Gratitude

We were the first of our group of friends to have kids.  More notably, we were really the first of our group of gay/lesbian friends to have kids.  I mean, we knew other couples who were trying to get pregnant, but we were the first ones to cross the finish line so to speak.  And it was important to us to make sure the kids knew other kids in two mom/two dad households, but we also wanted the kids to just have friends who had families that were diverse, regardless of their makeup, because we wanted our kids to be able to live in a world where it didn’t matter if the people they socialized with were like them, because they knew that everyone had value and something to contribute to the world.

We knew we’d have to come out, over and over again, as a two mom family.  Daycare, school, the pediatrician.  Heck, we have had to come out at restaurants, the bank, you name it.  We’ve had questions like “who’s their REAL mom?” and even had an awful nurse ask me how I got pregnant if my partner is a woman.  A NURSE. 

Anyway, our approach has always been to be as open as possible, because our family is our family and we never wanted the kids to feel like they had to hide anything.  Walking into our first season of Little League, the twins were 3, about to be 4.  And I have to admit openly that I was more than concerned.  Would a boy being raised by two moms be teased by his teammates?  Would the other parents be inclusive of us?  Would they say ignorant or hurtful things in front of the kids?  Our fears weren’t going to stop us from signing him up, but we certainly walked into that first team meeting with trepidation.

We were incredibly lucky to have had an amazing first experience.  We soon realized that the experience was not exclusive.  The second season of Little League went well and none of our fears were realized. 

And then we moved.  And the fears started all over again, because now we weren’t with a group of kids who had been together since they were 3 years old.  By the luck of the draw, Nate landed on a team coached by “the two Matts”.  Only then, through that season, and the seasons that have followed, have we truly realized how lucky we are to live where we live. Never once has anyone made us feel like the “token” gay family.  Quite the opposite – we’ve formed amazing friendships with families who don’t see us any differently than any other family.  I’m sure Nate isn’t the only kid with two moms or two dads in our Little League, but he is the only one that has been on any of the teams he’s participated on.  And nobody cares. 

This year, Nate not only played Little League, but he’s been playing travel ball, and that brought together a group of families – some of whom we knew and some we didn’t – that were going to be spending entire weekends together at tournaments.  And yet, we’ve just become part of the backdrop of parents who take pictures and pace and cheer and encourage all the kids. 

I know we’re lucky.  It’s not like this everywhere.  Kids in gay families face ridicule and teasing and bullying and many live in fear to have their kids participate in high profile activities in the community like mine do.  Julia is just another gymnast on the team, and Nate is just another ball player – whether it’s baseball or basketball or soccer.  They’re allowed to just be kids, and that’s how it should be, regardless of whether you live in a blue state or a red state.

Julia recently said to me, “Dads are mean, I’m lucky.”  She happened to be at a baseball tournament watching the dads while their sons were on the ball field.  I told her that wasn’t necessarily true, and that moms can be mean too.  I know for a fact she doesn’t actually believe that dads are mean (some of her favorite people are dads – I’m looking at you John Fenner and Matt Patereau), but it was the first time either of the kids really took their family structure as a source of pride, and I’m happy we’ve instilled that in them. 

More importantly, it’s been amazing to watch the kids develop relationships with other kids and their parents.  They are invited to birthday parties and celebrated on the field and at school and nobody gives a second thought to anything other than they are Nate and Julia.  A ball player, and a gymnast.  A kid who loves Harry Potter and Star Wars, and a kid who loves drawing and fashion and music.  And oh yeah, they have two moms. 

I guess the whole point of this post is to act as a thank you of sorts.  To all the coaches and the families and all the teachers who have embraced us.  I know to most of you it is no big deal, it’s who you are as people.  You don’t see us any differently.  Maybe for some of you we’ve changed your minds about families like ours, I don’t know.  Just know that you being in our lives has made a huge impact on us and our children.  I truly am beyond grateful for all of you, more than I’d ever be able to tell you.  Because I see your impact on my kids each and every day, in their confidence and the ease at which they carry themselves at school, on the field, in the gym, in the neighborhood. 

It may not seem like much to you, but those two little people are our world.  And their world is a better place because we know all of you.

