Thanks Coach

    

          A few weeks ago I received a text from a friend telling me some very sad news.  It was right before my classes started and I looked to down to read the message.  It stopped me in my tracks and some tears started forming in tired eyes.  The bell was about to ring, so  I put my phone in the bag and headed down to class ready to channel the energy entering the room. Concert season is upon us and when you’re a music teacher (Technically a music minor with a teaching degree…) you have to make use of every second you get with kids.   We sang Christmas songs in preparation for our big night and despite the joy coming from these young musicians, I could not get the text and nor its message out of my mind. 

       As the day went on, my phone continued to buzz with text messages from people sharing this news.  It was being shared on Twitter, and Facebook, and the newspaper websites with a variety of emojis depending on how you felt about the news.  As I watched this story make its way through the social media realm, it continued to bother me immensely--both as a coaching spouse and as someone who greatly admired this guy.  I spent my lunch hour combing through Twitter and responding to folks who were as shocked and saddened as I was by the news that had resonated from the Barnett Center this morning….There was going to be a new football coach at Northern. 

      Tate first met Coach Tom Dosch his senior year sometime in February 2011.  He and his dad took a trip up to campus and were invited to meet with Coach Dosch about a chance to walk on with Wolves Football.  He was not heavily recruited, but Coach Dosch had invited him up to campus and Tate was interested in seeing what he had to say.  He had already planned on going to NSU to study banking and was starting to look at scholarship opportunities and all the things that go with enrolling in college, so this was a perfect chance to line some of these things up for the coming fall.   I look back now and just shake my head.  We were clueless about many of the processes and things that needed to be done. 

            They returned home and I asked how things went.  Both of my guys said it went fine.  They had offered him a chance to come walk on and join the Wolves and he was going to do so.  Tate told me he liked Coach Dosch and that he was very friendly and had a really deep voice.  I was getting no information and it was driving me crazy.  I asked Mark how it went and he said, “Fine. If he wants to try to play, they will let him.  It’s up to him.”  So much for a delightful, detailed description of their day on campus.  Both of them had practice that afternoon, so the trip was quick.  They had no time for my questions or my concerns.  #BoyMomReality

            During March Madness, the Chargers were fortunate enough to earn a berth in the State B Tournament held in Aberdeen at the beautiful Barnett Center.  Tate’s team went on to knock off the undefeated, top-seeded team in the opening round.  This will always be one of my favorite games and memories of Tate’s short life.  I still remember sitting there watching all of this unfold and how excited we were.  (Conversely, I do NOT remember a lot of the rest of the evening/early morning though for if there is one thing we Charger fans enjoy, it is a state tournament in Aberdeen or Huron. J )  While we were heading down to the court level, giddy with excitement about our huge win, I looked over saw Mark ahead of me talking to a gentleman wearing an NSU polo.   When I caught up to Mark, I asked him who the gentleman was he had been talking to and he told me it was Coach Dosch.  My first official TD sighting…

          The “six degrees of separation” thing is so very true in the Midwest.  You start visiting with someone and they know someone that you know, or they work with someone you know, or your cousin lives right next door to them, and instantly you have this connection.  Well it was no different with Coach Dosch for Tate.  His best friend’s mom  was Coach Dosch’s sister’s best friend growing up in Strasburg, ND—birthplace of Lawrence Welk, home to the Blue Room, and a beautiful Catholic church to name a few things the strong German community boasts.   She knew both Coach Dosch and his family very well like so many of us do in small towns. When Tina spoke of Coach Dosch she referred to him as “Tommy” just like she had growing up.   This used to send Tate over the top—a combination of laughter and exasperation.   He once told me there would never be a day that he would look at that guy and think his name was “Tommy”.  Then he’d start laughing—that beautiful giggle and smile, shaking his head while he imagined himself ever calling him anything but Coach.      Tate usually had a strong sense of respecting authority—not all the time because no kid is perfect—but even then, before really getting to know Coach Dosch, he respected both his position and his presence. 

