crazy? Probably! Then again, it's what he wanted to do. If at any time he would have told me that he wanted to quit, I would have agreed because it meant that it was no longer "fun" for him. In fact, as a junior in high school, he played basketball, which was somewhat eye-opening. However, that sport was short-lived as he spent his senior year on the ice.

I don't know exactly why he chose the goalie position, but it was more than likely because his skating skills left just a little bit to be desired. I had always thought that a goalie needed to possess a certain mindset because it was easy for other players and parents to blame him for a game loss. That's when an excellent coach could and would make all the difference.

As a mother, I have to admit that I was one of those over-exuberant fans. I never coached from the sidelines, but my favorite "yell" was "Be ready, Bud! Be ready, Bud!" One time I had to laugh at a fellow parent, who didn't attend many games and asked me, "Who is Bud? Do we have a Bud on our team?" *shaking my head*

My most memorable "hockey mom" moment came during my son's PeeWee (age 12) game. His team was playing in the ND State Championship consolation game for 3rd or 4th place. If they won, it would be the first trophy brought home by any team in the 4-year existence of the Richland Ranger's league.

At the end of the regulation game, the score was tied; thus, a shootout--five one-on-one shots on each goalie. Oh! I was so excited and yet so nervous for him. I could never imagine being in that position. But he held his own, and the score was still tied at the end of the shootout. Another shootout! I was BEYOND nervous at this point! As the coach was selecting his next five shooters, I saw my son leave the net. What was he doing?? He skated to the bench, lifted his helmet, said something to the coach, and returned to the net. How strange was THAT! After the game, I asked Russ, the coach, what Jason had said to him. Russ laughed and said, "He told me, 'Don't worry, Coach. I've got 'em covered." And he did! The trophy was theirs!

On the ride home in the car that day, I learned two valuable lessons from my children. Firstly, never under-estimate the love of a hockey sister. While we were all buzzing about the game, Janelle, age 10 at the time, excitedly blurted out, "I have a present for you, Brother!" pulling out of her pocket the "game-winning" puck and handing it over with pride. She beamed from ear to ear as she explained that she had found the official and asked for the puck because that goalie was her Brother! :)

Secondly, I learned to never under-estimate the influence that a coach can have on my children, good or bad. Once again I had one of those "bad mom" moments as I asked my son, "Wow! You had a super game! How does it feel to be a hero?" He gave me the most peculiar look and quietly replied, "Mom, I'm not a hero. I'm one of a team." In my eyes, Russ was now the true hero--he taught my son well.

I now have two grandsons playing hockey; and yes, I admit that it's probably all my fault. The picture on the left was taken from the front page of the Dickinson Press. Jackson, 6, is the little guy in blue. This is his second season, and he loves the game! The second pic is Leif, 5, who is in his first year of hockey in Moorhead, Minnesota. His brother Jacob is planning to join next year.

I only hope that during those 8 years as a "hockey mom" and a "basketball, volleyball, and track mom," I was able to give my children insight as to what to do and, even more importantly, what NOT do as a supportive parent. I definitely made my mistakes, but hopefully the lessons I learned will guide them as they now become the supportive "hockey mom and dad."

It's all about having "FUN!"

What Would You Do? (Part 1 of 2--Hard Rock Cafe)

After watching the new television show "What Would You Do?" I realized that I had experienced a similar situation but with a slight twist and thought my readers would find it somewhat humorous, though I found it rather freakish at the time.

Shortly after we had moved to the east coast, my cousin Bill and his wife Rita came to D.C. to do the "tourist" gig. One evening, the four of us decided to head for the Hard Rock Cafe. As we turned the last corner before reaching the restaurant, two things struck me as being rather peculiar. First, there were very few cars parked along the street which surprised me, as the Hard Rock is usually always a packed house. Second, I noticed a fella sitting alone on a stoop, which made me wonder if he was one of the hundreds of homeless individuals in the District.

After we parked, I opened my door, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and gasped in horror! The gentleman (?) I had seen on the stoop was literally holding my car door open for me and smiling. I instantly thought that we were about to be mugged, and more than likely at gunpoint!

I quickly gave him the once over...he wasn't a large fella, didn't appear to be intoxicated or high, but definitely could use a shower and a clean change of clothing. And what's with this big smile across his face? Is he proud of scaring the living daylights out of me? As I continued to stare at him, he finally spoke:

"You gonna have dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe?"

"Ummm...yes we are," as I turned to see Terry, Bill, and Rita now standing outside the car and giving our "visitor" the same stares I had been giving him. I couldn't get away from him soon enough as I joined the other three and headed across the street to the restaurant. But this fella was right alongside us repeating that he would "guard" our car for us.

