I often write about
the wonderful people I’ve met throughout my gift of time on earth….For someone
raised by a man who rarely left Tripp County, I have quite a collection of
addresses and school spirit apparel.
Mark’s job has taken us to four very different, very unique places and I
wouldn’t trade the moving boxes or t-shirts for any amount of money. The
people and places we’ve experienced are part of who we are as a family. A colossal part of who we are....
I won’t admit that I
gleefully packed boxes when these moves were announced because I didn’t. Every move brought some turbulence, tough
decisions, and tears—usually lots of tears. I remember the first move as if it were
yesterday. We packed up our collection
of junky furniture, clothes, and a portable dishwasher into an old horse
trailer and threw our large collection of clothes into my old blue, two-door
Caprice Classic. (Mark had arrived in
Roscoe with a single suitcase and single bed from his college house. That was it. He didn’t even have a car at
that time. Partially filling the horse
trailer meant we were big time, right?) While in Roscoe, the most amazing thing
happened to us. Alvin and Jeanne
Schmitt became our adopted parents—literally.
They took us in, treated us like family, and I’m sure shook their heads
in wonder many nights after our visits.
We were young and dumb. If the
walls in their basement could talk, it would be an iTunes comedy podcast
selling like hotcakes. I laugh just
thinking about the craziness and stories we shared in their beloved basement.
Their door was always open, as were their hearts…not to mention their
pocketbooks. They were generous with
their time and money to many people, but especially Mark and I. I was
dreading our good bye, but we bravely pulled into their gas station and said
our farewells and made promises to call and visit. Jeanne and I cried the entire time before
heading back to the vehicles. Mark
turned the borrowed pickup and trailer south towards Gregory, and I dutifully
followed in the old car, clothes and dishes pilled in all around me. I
sobbed all the way to the interstate.
Right after Mark broke the news that he was resigning his
Gregory position and moving to Timber Lake, we attended one of his former
player’s wedding that weekend. The bride was the daughter of the athletic director, and the family warmly welcomed us to town when we moved. We looked forward to celebrating her
special day. Mark had just resigned that
week and news was starting to make its way throughout town. The
wedding reception was in Dallas and like many of these fun affairs; the empty
bottles outnumbered the guests probably four to one. My ratio may or may not have been ten to one. As the
evening gave way to the early morning, I remember climbing on top of a chair
and asking the DJ to play to “Stand By Your Man” and proclaiming (loudly) that
this should be the Coach’s Wife National Anthem. Yes, I was that wedding guest……(Sorry Wendy
and Troy)
The situation we were facing
with this move was that we needed to sell our home and I had agreed to teach
music for the year, so we decided that the boys and I would stay in Gregory and
Mark would take the Timber Lake job. I
look back now and wonder why I was so confident that I could do this…I can
still remember Mark packing up and leaving that August morning. We were sitting around the kitchen table in
our dream house and Tate gave Mark a big hug, smiled, and said “See you on
Saturday, Dad.” I decided to put on a
brave face and join Tate in his cheerful acceptance of our decision to be a
weekend family. I sent Mark up the road
with a sack lunch and big hug. Scott was
napping, Tate was outside playing basketball on his Little Tykes hoop, and I
sat at the kitchen table and bawled.
What were we thinking? We
survived that year and soon it was time to sell our much loved home and join
Mark in Timber Lake. We were excited to
be under one roof again, but sad to leave our friends and neighbors. We had moved up in the world, now able to
afford a U-Haul and the amount of stuff had quadrupled…..and the home we were
moving into was about one fourth the size of our current home. As we packed the last toy, stool, and tote
into the U-Haul, our dear neighbors made their way over. The first glimpse of Teresa, Haley, and Zach
walking towards us on the sidewalk brought tears, which quickly turned into
small sobs. One of my last memories of
our house in Gregory is all of standing
on the broken sidewalk in front of our home hugging and crying in the hot
sun. We were leaving behind some great
neighbors and a house we had worked hard to make our own. We loaded up and like they say in the
history books, “Head West Young Man (Family)”.