         The fall camp reporting date came and the Explorer left early one August morning.  I remember everything about that morning.  We did not go up to campus right away because they were not actually moving into their assigned housing.  We were coming up later the next week, and bringing the bigger items to help him move in.    Like most college freshman, I think he was shocked at the amount of time, physicality, and effort this was going to take.  But whenever we heard from him, which was not often, (#BoyMomReality) he spoke highly of Coach Dosch and the staff.  He was meeting amazing new friends, learning a new position, and totally immersed in football—something he loved. I figured he would love the meetings because from the time he was little boy,  Tate always was drawing up plays on paper and loved scouting game tape of any kind with his dad.  He might have left with becoming a banker in mind, but I knew eventually he was going to coach. 

         Tate made his way home one Monday afternoon so he could see his little brother play in a football jamboree.  He had not been home yet so we were all very excited to have him home if only for 8 hours.   Coincidentally, earlier that week Tate had contacted me that he had been randomly audited in some NCAA D2 program and Coach Dosch had told him it was not big deal, he just had to prove where some of his local scholarship monies had come from.   I was up early that morning hoping to make him a decent breakfast before he headed back to campus for class.  I wanted to make sure I had the correct information so I emailed Coach Dosch asking him a few questions.  I had to leave for school soon, but like all organized guys, he had immediately answered my questions and assured me we were on the right path to getting the documents he needed.  I went over to the couch where Tate was waking up and relayed the message to him that everything he needed was in the folder on the table.  I assured him it was the right stuff because I had emailed Coach Dosch.  He groaned and I will never forget his comment,   “Please tell me you didn’t email Coach Dosch,” he said. I told him I did and that Coach Dosch had already emailed me back. ( I was so proud to be on top of this issue all before 7:15 am.)  Tate responded, “Really?  Moms do not email D2 football coaches.”    Oops…I had broken some cardinal rule of D2 parent communications I guess.  (And as soon as he drove off, I logged right back on and told Coach Dosch about the entire conversation!  And I have continued to email him since that day…sorry Tate. )

       Tate survived his redshirt season and seemed to be enjoying it.  Winter conditioning was another tough hurdle, but again, we heard very little complaining from him when he called.  I’m not saying he wasn’t grumbling about the early mornings and the workouts, but his roommates took the brunt of that.  We heard about the people and the teammates.  Most of his conversations were about Coach Dosch and the rest of the staff—Coach Mistro, Coach Shafer, Coach Flyger, Coach Hoskins, Coach Holinka,  Coach Tupo.  All guys he respected and admired.  

        As a Wolves football family we had the opportunity to meet these coaches and their families and these people were some of the best folks we’ve crossed paths with in our years following athletics.  If you aren’t a coach, you may not have any idea how involved and invested these coaching families are in the process of building a team.  You live the season—the wins, the losses, the recruiting miles, the early practices, the holidays that really aren’t yours because there is probably a game to prepare for—all of it.  The wives (or husbands) keep things rolling at home while their coach/spouse manage the team.  Your kids share their dad/mom with an entire community/region.  This life can be brutal.  And these folks were some of the first folks I thought of after receiving that text a few weeks ago. 

          Coach Dosch gave the eulogy at Tate’s funeral Mass.  While it meant the world to us, I think it also showed his immense leadership skills and love for his players.   They needed to hear from him that they would get through this.  He was leading his team through adversity for which there was no scout plan.  In the middle of our family’s greatest tragedy, he masterfully shared the good he had seen in Tate.  He got up in a packed gymnasium full of people and spoke eloquently about our dear boy. And we needed to hear those things.   In our grief, we were clinging to his words.  Tate would have been so incredibly proud to hear him speak about his character and abilities.  While I treasure those words, I treasure even more the fact that he had had the opportunity to be led by such a good person.  Coach Dosch is a great leader and a man oozing of integrity and kindness. He has spent his career molding and developing young men into productive, solid citizens.  And sadly, none of this matters. 