"What...what did you say?" I curiously inquired.

"I will protect your car while you have dinner. You don't have nothin' to worry about."

Seriously? Should I be worried about my car? What could possibly happen to it? Wait!! Maybe it is time to worry! I'm positive that he knows more about nightlife in D.C. than I surely do.

He then hustled over to Bill and continued, "You are one big guy...are you a football player? I think you're a Dallas Cowboy, aren't you?"

(I should explain to my readers that Bill is about 6'3" and weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of 300+ pounds; and it just so happened that the Cowboys were playing the Washington Redskins in a few days from then.)

Bill just couldn't resist, and in his best version of a Texas accent, he replied, "Yes, I am! so you don't want to be messin' with me."

"No...no! I like the Cowboys!"

He accompanied us to the restaurant door, and his final words were, "Have a good dinner." How could I possibly have a good dinner if I was going to spend the next two hours contemplating what might happen next.

As we waited to be seated, Bill mentioned that we probably wouldn't have any hubcaps or stereo, or worse yet--any car--by the time we left. Of course, we nervously laughed and then discussed our options:

A: We could ask for window table to keep an eye on the car.

B: Terry could move the car to a public parking garage several blocks away (which is obviously what the 100+ current patrons had opted to do).

C: We could choose a different restaurant.

D: We could ask our server if our car was actually safe parked on the street. (explaining that we were new to the District)

E: We could ignore our "protector" and enjoy dinner.

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO?"

Part 2: See what we chose to do and the result of our decision.

The Clapper

I am quite certain that the majority of my readers have either seen the television advertisement for "The Clapper" or perhaps even own one. I had forgotten that Terry received one as a gift. He must have tucked it away for a rainy day--or should I say "snowy" day...and he and his "toy" have been driving me crazy ever since.

The first week of December he assembled my Christmas trees, and I spent the next three days decorating them to perfection. Yes!! They were absolutely gorgeous! He put up the outside lights and Christmas decorations--we were ready for the holiday season.

However, several days later while he was watching television and admiring our Christmas tree, he jumped out of the chair and made a mad dash to the garage only to return with "The Clapper." I couldn't imagine what he was planning to do with it, but soon found him tinkering under the tree. Oh, nooooooo! He really isn't going to attach it, is he?

"Clap! Clap!" Nothing happened. Again, "Clap! Clap!" Still nothing. But on the third try--on came the Christmas lights--success at last. "Clap! Clap!--off!" "Clap! Clap"--on! I'm not exactly sure what his reasoning was behind this--perhaps he just wanted to avoid bending over to flip the switch on the light cord.

But, wait!! The lights just went off with NO "Clap! Clap!" Within minutes we both realized that any loud noise from the television would turn the lights off and on--again and again! I suggested that he remove the device, but he found it rather humorous, so I went about my business cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. Because our living room, kitchen, and dining room are all in one open area, I discovered that ANY noise had the same effect. I couldn't even put away dishes without the lights "doing their thing."

I could certainly live with flickering Christmas lights; but when Terry's "Clap! Clap!" doesn't work, he resorts to YELLING at the tree, thinking if a loud noise could act like a switch, then so could an obnoxious "HA! HA!" Does he not realize how idiotic that is? I told him that he needed to warn me when he was going to "scream" at our tree. If our neighbors could see him now! I know they can definitely HEAR him!

We're finally going to celebrate Christmas this weekend with our children and grandchildren--thank goodness! That tree cannot come down soon enough for me; and this time, I will be the one to tuck "The Clapper" away for NO other "snow" day!

My Cabby World

Growing up and spending most of my adult years in Montana, I had no call for using a taxi to get from place to place unless my family and I were flying to a vacation destination and needed to get to our hotel. However, most of the time, we would use the airport shuttle or rent a car. If we did resort to using a taxi, I never paid much attention to the driver except for relaying our destination. But, oh how that changed when we made a stop in Nassau, Bahamas.

Denise, our taxi driver, was by far the most unique driver I had ever encountered. As we left the ship, I spotted her immediately...how could you miss her? She was decked in her finest apparel from head to toe. She wore a bright, fluorescent blue dress with matching high heels, and "bling-bling" that could blind a person. The beat up station wagon that set beside her, though, was enough to question whether or not the four of us should accept her ride. But we did--as well as several other passengers, including her two children she picked up along the way to take to a concert on the beach. She entertained us all the way to our destination, a true delight to have met. Perhaps that's why she was the only cabby's name I have ever remembered.

