Hoops, and a Realization

I found myself keeping score for the City of Idaho Falls Parks and Recreation 4th grade basketball league last week. After my excessively short fourth grade self similarly running up and down the court paid my memory a visit, I found my mind completely occupied with how unbelievable weasel-like the young high school kids refereeing the games were

I'm still having trouble deciding if I'm too young to lament away about how disrespectful and unmotivated the rising generations of youngsters are, or too close to a young age myself to wish that they'd quite typing away on their phone machines and playing on their FaceTube pages on the World Wide Interweb and sit down and read a book for a change. But that's what I found myself doing as I kept track of the points and fouls of the little players while these kids half-heartedly trotted up and down the court and muttered calls half the times they were supposed to. And it was raising my stress level.

Should I tell them to quite being lazy and work hard? Should I notify their supervisor of their negligence and poor attitude? Should I chide them for swearing and gulping down fattening fast food when they should be helping the young kids play a safe, clean game?

That's when I had a revelation. It simply wasn't my problem. My problem was making sure I stopped the clock when I was supposed to and correctly tally up the kids' foul shots. The young teenagers were to do what they were going to do, and I did not need to waste any worry on them. So I kept to my task and enjoyed the games as I more clearly realized my role.

The Learnings of a Bayou Orphan

I had some exceptional teachers as a young elementary school student. Mr. Magleby, in particular, really put his heart into his job. He taught us about art, English, and most of all made us feel smart and important.

But there were some weirdies, too.

My first grade teacher, for instance. She told us that if men and women serving in the military said the pledge of allegiance with any hint of variance in their voice or slouch in their posture, they would be shot by their superiors. She would even use that information to scold us if any of us acted up during the pledge. “There are some of you in this class that would be shot today if we were in the military,” she said. She also had each of us write our senators asking them to make flag burning illegal as a civics assignment.

My fourth grade teacher spent most of the year teaching us about bees. It wasn’t fourth grade. It was bee grade. And everybody knew it. It was just what you learned about if Mr. Hicks was your teacher.

And why did we spend most of fifth grade history singing songs about cannons, pilgrims, and Uncle Sam?

Just Wondering

I wonder which of my friends is going to help me see success. I know an older gentleman in his fifties that just lost his wife and is looking for a relationship. He might. He certainly is unique. His son and son’s girlfriend are there to help him along, though. It’s possible that they could lead me to success.

Then there’s always that little British boy that doesn’t have a home. He’s currently living with a wealthy, scowling gentleman that has great plans to make the boy help become a town hero. And even though the boy doesn’t know it, the gentleman’s butler is his father. They definitely have potential to help me out as well. And if they don’t, the two members of the mob they have ties to are sure to.

But I also know two college roommates that might be able to assist me. One guy’s got his own special set of problems, one of which is the friend he has a fatal crush on. I used to think they’d be able to help me out, but I’m not so sure now. I’m going to try the others out first.

Not that I’m not happy and successful now. There’s just more I want to do. And it will have to be with the help of my friends, whether these or others I haven’t created yet.