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my mother never learned to swim as a child.
growing up the eldest in a family of six
in nineteen-fifties iran never afforded her
the proper channels to be immersed in water.

emigrating to the states and starting a business,
managing a manic marriage and raising a young child
apparently is not overtly conducive to hours on a pool deck.

but that didn’t stop her from thinking it was easy.
family legend has it that when i was seven,
still skittish and tiresome by the pool’s edge,
she pushed me in, maybe nudged is more apt.
less aggressive. mixing up her cliches and metaphors
in the process. sink or swim. i don’t remember swimming
that day, but i don’t ever remember not swimming afterwards.  

forty years later we are at a pool together, the late afternoon sun
drenching the puddles with honey. she goggled. kickboard in hand.
her short white hair clinging to her face. out of breath and awestruck.  
she’s been kicking and stroking and just barely floating back and forth.
holding her breath. head submerged. gasping for breath when she stops.
innocent and childlike in her desire to be buoyant. never having
someone nudge her in, she pushes herself.

i was in the same pool today. same time of day. alone. she is no longer here.
i dove in. swam the length of the pool underwater. eyes closed.
floating at the surface. a rotund mammal playing in the water.
i thought of dolphins in the waves. seals. whales. i tumbled
and flipped and scraped the bottom of the pool, blowing
spouts of water into the air, the sun’s ray catching in the reflection.

she tells me about her pooltime in california every week
when we talk. she goes every week. gaining confidence.
“you just need to feel comfort in the water. be able to float. play.”

my mother never learned to swim as a child.
but i’ve watched her throughout my life jumping into lakes,
playing in waves, sitting in rivers and practicing in pools.
tonight i’ll dream of her, confident in the ocean, the way
she may have dreamed for me.

Baller

The was a fierceness in her eyes.


A fire has been lit.


I watched her eyes scan the court, while she dribbled with more confidence than I have ever seen, looking for a lane to drive or an open player for the pass.


Her shorts fit right. Her shoes, although a bit big, felt less clunky. A tight black sport’s bar and her number eleven jersey hung from her sinewy shoulders like a baller. A small tight pony tail.


She ran back on defense. Covered her girl. Jumped for rebounds. Fought for balls. Recognized the assists and took the shots. They played two games and for the first time in two years they won both games. She played well. Her team looked like a real team. She scored a few baskets. She drove the lane. Made lay-ups. Ran one coast-to-coast.


A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about her disappointment about being on the B-team, but today as we hugged after the game, drove home and had a celebratory dinner, she seemed to understand the slow progress of learning and hard work.


Unfortunately this was the last few games of the season, but she will continue to play every week at Fast Break. Big thanks to Steven for working with the girls and getting them ready and jazzed for the season. I really hope that basketball is something that Kaia loves and enjoys. It was very fun watching her run the court.


…


I had five meetings today and am pretty spent. Full Frontal, Halloween candy, a glass of wine, reading and a new day tomorrow.

I Believe In Learning

At one point in the late 90’s I was living in a bit of a dump in SOMA in San Francisco. It was a house on an alley called Natoma off sixth street, a few blocks south of Market. Sixth street at the time, and I assume even now, was filled with bars, pornography shops, homeless people and trash. I once saw a man do a #2 in the gutter at 11am on a Tuesday. It was cheap so we lived there. It somehow made me feel Bukowskian, which was necessary at the age of 25.


I was bussing tables at Planet Hollywood, which if you don’t know is a kind of Clockwork Orangesque torture. The money was okay, but I was tired of watching the servers make all the money, while I busted my hump for a fraction of their tips. I wanted to be a server. My time as the dish clearer was over. Problem was I didn’t have much (any) experience.


One day I saw an ad for a waiter job at Kulletos. A trendy touristy Italian place on Powell street in Union Square. At the time I thought it was a pretty fancy place. They had entrees priced in the $20 range and all the waiters wore ties and white coats. Although I had little to no waiting experience and knew little to nothing about food or wine, I decided to get my resume together and go down for an interview. I can’t recall now what I said or how I convinced the manager to give me the job, but she did and within a few days I started.


I was a fish out of water. But I learned quickly. I watched and listened and eventually I got pretty good at waiting tables. I found mentors and learned from people like Jim, Ken and Wayne. Within a few months I was picking up dinner shifts, then Friday and Saturday nights and within the year I had a veteran's schedule. I was training people and by the end of my run at the restaurant, I even had a few floor manager shifts.


I took this experience with me to NYC and got a job at a top fine dining restaurant called Aquavit. It was not uncommon for a couple to drop $2000 at this place. It was run by Marcus Samuelsson, an up-and-coming chef back then, who is now a bit of a celebrity.


What’s my point? Why am I telling you this story at this time? Because I feel like I my new role as Head of Grade might be a bit like my first few weeks at Kullettos. I interviewed well and I am in the position, but I feel like a fish out of water.


But here’s the thing- I love it. I love the feeling of gathering confidence and jumping right in. I love the feeling of just doing it until you get it right. Even back then, even though I didn’t know about wine, I knew I could learn. I understood I would have to learn how to talk to tables. I knew that I would figure it out. I have always believed in myself enough to know that there is nothing that I can’t learn on the job.


I believe in learning.