        I am not in any positon to hire or fire any coaches at my dear alma mater.  What I believe was a really poor decision for Wolves Football doesn’t matter to anyone making those decisions and I get that.  It’s not my job.  But I do question that so often these decisions are made by someone who has never coached a down, or recruited an athlete, or walked a team through a difficult season or situation.  I’m guessing those who made this decision, didn’t make it lightly, but I still think it was wrong.   All of these folks involved with Wolves Football have been on my mind constantly since that midmorning text a few weeks ago. I keep thinking of how difficult it must be to read on social media that you are being replaced.  Or to see people “liking” these tweets or comments?  That is a tall order to ask of anyone no matter how much integrity they carry.

      I wish the Wolves coaching staff the best of luck as they navigate this difficult time in their career.  I pray their families know so many are keeping them close because, they too, are on this journey.  Our family is so blessed to have crossed paths with you Dosch family.  You mean a whole lot to a whole lot of people…you won the division in our books.  Thank you for everything you have done for our family in the past six years.  There aren’t enough words to adequately thank you…but I tried.   

The Daughter-less Daughters

According to my mom, I wanted my last sibling to be a brother so I could be the “only” girl in our family.   I do not know why I was fixated on this, but I was confident my soon-to-be-sibling (who would arrive in December of my second grade year) was going to be a boy.  His name was going to be Michael or Christopher—something very trendy and cool at the time.   “He” would join brother Teddy as another Daughters “son” and my world would be complete. “The Daughters have a son” word play was a big deal when Teddy arrived in September of 1966.  It even made the Argus Leader—quite a feat in the pre-social media days.  There is a little clipping in a worn family scrapbook with proof of this announcement.

 I do not know why I was so adamant about being the only girl but I do remember that around this same time, I was also obsessed with having a nickname. I’m guessing it was something I had read about as I spent an enormous amount of time reading chapter books.  I used to immerse myself in these adventures.  The Boxcar Children, Trixie Belden, The Little House Series, Beverly Cleary novels—all of these characters hold a special place in my life.  I’m guessing somewhere in my travels through the pages, some beloved character was the only girl in their family and went by a really hip nickname.  Whatever the deal was, I was determined to have a nickname and I just knew the new sibling was going to be a little brother.

 My grandpa had told me that same summer that I had legs “as long as a mosquito” and ignoring his strong simile work there, I grabbed onto the comparison and deemed that “Skeeter” would be the perfect nickname for me.  I tried to make “Skeeter” catch on—telling my family I wanted to be called “Skeeter”.  

(Amy Leigh Daughters arrived on a cold December morning.  I raced to my Grandma Mary’s car at lunchtime that brisk day and I remember her telling me “You have a new sister!”  I was not impressed. And as badly as wanted the nickname thing to stick, despite my pleas and hint dropping at the supper table, no one ever called me “Skeeter”.   Not. One. Person. )

Was all of this "boy love" foreshadowing for my future role as a mom?  As I look back, I think it may have been. 

As I joined the motherhood tribe, I remember being thrilled that our first born was a boy. The old ball coach did not care about the gender and said it publicly.  I remember my heart melting a little bit when he responded to a friend, “I don’t care about the boy or girl thing, we just want a healthy baby.” And he was correct.  We didn’t really discuss gender and we had a heck of time naming the babes once we arrived, but I remember how thrilling it was to hear Dr. Malm announce, “It’s a boy!” that April evening.    My initial motherhood adventure was pre-baby gender announcement parties and ultrasounds. Ultrasounds were not as common as they are now.   People weren’t as apt to find out the gender of their blessed miracle on the way.  The only reason I even had to have an ultrasound was because I ended up needing an appendectomy when I was six months pregnant with Tate.  They wanted to make sure what they thought was the issue was actually that—I needed surgery and they were checking on the baby.  While this sounds like a “back in my day” story, it’s not.  It’s just an observation on how things were done.  (And to tell you the truth, I’m old school—I did not want to know the gender before the birth.  I truly believe this is life’s one great surprise, and well worth the wait.  But I sure do love the creativity and fun in these new gender reveals!💙💗