Then, of course, there are the cabbies I would rather forget! Very early one Thanksgiving morning, Terry and I were flying out of Dulles Airport for Montana. I had called the previous night for a taxi to ensure our driver would be on time. We waited and waited--I called again. He was late! When he finally arrived and we were headed for the airport, he apologized for being late. He told us his tale of being stopped by a state trooper for "speeding." (Oh, great!! and I wanted him to speed to the airport!) He was from Peru and had only been driving for two weeks, but at least he could speak fairly good English and knew the way to the airport--unlike so many other cabbies in the D.C. area. Of course, my giving directions to the airport or to our home ensured me that it would be the shortest, quickest route--a good thing!!

In some cases, though, there is no short, quick route to my destination as I discovered one evening as I flew into Albany, NY, the closest airport to my conference site, Saratoga Springs. What? There is no shuttle? I grimaced at the thought of a 40-mile taxi ride, but hoped that the woman cabby would prove to be my best bet. Wrong again! She drove 50 m.p.h. in what I thought was a 70 m.p.h. zone the entire trip while sharing the history of the area, pointing out the sites to see along the way (which were impossible to see in the dark), and complaining about her relatives. I had never in my life spent $75 plus a tip (which my boss always said should be at least $10) for a taxi. What I found rather infuriating, though, was that the return taxi ride to Albany was only $55, plus a tip. Grrrrrrrrrr....

A month later, my boss and I were waiting at the airport in Gulfport/Biloxi, MS, for a flight home only to discover that there was a problem with the plane. Word came hours later that a part was being flown in; but it wasn't certain when the plane would be repaired, tested, and ready for flight. (Thank you, American Airlines for that information, which I could have lived without!) Meanwhile, the majority of the passengers were looking for alternate flights, my boss and I included. She was becoming quite frustrated because it was a holiday weekend, and she felt guilty that I was spending it in an airport trying to get home. She suggested that I check for any flights out of Mobile, AL. "WHAT?" She wanted me to take a taxi to Mobile (approximately 50+ miles) to catch a flight. This woman had rocks in her head!! No way was I going to do that--I'd rather wait. I wasn't THAT fond of cabbies! And luckily within the hour, I was headed home, leaving her behind to catch the next flight.

I have to admire those NYC cabbies who are the greatest multi-taskers I've ever seen. They can continually honk their horn, yell at drivers who nonchalantly go about their business, and magically turn a 4-lane street into 6 or 7 lanes. However, my favorite NYC cabby is without a doubt Ben Bailey, who maneuvers those streets as if he owns them. If he had stopped for me, I more than likely would have been kicked to the curb.

If you're planning a trip to the BIG APPLE, you might consider looking at this website:

http://dsc.discovery.com/fansites/cashcab/quizzes/quizzes.html

Practice makes perfect, and good luck finding that ultimate cabby!


P.S. I'm fortunate if I get perhaps 7 out of 10 questions correct on these quizzes, and they're multiple choice. I can just imagine what my score would be without any help. If I am ever lucky enough to have Ben as my cabby, "Please, Ben, kick me ever so gently." :)

Expect the Unexpected! (Part 4 of 4--"Kenny")

Once again I found myself sitting in the principal's office of Sidney High School. Today she was telling me how pleased the district was with the success of my English and ITV classes, how receptive my students were to my creative teaching techniques, and how they seemed to respond favorably to the class when she talked with them individually. (Obviously she didn't approach the student who, on the second week of class went to his locker to retrieve a pen, paper, and his homework, and never returned for the remainder of the semester.)

As we were walking down the hallway toward the new room I would be using for my class, we encountered one of the staff's English teachers. After being introduced, she informed me, "I've had Kenny in my class for FOUR years, and he's just so lazy and falls asleep in class. Maybe YOU can do something with him." I glanced quickly at the principal and back to the teacher, "I certainly do hope so."

I had never been one to pre-judge a student because of comments made by others. I had taught enough years to realize that each student responds differently to either a class or a teacher. Her statement did spark a curiosity in me, though, and I was anxious to meet "Kenny." 

He was somewhat subdued that first night of class, and I was thankful that he didn't find a need to sleep. To my surprise, as the weeks rolled by he became more outgoing even to the point that he would ask questions, participate eagerly in presentations, and volunteer for certain activities. He was definitely a pleasant, polite young man whose performance was above average.

