Community. This past Friday, a group of eighth graders changed my perspective on the meaning of that word. There was a time I would think of my neighborhood when I heard “community.” As I’ve grown older (not old…older), my perspective has changed, but it meant even more after a sporting event Friday. Sure, “community” can mean a neighborhood, but it can mean so much more, including a sense of fellowship with a group.

Friday, my daughter and her eighth grade lacrosse team played in the conference championship game. This team is made up of a group of girls who, for the most part, had never played lacrosse till last year. I think two, maybe three, of them had played before picking up the stick in seventh grade.

In seventh grade, they got some great coaching, and they learned a lot. At the beginning of last year’s season, it was painful to watch sometimes…they couldn’t throw; they couldn’t catch. As the season progressed, we could see rapid improvement.

This year, in eighth grade, the improvement was remarkable. They are bigger and stronger than they were in seventh grade. They weren’t undefeated. They didn’t even have a fabulous record. But they worked hard, and they played hard.

Here is where the word, community, comes into play.

These girls have been supported by their families all year. The parents and siblings turned out for every game, cheering them on, and encouraging them. Occasionally, some classmates would come out to watch, but eighth grade girls lacrosse is not always a big spectator sport. We could see them improving as individuals throughout the season, and we saw them improving as a team, as well. Every game, they went out and did their best, no doubt.

They are a team. They formed their own community.

This past Friday, for the championship game, they learned just how big their community is.

After the girls won the semi-finals game Wednesday afternoon, they went to school, and they took to social media, encouraging their classmates and lots of other people to come cheer them on in the championship.

We are very fortunate. My daughter’s class at school is a good bunch of kids. Sure, bad decisions are made on occasion, but even good kids make bad decisions. Heck, even good adults make bad decisions sometimes. As a whole, and as a rule, these kids are good kids. Many of them have been together since kindergarten or even transitional kindergarten, and for the most part, they really like each other.

I’m not living in a pipe dream. They aren’t all best friends. They don’t all hang out together en masse all the time, but they respect each other and generally like each other. I volunteer at school a lot, and I’m always happy to see these eighth graders. Civility is alive and well with this bunch.

Friday, the team showed up for the game, and so did lots of their classmates. Interestingly, the parents of this grade are all pretty supportive of each other as well, and since they knew I would be at the game, several parents of classmates who wanted to go watch called and asked if I would “chaperone” their kids at the game. Our school wants middle school students to be accompanied by an adult. It doesn’t mean a 1:1 ratio. It means they want the kids to have an adult looking out for them…someone to be responsible for them. I was thrilled when I got the calls and texts, because I knew the kids were planning to attend..

When I arrived at the stadium, I was amazed. There was a big group of eighth graders, and even lots of younger students and a few older ones. Lots of parents who don’t have daughters on the team were there. I looked around and saw families with younger children, and before the game started, more and more members of our school community arrived…teachers, administrators, staff members, and lots of students of all ages. I was thrilled, and I’m sure the girls were too.

The girls’ classmates arrived carrying signs they’d made on posterboard! The eighth graders who were spectators…lots of boys and lots of girls…gathered together in one section of the bleachers. They cheered often, and they cheered loudly…great kids, I tell ya.

In the end, we lost the game, 8-6…two late goals by the other team. No one was happy about that, except the other team, but there were lots of supportive hugs on our side of the field after the game. Our girls had worked hard through the entire game, and while no one loves a loss, I was proud of how hard they had played, and I was proud of our school community. Winning is infinitely more fun than losing, but sometimes we learn more about ourselves and those around us after a loss.

The team mom hosted the girls for the end-of-season party after the game, and while they were disappointed about the loss, they had good perspective.

They all know some of them probably won’t be playing lacrosse in high school. Some of them will pursue other interests, but these girls made some great memories together. There were lots of photos at the party, because for this generation, if there isn’t photographic evidence of something, it didn’t happen. I’m OK with that, though, because I know how pictures can bring back great memories when you look at them later.

I even have a few photos of the eighth graders in the bleachers. I’m saving those for their high school graduation in 2022.

