Marching Orders

*shouted in an authoritative voice*
Band. Ten Hut.

The high school marching band, quite frankly, sucks. Four years. Four directors. The only ones in their competitive division and instead of an award, they were given a certificate of participation.

Ouch.

That said, I've never seen a group of kids with more heart. More dedication. More enthusiasm. When was the last time you saw teenagers ask for more homework? For more rehearsals?

The new band director is just tough enough that it might work.

And I'm personally inspired.

I've spent a lot of time being tired and wanting a break, but after hanging out with these kids as the booster club president, I'm ready to do some more work. Brush up on some skills. Be a little tougher.

Forget the certificate of participation. I don't want to suck. I want an award.

I'm not looking for prestige or recognition, but that feeling as your head hits the pillow (you know the one) where you are exhaustedly accomplished. That you crossed things off your list. Made a positive difference in the world.

Grateful for the example of a new marching band director who is changing the world one mellophone at a time.

Fine.

Do you remember as a kid having the phone ring while your mom was yelling at you? As she stops to answer the phone [You know, the one with the rotary dial that requires you to stay close...because it has a cord], she smiles the pr smile and warmly says, "Hello," giving no indication whatsoever that a homicide has just been prevented. Barely.

Technology just might promote child abuse. [You know I'm kidding, right?]

No need to fake it via email, tweet, or text. And with emoticons, you can :) on screen while making a vile look that includes carnal hissing. Not to mention having the option to edit, delete, repost and recall.

We choose the pictures that we post. And really, I'm grateful. I'm seriously not interested in the instant replay of you picking your nose or eating peanut butter straight out of the jar. Or worse: doing both.

For so many reasons, I'm glad that we edit.

But then again, maybe not.

What about the friend having a rough weekend who says she's fine? Sucks to not know. Sucks even more when you're the one having the rough weekend and you think you are the only one who ever does.

Again.

Still.

So, for the record, my weekend was happy, sad, and incredibly ordinary. Smiles mixed with tears; success mixed with failure.

Somehow there is a completeness to it all. And if you ask me how I'm doing, I'm fine. :)

How are you?

Conflict on a Platter with a Side of Relish

I am the president of a school-affiliated parent organization.

The End.

Okay, just kidding. Kind of.

It's been a really interesting experience for um uh just about two weeks now.

I remember as an undergrad in some organizational something something class that I had to take that groups go through four stages:

Forming, Storming, Norming, and Performing

The point is, I guess, that these tender moments of bull sh-crap are absolutely, positively normal and to be expected. They indicate that group members are participating and that THEY CARE about what is going on, which is fabulous all the way until I go to the medicine cabinet and find that I've run out of Motrin.

I've studied all sorts of conflict, negotiation, and mediation theories. There's some good stuff there. I don't think you need a PhD, though, to see your way through your next trip into the muck and mire of trying to get along.

Personally, I want to know that you are listening and that you understand my point of view, even if, in the end, you don't end up agreeing. I'm not really interested in being attacked. And if you feel absolutely compelled to toilet paper my house, I would appreciate it if you would give me a call so that I can give you my new address or borrow a pitt bull.

In the end, though, if you can see your way through, most relationships are stronger for trying. There's something to be said about having a friend, relative, or partner who knows the very worst parts of you and chooses to stick around anyway. Even more to be said for those moments that you have really hurt someone really bad and they choose to love you anyway.

In the restaurant of life, I'm still not going to order conflict. I really hope it's not the daily special. But if it happens to be served up anyway, I'll ask for a side of relish.