So I took a swimming trophy back from a little 10 year old girl at a recent meet! I didn't mean to give it to her in the first place. I had mistakenly thought that she had done just that (as in finished in first place). Surely she didn't feel too embarrassed? After all, there were only a few hundred people in the stands watching all of this. She's young, she'll get over it. I say that in hope, but I know if it happened to me that I probably wouldn't.
And why the gigantic alligator tears from the grade 5 kid at last week's chess tournament? Surely it wasn't because I chose to use "rock-paper-scissors" to eliminate either him or his opponent after several games lead to neither claiming victory. Stalemate was not an option. If I hadn't resorted to a more expedient means of deciding a victor then we'd still be in the school gym waiting for one to finally checkmate the other and I'd be the one crying. Was it fair? Probably not. Would I have felt the same as that little boy and cried a river? You bet.
I fancied myself a pretty good hockey coach, always believing I had the best interest of the kids at heart. My last coaching stint left a lasting impression on me and taught me that my best effort may not be good enough. Sure, most of the boys had a great year but there was one who slipped through the cracks. I had no idea that he was so unhappy and that he considered it to be his "worst year ever". Once again, my actions precipitated the opening of the floodgates. Those tears drowned whatever desire I may have had to continue coaching.
Hockey, chess, swimming.....and I'm only scratching the surface on just how good I am at making kids cry. I've coached basketball and softball too. Maybe there's a message there somewhere?
My own family is not exempt from Jim - The Tear Jerker! On any given Sunday, my brother Bill, his wife, and three young children come over for a family gathering so we can all scoff down whatever feast (must include gravy) mom has prepared. Now his kids are age 6 and younger, so one never knows what mood and manner each will be bringing with them. Inevitably, I (Uncle Jim) will swing one around too fast, bop one little head off another, or scare the daylights out of one or all three because I happened to shout too loudly at my older brother Gord or one of the dogs. You guessed it, tears begin to stream from my nieces or nephew. They often continue unabated until Grammie comes to the rescue with visual distraction, also known as a homemade chocolate chip cookie.
Perhaps this tendency to induce tears comes naturally to me. As a kid I did more than my fair share of shedding. There were sports teams I didn't make, awards I didn't win, got beat up, broke bones, bitten by dogs, stung by bees, bike accidents, two brothers and a sister to learn to live with, parents, and the mind and body altering teenage years. No wonder I balled so much! No wonder mom made such good chocolate chip cookies. They were her tasty, edible pacifiers.
Perhaps the wisest thing I have ever did was to move back to Newfoundland in 2004 after being away for fifteen years. It's no coincidence that this move occurred not long after Lynda and I had children of our own. It was also no accident that our home construction plans included a living area for Grammie. My children, Kendall and Avery, are great kids and were phenomenal babies. But even phenoms cry and with me as their dad they were guaranteed to do more than their share.
Grammie's cookies have saved the day for us on numerous occasions. They put a stop to the waling and balling that came naturally with being so young, as well as for those instances when I may have done something to accidentally induce the tears. There have been a few times over the years when the cookies failed to do their magic. Perhaps I shouldn't totally blame Grammie's baking abilities. I may have had something to do with why her secret recipe was not able to hold back the tears of my children (her very precious grandchildren).
How was I to know that little kids would get upset when their dad took back their cookies and ate them? I figured, being not long past the rug-rat stage, that they'd get over it. Also, they were so young that I believed it was likely they'd never remember that I re-gifted the cookies anyhow. Turns out I forgot one important thing - Grammie remembers. Since those days of my gluttony, all chocolate chip cookies are now taken straight from her oven, packaged and delivered to Kendall and Avery for their sole consumption. None for me, ever. I could just cry!