I’m so proud of these kids’ sense of community. They understand the importance of supporting each other. I have a feeling almost everyone in their grade would have loved to be there, but some of them couldn’t be there for one reason or another. I hope they will carry that sense of community with them till they graduate and beyond.

One boy’s mother texted me hours after the game Friday night thanking me for “supervising” the boys at the game, adding, “I loved that they wanted to go support the girls’ team! The boys owe them after all those basketball games they stayed to watch.” During basketball season, the eighth grade girls’ games are before the eighth grade boys’ games, so often, the girls would stay late to watch the boys play.

I told her, of course, that I was flattered to get to “supervise,” adding that I love this eighth grade group.

Our girls learned a lot about competition from that loss, but they also learned a lot about themselves and their classmates.

They are learning great things about the importance of supporting each other. They are learning about community.

We’re all in this together!

When I was a freshman in college, I had the most adorable roommate. She was from Tennessee, and her name was Fannie. Yes, Fannie. Everybody loved Fannie. She was cute and funny, and she was fun. We are still friends, and she’s still cute, funny, and fun.

I had a pretty tough course load that first semester, and really, I have absolutely no recollection of what classes Fannie took, but I remember one class: Public Speaking.

Now, I applaud her chutzpah for taking Public Speaking her first semester of college. I was impressed, because there is no way I would have done that. In fact, I never took a Public Speaking class. I don’t remember a lot about her class, but I know she had to write and give different types of speeches. I think she had to give three or four different ones…maybe informative, demonstrative, persuasive, and last but not least…an entertaining speech. Yikes.

To the best of my recollection, Fannie never discussed the first two or three speeches with me. She wrote them; maybe she practiced them. I really don’t remember. But then, as we neared the end of the semester, she had to give the scariest speech of all: the entertaining speech.

What does that mean?! Does that mean you have to be funny?!

Oh, she struggled with it. I should say WE struggled with it, because I felt terrible for her for having to give an entertaining speech. That sounds like something that should be left up to a professional.

The night before her speech, she still had nothing. Was she supposed to come up with a Johnny Carson-style monologue? (Yes, it was 1985, and Johnny still had a few more years on The Tonight Show.) We were sitting in our room discussing different topics, but nothing was truly entertaining. It was painful. She was already convinced she was going to get an F. I think she even considered skipping class altogether. It was agonizing.

At about 10:00 or 11:00 that night, a girl from down the hall came into our room. Everyone on our hall had become friends early in the semester, so it was no surprise this girl would come in for a visit when she came home from a date. Actually, the surprise might have been that she came home from the date at all.

I’ll call her Mary Jane (not her real name). Mary Jane came in telling us she had just had the worst date ever. She had been so excited to go out with this guy. He was supposed to be fun, and he drove a fancy car. We didn’t know what kind of car it was, but it looked fancy. It was the 80s, after all, and we were 18, so we were shallow enough to think a cool car meant he was a cool guy.

Mary Jane went through the rundown of every single thing that had gone wrong on her date. Oh, it was terrible from the very beginning. He came to the dorm to pick her up, and he waited for her in the lobby. When they walked out to his car, he opened the doors that flew up like wings, and Mary Jane said, “I love your Lamborghini!” First mistake.

He quickly informed her it wasn’t a Lamborghini. He was visibly offended. It was a Bricklin. I’d never heard of it before, and I haven’t heard of it since, so I looked it up online. According to Bricklin.org, the Bricklin International Owners Club website, “The Bricklin SV-1 is a gull-wing door sports car that was assembled in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada.” According to the website, it was manufactured from 1974 to 1976 before the company fell into financial ruin. Sounds to me like he’d have been better off letting her think it was a Lamborghini. It was 1985, after all, and the car was ten years old and manufactured by a failed company.

Bricklin SV-1

According to Bricklin.org, the Bricklin International Owners Club website, only 2,854 models were manufactured.

