Janelle Evans

In one of my favorite Broadway shows, “Wicked”, there is a song the very green Elphaba sings, “no good deed goes unpunished.”  I totally get that song.  Inside me there is this compulsion to help.  It doesn’t even matter if I know you, if you look like you need assistance, I can’t stop myself from butting in.

As you can guess, my desire to be helpful is not always well received.  Standing in a grocery line, the woman ahead of me had a crying baby in a car seat.  I saw the binky laying the seat beside the baby, so I stepped forward while she was paying and put the binky in the baby’s mouth.  You would have thought I was stabbing her kid with the way she glared at me, though the man behind me was sure happy when the baby’s screams stopped.

The best reaction I’d ever had happened while I was a lifeguard.  At the time I was working at a wave pool.  A man had his small daughter out in the deep, jumping up and down through the waves.  To me, he looked like he tiring, struggling to keep his daughter and himself above the relentless waves hitting them over and over again.  So I pushed the emergency shutoff valve, and jumped in to save them both.  The man was not happy.  He yelled at me through the entire ride back into the shallow end on my buoy.  He even told my supervisor I should be fired.  To him, my reaction had embarrassed him needlessly.

Less than twenty minutes later, he was out in the deep again with his daughter.  As I watched him weaken, I debated whether or not to jump in.  After all, he had punished me for my previous “good deed”.

When I realized he was no longer jumping, and couldn’t hold his daughter above the waves, I stopped debating and jumped.  Red faced and exhausted, this time the man didn’t say anything as I tugged them both in the shallow end.  My supervisor was there to greet us.  She asked the man, “If she should fire me now?”

Being a theater buff, I love attending live productions.  Over the years, I’ve dragged my husband, and now my children to many shows.  But I’m afraid those days are coming to an end.  The price of tickets have become so outrageous, I can no longer justify the incredible expense.

Fourteen years ago, I took my husband to see Beauty and the Beast—the cost, $75 per ticket.  No we weren’t right up front, but we were on the floor for that price.  Today, $75 won’t even get you upper mezzanine seating.  How sad.  The pricy tickets will probably keep many of our younger generation from ever experiencing this art form.  How sad.  I’m sure the industry will swear the inflated costs are there for a number of reasons, none of which would be greed.

Thursday was one doozy of a day.  I packed the vehicle, release my youngest children from school early, and had my husband take time off of work.  All for the last football game for our oldest son—and this away game wasn’t just a few minutes away, more like two and a half hours away.  Sure, it was a lot of preparation and expense, and a long drive through a snow storm, but hey, that’s what we parents do for our kids, right?  Now if only my son would have called me that morning to let me know the game was cancelled.

Yep, cancelled.  And the best part, the moment we reach our destination, my oldest son calls.  “Mom, can you pick me up from school.”

“School!” I say into the phone.  “Why are you at school?  What about the game?”

“Oh, it got cancelled this morning because of the snow.”

Right about here I smacked my forehead.  “Why didn’t you call and tell me?”

His answer was the icing on the whole debacle.  “It’s snowing.  I thought you would know.”

Gee folks, I’m not only a mother but I’m supposed to be a mind reader too.  What my son didn’t realize was I’ve watched tons of games in less than perfect weather.  It would have never occurred to me to think the game was cancelled.

I shook my head and chuckled.  “Well son, unfortunately, you’re walking home.  We’ll see you in a few hours.”

If this doesn’t illustrate the importance of communication, I don’t know what will.  On the upside, our five hour trip had quite a few scenic views—ooo, with a quick stop at a Wendy’s—now I know you’re wishing this had happened to you.

I spent many years helping coach both a high school swim team, and a junior swim team.  Watching the head coach of those teams, I learned many truths about myself, and what it took to be an effective coach.  He is one of the best.  When I worked with him he had already won thirteen state championships in a row.

1. A good coach will get to know every student/ Athlete they work with—not just the ones they think will win.

Showing you care about each individual can inspire amazing results in even the most humble of athletes.  There is the potential for greatness in all of us.

2. A good coach doesn’t have favorites, they have teams.

Nobody is given a spot or a race.  They earn it before every game or meet.  No matter age or height of stature, if you beat the big bad senior, the spot is yours.  This is the only way a coach can truly be seen as impartial.

3. A good coach doesn’t worry about the score board.  He’s more concerned with his athlete’s—are they learning and growing throughout the season?

The coach I worked with never crunched numbers, or tried to manipulate the score by using only his supposedly “best” swimmers, even if we fell behind in meets.  He refused to do more than inspire and teach.  He always let the kids know the competition side of the sport was up to them.  And they, understanding the faith their coach had in them, stepped-it-up on more than one occasion.

For those coaches out there who have favorites, and think winning is everything.  Ask yourself this question:  Who are you here for–yourself–or those student/ Athletes who have been entrusted into your care?