By Dixon Bledsoe
Ever get the feeling of both satisfaction and despair as you come to the end of a really good book? It was a great read, but what now? What will the author have in store for us next?
My wife, Lisa, and I are months away from becoming empty nesters. An odd feeling since for the last 22 years we have had kids coming and going from our house. We can’t even count the hours we have spent with a great bunch of kids and their parents as we have both helped and watched them grow into stunningly cool young adults. What a ride it has been.
Our youngest child, Trevor, who is a senior at Silverton High School, played in his last high school basketball game on March 9. I have a huge sense of pride because he turned out to be a good young man. But it is also sad. The kids on the SHS varsity basketball team that took third place in the Oregon 5A tournament are a special bunch of guys as are their parents. There are six seniors – Toby Roth, Zach Gengler, Joe Schaefer, Zach Gould, Preston Kirk and my son, Trevor Bledsoe. They won two games, lost one close game to eventual state champion Jefferson High School. But as senior parents, we let out a collective sigh. The book on this chapter of life is winding down. We began to say our “goodbyes” as we reminisced, even though no one is moving away but the kids who are going off to college. There have been hundreds of practices in all sports. Tournaments galore. Sprained ankles, skinned knees and concussions that required way more rest than an active teen enjoys or is accustomed to. Texts flew back and forth in group emails – you could almost see smiley face icons with misty parental eyes.
Graduation looms. College is but five months away. Yet so much of our past is tied to our kids, their friends, their families, and their dreams. And it’s not just the guys on the basketball team. There are so many kids – both guys and girls – who I have had the privilege to watch go from kindergarteners to seniors.
I had the privilege of coaching the Oregon Blueberries in what seems like last month. The Blueberries were a girls’ softball team, and they were pretty darn good despite the athletic shortcomings of a well-meaning coach. They have been in college now for 3-5 years, my daughter Briana included. Some are married and are just a few scant years away from heading off to T-Ball games and watching their occasionally disinterested progeny pick daisies in left field while a well-hit ball goes rolling by.
We will remember Pete, not because he was the first African-American many of our five year-old YMCA basketballers had seen, but he was the guy who wouldn’t call travelling. He just stopped the game, talked to the ball-handler about the rule, and let the game continue. He is also the man who toward the end of the game, and season, made sure everyone scored, even if he had to lift them up to the basket to improve their odds. We watched a video of that special season just a few weeks ago, and there was Zach Gengler, all four feet of him. How could we have known that the little boy who hadn’t yet figured out where to stand on the court would grow to be the best basketball player Silverton has every produced?
We hurt when our kids hurt. We burst with pride when they did something special. We commiserated with other parents when things didn’t always go our way, and celebrated each victory like it was the Super Bowl of recreational league sports. We went to their plays and heard their speeches. We cried when the tassels flipped four years ago, and will cry again this June when a new tassel gets the heave-ho.
There were sleepovers involving Pink Flamingos, two dozen eggs and two pounds of bacon, with a dozen pancakes tossed in for a “light” breakfast. There were many dramas and too few fishing trips.
One child leaves and comes back both a beautiful young woman and soon-to-be nurse. Another one prepares to leave the nest and needs to know very quickly that these last months at home and of high school are to be cherished.
Thank you, friends and parents, teachers and doctors, for helping us raise two good kids, and being there for so many years as they grew up. This doesn’t mean the future is doomed to be somber, boring or scary. It’s just that the past is, well, over. Except in our heads and hearts. A new book is soon to be written, and odds are it is going to be a good one. But still, it has been quite a journey. Three final thoughts. Trevor, turn out the lights when you leave. Briana, drive carefully. And the nest may be emptying soon, but it will always be open.