That night, Mary Jane got in the car with the guy we will now call Mr. Bricklin and drove away. He took her to dinner. Mary Jane was a statuesque girl, standing about six feet tall. What she didn’t realize is that the “gull-wing” doors weren’t as tall as she was, so when she attempted to step out of the car, she banged her head on the door. She was making quite an impression.

I think they went to Cypress Inn, which is still in operation today on the banks of the Black Warrior River. While the food was good, dinner was disastrous. First, Mary Jane tried to order an alcoholic beverage but couldn’t produce an ID saying she was old enough to drink. Secondly, she flipped a salad into her lap.

So now she’s sober and wearing her salad dressing.

I think Mr. Bricklin wasn’t known for being a great conversationalist, so that was a failure too. I guess it’s a good thing he had the “fancy car” to get chicks. The only thing that would have worked better is a guitar…or maybe a spot on the football team. College girls love guys who can play guitar, and girls love athletes.

The date was a total bust. Mary Jane came home immediately after dinner, and we got to hear every dreadfully hilarious detail of every disaster that occurred. As she told the story, she was laughing, and we were rolling…laughing the way college girls laugh at stupid stuff.

She finally left our room and turned in for the night.

Fannie was still struggling with her speech.

And then it occurred to me: Mary Jane had just written Fannie’s speech for her! I said, “Fannie! That’s your speech!” “What?” “Mary Jane’s date! That’s your speech! Tell her date story as if it’s your own! Pretend you went on the Bricklin date! Mary Jane just gave you a speech!”

The next morning, Fannie stood up in front of a room of 100 people (I’m totally making up that number, but it was a lot) and told everyone about her Bricklin date that really wasn’t her date. She told that story as if it were her own. She totally owned that story, and she included every little funny detail.

And you know what? Fannie got an A.

I wish I could have heard her give the speech, but I was trying to time my entrance into the math building perfectly so that cute quarterback, Mike Shula, would hold the door open for me…like I said, guitar players and athletes.

Good times!

My friend, Neill, posted this on facebook yesterday: Helping one person might not change the world, but it could change the world for one person. 

That is an amazingly true statement.

Photo by Matt Collamer on Unsplash

It makes me think of one of Oprah’s shows. Didn’t we all love to watch Oprah back in the day? Well, on one of her shows, her guest was a lady named Tish Hooker. Years before, when Oprah was an eight-yr-old little girl, Mrs. Hooker visited her church while campaigning for her husband in the gubernatorial race in the great state of Tennessee. While visiting, she stopped as she passed the 8-yr-old Oprah. Mrs. Hooker looked at Oprah and said to her, “Why, you’re as pretty as a speckled pup!”

Apparently, no one had ever told little Oprah she was pretty before that moment. So sad, because don’t we all think our own children are beautiful? You’d think she’d have heard it from a relative at some point, but no, she hadn’t. And to be told you’re as pretty as a speckled pup? Well, it’s a southern girl’s dream!

On the show that day, Mrs. Hooker came out to the stage with no prior knowledge of why she had been invited to appear. Oprah told her the story about the church encounter, and of course, Mrs. Hooker had no recollection of it. But Oprah remembered it. She said it made her feel so good to hear those words that she never forgot it.

Mrs. Hooker had done something kind in passing and didn’t even realize what a profound effect she’d had on that child’s life, but because Oprah went on to fame and fortune, Mrs. Hooker got to find out!

Wouldn’t we all love to have the same effect on someone that Mrs. Hooker had on 8-yr-old Oprah? It’s possible you’ve had that same effect on someone and don’t even know it. Maybe you believed in someone when no one else did. You don’t have to be a gubernatorial candidate’s wife to have a big impact on someone. I don’t mean go around throwing out hollow, baseless compliments, but doing kind things or giving thoughtful compliments can change a person’s outlook…and it can improve your own mood too.

Just today, I was leaving the grocery store, and I was deep in thought about all the things I have to do. It had been an uneventful day, and I had spent the morning tying up some loose ends. I was pushing my cart (or buggy, to those of you in the Deep South) to my car when a smiling lady complimented me on my hair. “Your hair is so pretty!” It put a smile on my face immediately, and I thanked her, adding, “You just made my day!” We started talking, and I detected an accent that wasn’t Charlotte, so I did what I do. I asked where she was from.

