On the Sidelines
“A ship in a harbor is safe. But that’s not what ships are built for.” — John A. Shedd
Photo by Julie Miley Schlegel, ships docked in Galveston
Recently I saw a little girl, second grader, brown hair in a ponytail ready for the day. She wore a shirt that said “Fight Like a Girl.” She came in with her dad for me to check a bruise she had gotten while playing in the parking lot of her apartment building.
She described chasing a friend who was on a bike, tripping and landing on a fire hydrant. I examined the linear yellowing bruise on the left abdomen, checked for tenderness. Made sure the underlying organs weren’t damaged and that she didn’t have concerning symptoms that would indicate internal injury to the valuable real estate of the abdominal organs.
“All good,” I told her, as she sat up on the exam table. I told her I had one more question. “What?” she asked. “Was the injury worth it?” She smiled her big, toothless grin, and her eyes twinkled. “Definitely,” she said.
Spring sports are in full swing, which finds me seated on the sidelines of multiple games per week. Eyes on number 21, eyes on number 17.
The December lacrosse tournament at which my son was hurt the last two years came and went. At that tournament, I found myself on edge, waiting for the moment my son would be hurt again.
I worried the whole weekend, stressed about the injury I knew would come but never did. I was happy and relaxed when he was on the sidelines, because I knew nothing could hurt him.
I realized at that game that the only time I’m truly relaxed and calm at their games is when they’re on the sidelines. No risk of injury. No risk of making the wrong play, missing the ball, or being responsible for the play that lost the game. No risk of letting themselves down, or their team down.
But my kids aren’t on the teams to be on the sidelines, watching everyone else play. And I guess they’re not meant to be on the sidelines of life, either.
When they don’t put themselves out there and take chances, there is no chance that they will be rejected. No grief for a job they didn’t get. No tears for a school they won’t attend. When they don’t invest in new relationships, there’s no chance they’ll have their hearts broken.
When they don’t swing at the incoming ball, there’s no chance to strike out, but there’s no chance for a home run, either.
If they don’t run down the field, chased by defenders, to shoot at the goal, a twisted knee will never happen, but neither will the proud moment of the point scored.
When I was a teenager, I had a poster in my room of the ocean and its horizon, a single ship on the water. “A ship in the harbor is safe,” it said. “But that is not what ships are made for.”
It makes parenting hard that life isn’t meant to be lived in a bubble. As a teen, I was invincible. Not really a risk taker, but not afraid, either. I said what I thought, come hell or high water. As a parent of teens, I see things differently. I want to protect them from themselves until they have a full frontal lobe.
Our kids are going to get hurt — physically and emotionally. Weirdly, these are the times they will grow. As parents, we can’t protect them from these injuries. But we can be there with an ice pack and hug (and advice, strategically dropped into the conversation) when they get up.
I remember the abdominal bruise I had when I hit a sidewalk bump on my own bike around third grade. I watched the bruise turn from violaceous to lighter purple to green to yellow as my body broke down the blood products and healed itself. A regular bike rider, I learned to avoid that bump in the sidewalk and kept riding.
I remember some of my own rejections and heartbreaks like they were yesterday. They temporarily broke me, but I learned to get back up and take one step at a time until I learned the lesson life was trying to teach me.
I don’t want my children to get hurt, ever. I want to bubble wrap them and guard them from life’s hard lessons. But I also don’t want them living their life on the sidelines.
This week, I had the good fortune to spend a day with my beautiful, smart daughter, who is now 20. We drove to Galveston and walked on the beach. We took our novels and read as the waves crashed on the shore. We found a restaurant that put freshly caught shrimp on our salads.
When I was about her age, my mom loved a song whose lyrics came to mind as I watched my daughter wade into the cold water, thinking of her first visit to that very beach at nine months of age. Now I’m the mom wishing these same lyrics for my own children.
“I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens.
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance.
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance.
I hope you dance.”
Songwriters: Mark Daniel Sanders / Tia M. Sillers
I Hope You Dance lyrics © Universal Music Corp., Sony/atv Melody, Choice Is Tragic Music, Soda Creek Songs, Round Hill Verses Publishing
Photo by Julie Miley Schlegel, Galveston beach
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.
Identifying details have been changed to protect the patient’s privacy.