We were all Panthers now.
Our time in Timber Lake was amazing. What our home lacked in space, was easily
made up by the people and experiences we shared during our seven years
there. We loved our church, our
colleagues, and the kids we were blessed with each day in our classrooms. Were things perfect? Not at all, but things were good. The decision to move was the most difficult
thing we had faced as a couple at that time.
Telling our friends and the school that we were moving was really,
really difficult. The job at Sully
Buttes was a chance to get a few hours closer to my mom in Winner and offered a
new challenge for Mark. It was another
great school for the boys and we looked at this move as another opportunity we
needed to take. We had made life-long
friends during our time in Timber Lake and we knew these bonds would remain, no
matter where we were having our mail delivered….The community had a wonderful
send off for us, and as I started to say something, I burst into tears. You’d think by the time I had followed this
coach to his fourth school, I’d be able to keep it together, but I was a blubbering
mess. We were leaving dear friends and a top notch school and we weren’t sure
we were doing the right thing, but there we were—moving again. We loaded Chuck
Maher’s horse trailer and our vehicles with out growing collection of “stuff” and we made the trek south to Onida in June of
2005.
I’ve watched with pride, fear, and sometimes, heartache, as
Mark has approached his career of teaching and coaching. He has spent years to get where he is at
today. Coaching is his passion—the
scouting, the tapes, the practices and preparing, are who he is. His recent success is the TEAM’S success—not
his alone. Coaches know you need that perfect combination of talent, ability,
effort, and luck to have the season we just enjoyed as Charger fans. He knows
he has been blessed with great talent over the years. He knows he’s made mistakes. He knows not everyone is going to like his
decisions. He understands that a
parent’s first job is to be their child’s advocate. He knows these
days, with the teams he is fortunate enough to coach, need to be cherished and
celebrated for life is short.
The trophy-hoisting guy many of you may have seen on
television or in the newspapers the past few weeks has not always been on
top. Trust me, I know. I was there the year he was 3-17. And the year he was told by the principal
that they wanted the program to take another direction—without him. And the time some locals took a petition
around, similar to the church scene in “Hooisers”, to have him removed. (They
were unsuccessful—not as dramatic as Jimmy announcing he was going to play, but
nonetheless, he kept his job!) I’ve
answered the door to find angry parents wanting to discuss things with
him. I’ve fielded phone calls from mad
mamas and read articles about his character and his alleged running up the
score. So to see his small grin and that big championship trophy makes my heart
smile… because things haven’t always been so golden for my favorite coach.
What I really want people to know, is that this guy I
married a “few” years ago, kept at it.
He kept working, believed in himself and his philosophy, even when he
was knocked around a few times. Coaching
changes happen at every level and he understood this. It would
have been easy to quit, stay put, and just walk away. There are certainly easier, quicker ways to
make $4000 than coaching basketball. And
I will admit, I sometimes wondered if all of this was worth it—the late nights,
the holidays held captive by practices, and the upset parents. Was it really worth it? That coach I call mine, decided it was, and
he kept at it. And he was right. It has been worth it. And I’m pretty darn proud of him for doing so
because I cannot imagine our life without our coaching friends and
experiences. There is no price tag or
tax bracket that can adequately sum up the value of the people we have met
along this journey….
So if you happen to run across this rambling story, the real
message here for you young guys and gals just staring out is this: Keep
coaching. Keep sharing your
time and your talents and ignore the crazy. And if you’re married to, or dating
a coach? Hang in there….they need you
to be there. Embrace your role as
cheerleader, support staff, open gym fill in supervisor, secretary, and keeper
of the lucky (navy) shirt. Enjoy these
kids and families and don’t turn it into a competition between “you” and the
“team”. We need coaches and we need
coaching families. Too many great folk
are deciding to jump ship….I encourage you to grab a life jacket and jump
on….it’s a wonderful ride.