I have faith not just in myself, but in my ability to work hard and achieve success. There are many other times when I have just thrown in my hat into an application process assuming I would learn as I go. Because I believe in learning.


While some people might wait until they are 100% qualified or confident, I prefer to grab what I want and apply the pressure and learn things by doing them.


Today was hard. This week has been overwhelming. My mindset is very different to what it was at the start of last year, when my biggest concern was getting my class set-up. I have stepped back and I see so many other moving parts, and to be honest I am not sure how to deal with them all.


When should I make an executive decision? When should I ask for clarification? When should I take charge? When should I listen and build consensus? When should I stay up and get that first week slide show done? When should I rest and allow myself to get to it tomorrow?


I love it. There is a vibrancy that comes from sink or swim. There is a spark that comes from jumping into the unknown and having enough faith in learning to know that although you might not know the difference between a Pinot and a Merlot, you will learn. And although you might feel a bit nervous running a meeting, you will lead many more and the people will respond.


This bravado should not be mistaken for arrogance. There is a beauty to a humble confidence. But every once in a while, it needs to be let out to spread its wings and strut about a bit. Take the mic and spit some rhymes. Every once in a while you need to look in the mirror and tell yourself, “you got this. You will learn as you go."

I Would Be A Very Angry Woman

Both Kaia and Skyelar have been doing an hour of Fastbreak basketball every Saturday, and I won’t lie, it’s great to watch them develop their skills in such a short time. Skyelar sank four baskets in a row today and her smile was worth a million bucks. They’re learning how to handle the ball, dribble, shoot, pass, and finish lay-ups. It’s a non-competitive skills building thing so no real games, and that is perfect for where they are in their development.


Today, however, there was a bit of friendly competition for the older squad, when the coach divided them up into a group of five and seven and had a shoot-off. Each team stood in a line at separate hoops and the first team to sink ten shots won. Pretty straight forward. Now here is where it got interesting. She split them up between girls and boys, and yup, you guessed it- the girls had the smaller team. After some initial griping about the unfairness of having fewer players, they got down to business.


The girls won the first game 10-7. They were on fire. All business. They won the second game 10-8. Still not a word. No fists being pumped. Not even a smile, Just focus and “swish.” The third game they won 10-6. Keep in mind that each game was a different look at the rim. Then on the fourth game the boys won, and that is when I learned an important lesson about gender and the patriarchy.


As soon as they won, the boys erupted into cheers, hi-fives, hoots and hollers and a bit of smack talk. They had just gotten smoked three games in a row by a smaller team and as soon as they won 10-9 mind you, they acted as if they had won the NBA finals. I was shocked, but not really because it totally made sense.


This is how we do- us men. It’s all about the boast, the confidence, the brash alpha strut. It must be in our DNA. It has to be. Look at these little dudes today who felt the need to supplement their skills with bravado, even when it was clear they were being out played.


As men we are so often blind to the effect this kind of privileged assurance must have on women who do not always interact with the world this way. We men compensate for so much, by just pretending and bragging and acting as if we can do whatever it is that needs to be done. But as a dad, who wants my girls to just be themselves, and as a teacher who wants my students to have a fair shot at everything the world has to offer, I can’t help but notice how bone-numbingly frustrating it must be to be a little girl or a grown woman and have to live in a world where not only are you told that you are not good enough, but then to actually see that not only ARE you good enough, you are actually better than the people telling you to doubt yourself, and when you prove yourself you are met with silence, and when you trip up, even a tiny bit, you are reminded that you are not good enough again. And if you choose to speak up about it and vent your anger about the injustice of this double standard, you are branded as an uppity bitch or an overly emotional woman. That's a tough pill to swallow.


I would be a very angry woman.


Even though the girls had won three games in a row, as soon as the boys won one that first game and starting strutting around, you could see the girls become demoralized in their body language. Their slouches seemed to say, “I guess the boys are better. Like they say they are.” I wanted to jump up and yell bullshit, but I didn’t.


The fifth game was under way, and the cocky boys were playing sloppily and the girls we sinking shots. They won 10-7 and a few tiny fists were pumped. A smile was cracked here and there, but nothing else. The girls were all business and ready for the next drill. The boys made a few excuses and acted as if they won. Typical.


Raising and teaching girls has taught me more about being a man than anything else in my life. It’s a tough ride out there for women. They are not just being emotional or over reacting. I could feel that frustration just watching these nine year olds play basketball. There is a distinct difference between where boys and girls find confidence and build self-esteem. Boys gobble up it up undeserved, because they are the benefactors of a long maintained patriarchy, while girls have to fight for it every chance they get and even when they get a taste of confidence, they have to hold on tight, because there is some boy waiting to tell them that they haven’t earned it.


Final, note I was reminded that while parenting, teaching and talking with girls is super important, it is just as important that we have similar conversations with our boys about earned confidence and how to be humble and kind and empathetic. The future of our world depends on it.

….

I can do this. I will do this. I will do this. I can do this. I won’t stop. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I can do this. I will do this. I can do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I won’t stop. I won’t stop. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I will do this. I will do this. I will do this. I won’t stop. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I won’t stop. I will do this.


Murakami mentioned that he has a mantra when he runs. I played around with this one for a few kilometres today. It was fun and effective until it wasn’t. Shuffled my way through a pretty effortless 10km today. Could have kept going but I was late for a movie date with Mairin.