Datebook: July 14, 2008
So for the second time in the last two years, Miss U.S.A. has tripped and fallen at the Miss Universe pageant. I mention this because Matt Lauer informed me of this monumental fact this morning on the Today show.
My heart goes out to Crystal Stewart’s mother.
The parent of any skater understands the significance of this blip.
We live in fear of “the fall.”
We become superstitious about it. We bring our “lucky” bits of personal flotsam to ward off slipped edges and caught toe-picks. We learn to hold our breath and increase our lung capacity as the program length moves from two to seemingly 84 minutes.
During the last few competitions, I have watched the parents in the audience and am amazed at the varied degrees of watchability.
Some parents sit calmly, a few even sip coffee during the twizzles. Some sit on the edge of their seats with clenched hands, seeming to go through each jump and spin with their team. Some secretly gulp a few swallows from silver flasks.
I am a little suspect of the parents who can watch calmly with a sweet smile of their face. These are the same people who say things like, “Oh, I don’t mind what birthday is approaching, I’ll be just as happy at 70 as I am at 30.” And “no, you eat the last piece of cheesecake” or “you go ahead with your full grocery cart; I have plenty of time.”
I am suspect because I have also sat like that, but it was with the aid of whatever tranquilizer one of my friends brought to the rink. Seriously, I who in real life hesitates to take even a Tylenol, open my mouth for whatever my RX-savvy friends choose to pop in.
Oh, it wasn’t always like that. I used to feel a bit stronger than the parents who had to wait in the lobby or on the outer concourse of the arena. But, I secretly envied them and as my daughter got in the opening pose I longed to make a run for it myself. I devised ways to watch by not watching. I would cheer and clap for them as they entered the ice and then when their music started, I would close my eyes. I would then listen to the music and play in my head what they should be doing—and trust me—they had all level fours in my version—while asking my friend and partner’s mom repeatedly, “How is it, How is it?” (She is in banking and therefore steady as a rock—she typically can run a spreadsheet at the end of each program and know the variables to compare to previous performances.) I would open my eyes during parts of the program--inching out to the edge of the cliff so to speak (well, squinting just a little)--allowing my eyelashes to shield any potential for disaster.
This descent from pseudo-watching to being tranquilized did not occur naturally. No, it happened after I witnessed a 2-fall event. That’s right---I have heard the gasps two times in the same program and opened my tangled eyelashes to a double splat-fest.
The lowered scores aren’t the worse part of the falls. The worse part is coming up with what to say to your offspring when they finally make their way to the stands.
Nothing works of course. (You can discard these as tried but not successful: “That didn’t go as planned;” “I wish you could skate that again;” “Well, except for about eight seconds, that was a great program!”)
The side effect, of course, is that once there is a fall, you as a parent fear the reoccurrence.
This morning, Matt Lauer confirmed that fear. I didn’t watch the Miss Universe pageant (although it is a great event to get costume ideas!) but now I know the fallee’s name and propensity of the U.S.A. candidate to fall on the steps. Matt called Crystal this morning and asked her what happened and she was forced to come up with an answer.
But sometimes there just isn’t an answer. It just happens and we’ve seen it chip away at dreams big and small.
So, as the skating season nears (two weeks and counting!) I might recommend the Jimmy Buffet/Alan Jackson approach to watching—It’s Five O’clock Somewhere!
Maybe Ann could sell decorated flasks at Lake Placid (to adults of course).
Mombo
My heart goes out to Crystal Stewart’s mother.
The parent of any skater understands the significance of this blip.
We live in fear of “the fall.”
We become superstitious about it. We bring our “lucky” bits of personal flotsam to ward off slipped edges and caught toe-picks. We learn to hold our breath and increase our lung capacity as the program length moves from two to seemingly 84 minutes.
During the last few competitions, I have watched the parents in the audience and am amazed at the varied degrees of watchability.
Some parents sit calmly, a few even sip coffee during the twizzles. Some sit on the edge of their seats with clenched hands, seeming to go through each jump and spin with their team. Some secretly gulp a few swallows from silver flasks.
I am a little suspect of the parents who can watch calmly with a sweet smile of their face. These are the same people who say things like, “Oh, I don’t mind what birthday is approaching, I’ll be just as happy at 70 as I am at 30.” And “no, you eat the last piece of cheesecake” or “you go ahead with your full grocery cart; I have plenty of time.”
I am suspect because I have also sat like that, but it was with the aid of whatever tranquilizer one of my friends brought to the rink. Seriously, I who in real life hesitates to take even a Tylenol, open my mouth for whatever my RX-savvy friends choose to pop in.
Oh, it wasn’t always like that. I used to feel a bit stronger than the parents who had to wait in the lobby or on the outer concourse of the arena. But, I secretly envied them and as my daughter got in the opening pose I longed to make a run for it myself. I devised ways to watch by not watching. I would cheer and clap for them as they entered the ice and then when their music started, I would close my eyes. I would then listen to the music and play in my head what they should be doing—and trust me—they had all level fours in my version—while asking my friend and partner’s mom repeatedly, “How is it, How is it?” (She is in banking and therefore steady as a rock—she typically can run a spreadsheet at the end of each program and know the variables to compare to previous performances.) I would open my eyes during parts of the program--inching out to the edge of the cliff so to speak (well, squinting just a little)--allowing my eyelashes to shield any potential for disaster.
This descent from pseudo-watching to being tranquilized did not occur naturally. No, it happened after I witnessed a 2-fall event. That’s right---I have heard the gasps two times in the same program and opened my tangled eyelashes to a double splat-fest.
The lowered scores aren’t the worse part of the falls. The worse part is coming up with what to say to your offspring when they finally make their way to the stands.
Nothing works of course. (You can discard these as tried but not successful: “That didn’t go as planned;” “I wish you could skate that again;” “Well, except for about eight seconds, that was a great program!”)
The side effect, of course, is that once there is a fall, you as a parent fear the reoccurrence.
This morning, Matt Lauer confirmed that fear. I didn’t watch the Miss Universe pageant (although it is a great event to get costume ideas!) but now I know the fallee’s name and propensity of the U.S.A. candidate to fall on the steps. Matt called Crystal this morning and asked her what happened and she was forced to come up with an answer.
But sometimes there just isn’t an answer. It just happens and we’ve seen it chip away at dreams big and small.
So, as the skating season nears (two weeks and counting!) I might recommend the Jimmy Buffet/Alan Jackson approach to watching—It’s Five O’clock Somewhere!
Maybe Ann could sell decorated flasks at Lake Placid (to adults of course).
Mombo
posted by IDC Staff @ 7:54 AM
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