One particular evening the students were diligently working on group projects when the superintendent stopped by to observe. He gave me an inquisitive look as he wandered around the room chatting with students who were sitting on the floor doing a variety of activities such as cutting, pasting, writing, reading, gluing or chatting with a group partner. As he approached Kenny, who was lying flat on his back with one leg flung over the other, he asked, "What are you doing, Kenny?"  Without taking his eyes off the book he was holding, he responded, "Reading my Thesaurus." A wink and a "thumbs up" gesture came from the superintendent as he strolled by me and out the door.

Midway through the semester, I attended a Parent/Teacher Conference and was able to give mostly favorable reports to parents regarding their child's progress in my class. I was especially eager to meet Kenny's mother, as I was certain that she hadn't received many positive comments from his previous English teacher. But when she walked through the door, I couldn't believe my eyes!

I knew her! By the look on her face, she was just as surprised as I was! Her oldest son and my son played on the same hockey team for several years, and we had worked together in the concession booth and visited at the games and tournaments. However, at that time, Kenny was just a toddler, perhaps 2 or 3 years old. Because they have a common name to the area, I never made the connection. Even if I had, it wouldn't have made any difference. Kenny was an exemplary student that semester.

At the end of that school year, I retired from teaching, having accepted a job offer that would move us to the east coast. The company for which Terry worked had a going-away party for him. It wasn't until I saw Kenny's mother heading quickly in my direction, that I remembered her husband worked part-time for the same company. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she hugged me tightly and whispered into my ear, "Thank you for giving Kenny his life back."

"You're more than welcome, but it wasn't me. Kenny earned it all on his own. He's awesome."


And with this memorable moment...so ended my days in the ITV world, along with 27 fun-filled years in the classroom.

Expect the Unexpected! (Part 3 of 4--"Seeing RED!")

As I readied for school the following morning, I was kicking myself for becoming somewhat lax in videotaping the remote classrooms for scenes exactly like the previous night. It wasn't that I feared the superintendent of Lambert High School wouldn't believe me, but had I documentation, it could demonstrate the severity of the teacher's harsh words. I promised myself that every ITV class from that day forward would be taped.

Once I had arrived at school and completed my preparation for the first class of the day, I headed to the office to make the necessary telephone call. As I waited for the secretary to connect me to the superintendent, I replayed the incident in my mind. I had never met this gentleman and was curious as to what his reaction would be.

"Hello."

"Yes, this is Mrs. Carlson from Savage High School, and I need to visit with you for a moment regarding last night's ITV English class."

What came next made me see RED! He was laughing...laughing uncontrollably!! Obviously the teacher had given him the wrong impression about what had actually occurred. I saw absolutely nothing funny!!

As he continued to chuckle, he replied, "Oh yeah...that was ME!"

"Excuse me?"

He repeated, "It was me. I sat in on the class and had no idea how that equipment worked. When the kids came out into the hall at break time, they told me that your students could hear every word I said. I didn't know that."

(I'm totally speechless at the moment...what could I possibly say to him, a superintendent, without being disrespectful?)

He continued, "Did you notice that I never stepped foot into that room during the last half of your class? I wasn't about to go in there. When I got home that night, I told my wife what I had said. She told me, 'It's time for you to retire.' She was definitely upset with me."

"Well, Sir, she wasn't the only one. My students became so angry with your comment that I could have had a small riot in my classroom. That student you addressed has enough problems, and really didn't need that."

"I'm sorry about what happened, and I assure you that I will not enter that class again."


As I returned to my classroom, I thought to myself, "No, what he SHOULD have done was have the decency to return to that classroom following the break and apologize to Allen because he knew that what he had said was inappropriate."

Later that afternoon as I prepared for a business class via ITV to Dawson County High School, I slipped a videotape into the recorder as I had promised myself and hoped I wouldn't need to use it. Yet, the very next day...another incident.

In all of my classes I had a habit of announcing any upcoming test several days in advance. For this particular class of almost 30 students, I reminded them on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday that they would be taking a major test on Friday--today.

As soon as I asked Mr. Mickelson, the monitor, to distribute the test, I saw Sarah, who sat in the front row directly in front of me, raise her hand. When I called on her, she explained, "I'm not taking the test today because I was absent yesterday and didn't know about it."

"Sarah, the test was announced at the beginning of the week while you were here. You need to take it today. There will be no makeup test for you."

"I'm NOT taking it," she bluntly stated as she glared at the test before her.

"Sarah, you have two options--take the test or take a zero. Those are the rules."

In an almost whisper, she mumbled under her breath, "F**k you."

For the second time this week, I was seeing RED! As I glanced at both classrooms of students, not many seemed to have heard her, but I had--loud and clear (She was sitting directly in front of a speaker).