Tate was followed by Scott and while we hoped more would follow, they did not.  I believed God knew what He was doing blessing me with the title “Boy Mom”.  He knew I would be a terrible example of a domestic engineer for the daughters that never arrived.  He knew my missing make up skills and simple fashion talents were better suited for boys. (But I do love me some shoes…)  I can’t knit, or bake very well….I was never that good at playing Barbie’s or doing my nails. Or sewing.   My daughters would have been floundering through life mascara-less in Nike sweatshirts and capris.  (Wearing very cool shoes though.)  The constant hum of ESPN on the TV and mountain of tennis shoes for every season piled by the door?  Been there.    Khakis and simple polo shirts? Perfect.  The Legos, baseball cards, golf tee collection, the overbearing scent of Axe body spray, and various baseball caps all fit seamlessly into my simple life.  I love my “Boy Mom” life and loved everything about raising the boys.  I would have taken ten of them.   They are my greatest gifts.

But blessedly, we’ve always been surrounded by “daughters”.  The ones you acquire through neighbors, extended family, friendships, and our coaching jobs.  Hoopsters, cheerleaders, managers, a niece, a Goddaughter, coach’s kids, and sweet neighbor girls have filled that spot and we are so thankful for all of them.  Thank goodness we haven’t had to buy Prom dresses for all these beauties, but God knew we needed a little “girl power” in our world—to test our patience, to fill our lives with laughter, and to share with us the love and sweetness you get when you have some extraordinary girls in your life. And we have some of the best.

As previously raved about (rightfully so) in a previous blog post, our Goddaughter Molly has brought us much joy.  She is a busy middle school ELA instructor with a passionate heart for the less fortunate and no tolerance for the madness we are seeing in the world right now.  She was our “first” daughter. :) 

There is Haley.  She was our adorable, auburn-haired, freckle-faced neighbor girl in Gregory.  She spent lots of time with us—especially after Tate was born.  Funny and up for any adventure, Haley (and her brother Zach-or “Jack” as Scott called him) were welcome companions on pool trips to Grandma Alice’s in Winner.  Haley made me laugh often.  Keenly observant and witty, Haley was a welcomed and beloved visitor in the old parsonage we rented.  She is now raising two beautiful little girls of her own after marrying a Winner boy! (You can’t go wrong with a Warrior….)

There is not enough space for me to list the cheerleaders I’ve gotten to call my daughters.  Thanks to Facebook, I have been able to connect and share in many of these young ladies’ lives.  They are raising babies, shining in their careers, and doing amazing things in their adult lives.  We have moved past the cheerleader-coach dynamic to adult friendships, which I deeply cherish.  I spent hours with these ladies—making signs, practices, games, road trips all over South Dakota, parades, limo rides, fundraisers, camps, and making some incredible memories as we cheered on the Gorillas, Panthers, and Chargers.  One of these former cheerleaders, Torrie, will be sending her brilliant daughter across the stage to graduate this weekend.  An enormous amount of time and planning have gone into this event and I have enjoyed watching (via social media) her parent her kids.  We share fears, sarcasm, and have the same poor sense of humor on many, many different things. She is funny and clever and my life is better because of her.

 

When we lived in Timber Lake, there was a small gang of girls who loved to come visit me.  Or should I say my bathtub. The White girls were frequent visitors to our humble abode, which is only fair because the Senftner boys were usually up at their house with their brother CJ.  It was an even swap….or should I say a great deal for me. 😂  One evening they were staying with me while their parents were out at the ranch with Tate and CJ.  I decided to start the bedtime routine at our house by giving them a bath, to which I added some of these colored tablets made for bath water.  The boys called them “tubbies” and they loved using them.  And after this initial introduction to the Crayola “Tubbies”, so did Jessi, Josie and Lexy.  They picked pink for the communal bath and soon we added a blue one to make purple.  They were hooked.   Every once-in-awhile, at no certain time of day, I would see one, two, or all three of the White girls on my porch and they would ask me if they could take a bath.  So in they would come and soon the tub was filled with whatever colored water they chose.  No way was I telling these adopted “daughters” of mine “no”.   (I did forget to communicate with my mom about this routine.  Once she was staying with the boys while we chaperoned a senior trip.  When I called to check in that night she reported that the White girls had come over to see if they could take a bath.  If you know my dear mother at all, you know that she saw the girls’ beautiful brown eyes and raced them through the tiny house to start drawing the water.💗💗 ) 