Kool-Aid

9 weeks ago I stepped into Westbound Crossfit completely terrified.  I had never done anything like Crossfit in my life.  A little over two years ago, I started running, which was really the first fitness related activity I’d ever taken on.  I did it as a reaction to the sudden death of a friend of mine, and along the way I learned a lot about myself.  I ran two half marathons, a few 5k races, and a half marathon relay.  I felt better and ate better while I was running, and experienced fewer migraines and lowered my cholesterol. 

But after the second half marathon, something was missing.  I couldn’t get motivated to run anymore.  I chose sleep over early morning runs.  Even with the treadmill in the house, running just didn’t excite me the way it used to.

I’d thought about Crossfit off and on for a few years.  I never felt comfortable enough to try it.  Friends would push me to check it out, but I knew I could never be strong like them.  I didn’t think I was hard-core enough for Crossfit.  I didn’t like group fitness classes.  And I certainly didn’t want to be yelled at through a workout like I thought would happen at a Crossfit box. 

But I was ready for something to change.  I couldn’t keep promising myself I’d go running and then not do it.  I couldn’t keep wishing I was stronger and healthier and then not do anything about it.  So at the urging of more than a few friends, I walked into Westbound in the shadow of a member who kept promising me that I would love it.

That first workout was really hard.  I don’t remember what it was, but I remember that it was nothing like I thought, and harder than I ever imagined.  But something told me I needed to be there.  So even though I could barely lift the empty barbell (35 lbs) over my head more than once, I promised to show up at least three times a week and work. 

In 9 weeks there have been struggles and triumphs (double unders!), bruises, and frustrations.  I’ve increased the weight on the bar, managed to get toes to bar more than once, and completed two of the benchmark “Girls” workouts (Karen and Elizabeth).  I’ve never been yelled at, ridiculed, or made to feel badly for scaling a workout. 

Today I walked into the box to find a “bear complex” workout.  Basically, if you aren’t familiar with Crossfit, a bear complex is a series of movements with weights where multiple movements together create one round.  This particular complex had 7 cycles of the series to create a round, to be repeated 5 times, gradually increasing the weight each time.  The coaches promised it would be one of the hardest workouts we’d ever done. 

I had intended to start with just the bar, and add weight each round, but by the time I got to round three I was struggling.  I decided to do rounds four and five with the same weight, feeling like three more rounds of 7 was at least remotely achievable by staying there.  Very remotely. 

In the second cycle of round four I could not get the push press over my head and dropped the bar.  I could feel myself get to that point of giving up.  I told myself that even getting through four rounds was respectable and I had worked hard.  I’d finish the fourth round and call it a day.  I restarted the second cycle and slowly moved through the round, already haven given myself permission to give into the discomfort. 

I finished the round and asked Lisa, who was in front of me, how many more cycles she had, and she said two.  She asked how many I had.  And for the life of me I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth as I said it – “I still have the last round to do.” 

Around me, everyone was finished, or like Lisa, on their last one or two reps. I still had to get through 7.  7 power cleans, 7 front squats, 7 push presses, 7 back squats, and 7 more push presses.  There was no way.  I was spent.  I believed myself when I said I couldn’t go any further. 

The thing is, nobody around me believed it.  Maddy, who’d arrived for the 6 o’clock, was on the rower behind me and I could hear her cheering me on.  Tom and Lisa, long done and ready to head home, telling me I could make it through.  And Janae, who sat on the floor and counted down for me, telling me to just make it through the next one.  The coaches watching me, making sure I was ok, and telling me I could do it. 

You know what happened?  I finished it.  I was dead last, but I finished it. And it wasn’t because I thought I could.  Because by then, I’d given up.  But something happens when the people around you believe in you more than you believe in yourself – you start to realize what’s truly possible. 