She was from a small town outside Knoxville, Tennessee, which explained the accent. I told her I thought she might have been from Alabama. She is a Tennessee Vols fan, and of course, I’m a Bama fan, so we talked SEC football and Bear Bryant for a few minutes before hugging like old friends and going on our merry way.

She had no idea how much that one little compliment brightened my day.

And that’s what I mean.

The late, great Maya Angelou said, “At the end of the day, people won’t remember what you said or did. They will remember how you made them feel.” And that’s the truth.

It turns out Oprah remembered what Mrs. Hooker said, but she remembered it because of how it made her FEEL.

A few years ago, my friend, Angela, attended her 20th class reunion. (OK, so it was more than a “few” years ago.) At the reunion, a gentleman approached her and her then-husband. After introducing himself to her husband, he said, “I just want to tell you that your wife is something special.” He then went on to tell how, when he was a new student at the high school, he played football. After every game, the school’s spectators would rush the field and hug the players…important stuff to a teenage boy. The football player didn’t know many people at the school and didn’t have a lot of family in the area, so he could have felt lonely on that crowded field. However, after every single game, Angela made a point of finding him and giving him a hug…every…single…game. He remembered, because it made him feel special in a sea of new classmates. And guess what? By remembering it and telling her husband the story, he made her feel special 20 years later.

My brother, Mr. Tough Guy, is good about performing random acts of kindness. Yes, I’m going to brag about him for a minute. He has always been good about helping stranded motorists in one way or another. Just last year, he was driving behind a truck on a country road. At some point, the truck pulled over to the shoulder. Brother (that’s what I call him) kept going, but after about a half mile, it occurred to him something might have been wrong. He turned around and went back. When he and the other driver stepped out of their trucks, it turned out to be someone he knew from high school but hadn’t seen in years! The old friend thought he might be running out of gas, so Brother followed him to the nearest gas station…just in case. That act of kindness turned into something positive for Brother too…seeing an old friend. He didn’t tell me the story to get “good deed points.” He told me the story, because it made HIM so happy to see his friend!

My brother (on the right) sent me this selfie after running into his old friend.

Random acts of kindness…

If you find yourself feeling less than great, practice random acts of kindness. You might make someone else’s day, year, or even change their lives with one gesture! It’s probable you will benefit, as well. It gives me a little rush to think I’ve done something nice for someone. It’s not a “patting myself on the back” thing…it just makes me happier!

Next time you see your child’s teacher, tell them something nice instead of complaining. Treat a new friend to coffee. Stop by to meet a new neighbor. Pretty flowers growing in your yard? Cut some and take them to a friend. Greet your flight attendants with a warm, genuine “good morning” and a smile as you board the plane. Give a little extra tip to your server…or a big extra tip…especially if he/she is having a bad day. A generous tip could turn the day around for them. You never know when someone might need that extra cash. Donate needed items to a friend who collects things for the homeless in your area (remember, homeless people are somebody’s babies too). Check on someone’s elderly mama. I know I’m grateful to people who checked on and visited with my mother as she got older.

My friend, Mary Ann, won’t take credit for this, but yesterday, she sent a message to the gentleman who organizes free mowing services for elderly people and veterans who need it. He has a country-wide network. Mary Ann wanted to help an elderly couple, both of whom are veterans, but they don’t have a lawn mower, and she couldn’t haul one in her automobile. She contacted the gentleman, and less than 24 hours later, he had someone going to mow the lawn. Mary Ann made it happen.

My friends, Mary Ann and Neill, and my new friend from the grocery store (whose name I did not get) were my writing inspiration today. They’re all good eggs.  I’ll keep Mary Ann and Neill on my friends list, and next time I see my new friend from the grocery store, I’ll get her name.

So, make a conscious effort to practice random acts of kindness. The recipient will feel better and you will too.

Just think of it this way: Act like a Hooker…Tish Hooker, that is.

Why, you’re as pretty as a speckled pup!

XOXO,

Kelly

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