"Mr. Mickelson, would you please escort Sarah to the principal's office and inform him that I will be talking with him immediately following this class." By the look on the other students' faces, I knew that they had not heard her, and for that I was so very relieved.

I viewed and prepared the videotape for mailing before making the telephone call to the principal. He was quite apologetic for his student's behavior and assured me that he would handle the situation accordingly.

It felt good knowing that as an outsider, I had a vast amount of support from numerous school administrations. However, I would soon learn that the more I did, the more they expected of me.

To be continued...

Expect the Unexpected! (Part 2 of 4--All Hell Breaks Loose!)

As I sat in the principal's office of Sidney High School, I listened intently to the plan she was proposing. The school district was asking me to teach an English night class to senior students who needed the credit to graduate. The class would be every Wednesday evening, would be three hours in length with a 15-minute break, and would be taught via ITV to Lambert High School as well. Their district would pay me my current hourly wage for class time, preparation time, and mileage. Without hesitation, I agreed.

For some unknown reason, I had never been able to say "NO" to any new adventure; however, as I drove the 20 miles home, I questioned my decision. These were more than likely going to be difficult students who disliked English class or school or BOTH. I needed to be extremely creative to hold their attention and keep control of both classrooms. I was either a glutton for punishment or loved a challenge--I wasn't sure which.

The first night of class proved to be somewhat interesting as I watched my students enter the classroom. Let me see--blue hair, Mohawks, two boys in the back wagging their tongues at one other (Apparently they both had just received tongue piercings.), a total of 17 boys and 1 girl. Gazing at the television monitor, I saw seven students enter the remote classroom; and I immediately discovered a pair of lovers sidling up to each other and holding hands under the table. Hmmm...that won't last long. I should explain to my readers that rather than individual desks, the ITV rooms consisted of long tables to allow speakers to be appropriately placed.

I thought that first class went quite well considering that I knew absolutely none of these students; but as I was preparing to leave that evening, Allen (name changed to protect the innocent) approached me and inquired, "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to tell you that you need to understand me 'cuz most teachers don't. I used to do drugs, but I'm trying not to do that anymore. Teachers don't understand. I just want you to know that I'm going to try to be a good kid in your class. But you need to understand 'cuz sometimes I have bad days...and nights. I just wanted to tell you that. Oh...and I get into trouble sometimes, but I'm not going to do that anymore. Okay? If you just try to understand who I am and where I'm comin' from, I'll be good for you and do all the work. Please just understand and give me a chance. Okay?"

...and so his rambling continued for the next 30 minutes. As I walked to the car where Terry was waiting for me, I couldn't help but wonder, "What did I get myself into this time?" Terry thought it was rather humorous, though, that a student would keep ME after class rather than vice verse.

Much to my surprise, the class was running very smoothly until the night all hell broke loose! The class was finishing a composition assignment when Allen approached me and inquired, "Could I go on 'break' now? I'm done."

"No, we still have a few minutes. Why don't you return to your seat and double check your work?"

He pleaded, "I did that already. Can I please go? I even said please."

"No, you need to wait just a few more minutes."

As he was headed back to his assigned seat, a particularly loud comment came from the remote classroom:



"If I was there, I'd SMACK that SMART ASS...teach HIM a lesson!"



No words could describe what I was thinking as I looked at the television and realized that the remark had come from the teacher who was monitoring the class. Instantly Allen was throwing glares between the television screen and me, yelling, "Is he talkin' to ME? Huh? Is he talking to ME, Mrs. C. Where is that guy?" He was livid...and so was I!

Immediately the other boys started yelling, "Yeah..he's talking to you! You going to let him get away with that? You should do something, Allen! That wasn't right...do something! Within seconds Allen was at the podium and yelling in my face...


"Can he hear me now? Where is that guy? I want to give him a piece of my mind!! Get him back in that room! Now!"


I was dumbfounded and slightly frightened to say the least. (Thank goodness I had the sense to turn off the speakers as soon the comment was made.) What a nightmare this was! While all of the boys were egging Allen on to do something, I somehow managed to stay calm as I responded:

"Allen, please, please settle down. He's not in the room and wouldn't be able to hear you even if he was. It's my problem, not yours; and I'll take care of it. I promise. Please..." Now I was the one doing the pleading. Our break time couldn't come soon enough for me as I sent everyone out of the room...giving them an extra 5 minutes. They honestly deserved it that night.

I was undoubtedly upset by the "comment" which came from that remote classroom, but what I would discover the following morning would infuriate me even more. And unfortunately, this would not be the only ITV incident before the long-needed weekend would eventually arrive.


To be continued...