We have been blessed with some of the best colleagues and professional friendships.  There is something about being a coaching family that leads you to other coaching families.  This is certainly the case with my new state champion daughter, Rynn.  Rynn and I crossed paths via basketball.  Shocking, I know.  Rynn is a beautiful, kind, fierce young lady who brightens your day (or text messages) with her sweet personality.  The very first time I met her, it was love at first sight.  She brightens up the room and her giggle and smile are just the best. She and another darling I like to claim as my own, Reyna, trekked out to Onida last summer to visit me.  It was a simple visit, but meant the world to me.  I loved having their laughter and spirit in the house for even just one night.  We were so very proud of these two and their teammates this past March as we watched them battle, scratch, and claw their way to become state champions.   Rynn will graduate this weekend and we will be there in spirit.  She is going to soar…and we will be right behind you cheering dear girl.   (And please come visit again this summer…and bring Reyna. And the trophy...)

We are in Bismarck this weekend for the graduation of our niece, Marriann. She is the only Senftner granddaughter….the Senftners are heavy on the boy offspring.   While I willingly admit I am wearing my “Aunt Spectacles”, I must tell you there are not enough good things I can say about Marriann.  Her wit, smarts and calm demeanor make you take note right away.  She is a force to be reckoned with in all the very best ways.  Polished, driven, and fiercely competitive, I have marveled at her high school career.  She never stops working –academically or athletically.   She will be attending UMary next fall to study Pre-Med and will be playing soccer for the Marauders.  Marriann spent her first birthday in Denmark and turned two while living in Dubai, before her family returned to the states to live in Bismarck.  And boy are we glad.  While our busy schedules have not allowed us to see you as often as we would have liked, it certainly is fine to have you close.

 

My brother in law Tom was a stay at home dad while the kids were growing up.  I greatly admire both he and Kari in the way they’ve raised their family—simply put, my niece and nephew are amazing kids. This didn’t happen by accident and I know that Tom’s role in this adventure was sometimes tough.  it was not that common to see stay at home dads in the Midwest.  They are the perfect team as far as parents go. 

  

One of my favorite stories about Marriann was when she was a little girl and she was starting a preschool program at the YMCA in Bismarck.  I may have some of this jumbled, but our sweet girl had taken gymnastics and swimming and done other social activities, but was never very far away from her family for very long.  This preschool thing was a big deal—Dad would drop her off and after a few hours, would return to gather his student.  On one particular drive to preschool, as they drove by a landmark house, Marriann told her chauffeur/dad, “Dad, right about here is when my tummy starts to feel funny. It means we’re almost to the Y.”  Obviously, this quiet little girl knew the route to her preschool and had some understandable qualms about climbing out of the car each session.  She and her dad had a great thing going.  Seriously, who decided she needed to go to preschool?  But she ended up loving preschool.  It was just the thought of leaving the comforts and confines of her familiar routine that she was used to that made her tummy feel funny. 

Today we will celebrate all things Marriann at her party, and tomorrow she will walk towards the future as a highly decorated academic from Bismarck St. Mary’s High School.  Hers will be the last class to attend this building as they will open a new campus this fall.  The current St. Mary’s campus is close to the YMCA complex where she first started her journey in formal schooling. 

Now, I’m not sure what route her dad will take on the way to graduation tomorrow, but I have a feeling that it might be his tummy that is feeling a little funny as he drives this course one last time…..You two had a good thing going.  A great thing, actually.  Marriann is ready to rise and will do amazing things.  But it’s harder for us parents to adjust to this fact of life.  Trust me, I know. 

While this “Daughters” gal never had any of her own, I am certainly blessed with so many amazing young ladies who have made our lives richer and better. There are too many to mention and not enough time to write it all down, but know how many of you have blessed my life. 

Now, off to find a pair of sweats and some Birks….it’s Saturday. 😊