I’ve had more than a few friends ask me about Crossfit.  The problem is, it’s difficult to put into words how something that most people see as “going to the gym” is much more than that.  I know Crossfit isn’t the only place where the person who finishes last gets cheered for the loudest.  I’ve seen that play out in marathons and swim meets and baseball tournaments.  I won’t pretend that Crossfit is the only place where you learn about what it feels like to have people believe in you.  What I will tell you is that Westbound is as good as it gets when it comes to this ideal.  Being there makes me want to try harder, be better, and more importantly, it makes me want to support each and every person who shows up the way I get supported. One of the things I love is that my kids get to see me and lots of other people of all sizes and fitness levels working hard to be strong and fit, and cheer each other on the same way we teach them to support their teammates and competitors in their respective sports. 

I don’t know what the magic ingredient in the Crossfit Kool-aid actually is, but I suspect it has a lot more to do with the community than it does the workouts.  And as long as they're serving it up, I'll keep coming back for more.

First Pitch

I’ve talked about the friendship between my son and his friend Ryan before.  “Brothers in baseball” Nate called them.  Together for two years, plus a fantastic season of soccer, both our families kept our fingers crossed they’d be together again this year for baseball. 

But it wasn’t meant to be.  This is the first level where the kids have to do a skills assessment and be drafted based on those skills.  We knew that the coach we were hoping to get had every intention of drafting both the boys, but he only had so much control over it.  We joked that the boys should throw the skills assessment, despite knowing we’d never actually ask them to.  We just wanted to keep our kids together.

The day of the draft came, and we waited.  Coach didn’t even get a shot at Ryan.  Another coach picked him up before it was his turn to choose.  And that was that.  He took Nate and the “brothers” were now competitors.

We were all heartbroken.  The families, the kids.  Telling each of the boys was awful.  They both cried.  We all cried.  It sounds so silly, but I think there was a part of us that believed the two of them would just always be together on the same team.  They were so close, and played so well together.  They read each other, trusted each other, and rarely did a ball thrown from one to the other go sideways. 

Practices started and it just became the new reality.  Obviously it wasn’t the end of the world, and the boys both just love to play, so they settled in to their teams.  Today was the second game of the season (and the week for that matter), and the first chance for Nate and Ryan to face each other.

When Ryan’s family got there, we sat together on one side of the field, and we cheered for both teams as they took their places.  Ryan’s sister and Julia sat and drew pictures together while the adults joked we needed shirts with both teams’ logos on them.  Ryan made a great play in the infield, getting one of our kids out and Heidi and I cheered as hard for him as his own parents.  At one point, Nate hit the ball, and one of the kids on the other team threw the ball to Ryan who was attempting to tag Nate out at second, and we all held our breath because we literally wanted them both to get it - Ryan to get the tag and Nate to beat the tag.  Nate beat the tag - this time. 

Nate had started out playing 2^nd base, and then between innings I heard his coach say, “Nate, you’re pitching.”  As he threw a few practice pitches to prepare to pitch his first official inning of the season, we realized it was Ryan who was coming up to bat first. 

Nate’s first real pitch in a game would be thrown to Ryan.  I couldn’t see anything more fitting than that. 

I scrambled to find a place where I could somehow get a picture of both of them in the same frame.  There was something about this that felt like it would mean something – later, maybe – if not right away, and I wanted to make sure I had it captured.

At this level, if they get to a pitch count of 4 balls, they don’t walk the kids, they let them take as many pitches as they have strikes left off the pitching machine.  Nate had Ryan at 4 balls and 1 strike, so Ryan got two off the machine, and struck out.  I looked at Nate as Ryan dropped his head a little and started to walk away and I could tell he was having a hard time not running over to Ryan to give him that high five he’d always give him after every at-bat. 

“Great at-bat, Ryan!” Nate yelled after him.  I don’t know if Ryan heard it, or really if anyone other than me saw or heard him say it.  My eyes filled up. 

I don’t know honestly if either boy will remember today as anything more than another game in a long history of hundreds of games they’ll have played over the years.  They may not.  But I will.  Baseball is such a metaphor for life in so many ways.  From the moment Ryan came up to bat against Nate to the moment Nate called after him as he walked to the dugout, we were witnesses to a life lesson.  That even though things don’t always go your way and you don’t always land on the same side as your best friend, when push comes to shove, you always have each other’s backs.  And the truth is, it wasn’t the boys who needed to learn the lesson, it was the adults. 

You don’t have to wear the same jersey to be on the same team.