Getting the Part

Disappointment can feel like a tragic fall from sky-high expectations. The realization impact is what hurts the most and it guts us -- that the person you like doesn't like you back, or trying out for the sports team and not making the cut, or the part in the play you auditioned for that you don't get, or the job you really felt you were qualified for that you don't get, or the promotion you really felt you were qualified for that you don't get. 

The one about not getting the job you want is something that our teens haven't experienced yet. Only our oldest Beatrice has had a paying job the past two years, and was also promoted in year two, as a paid summer camp counselor. Our youngest Bryce can't wait to get a part-time job next summer. 

Both our kids played recreation soccer for years (with me as their coach for many of them), and then in middle school they tried out for and made the team. Both were solid players with good fundamental skills. The clique competitiveness wasn't for them, though, which outweighed the joy they derived from playing. That's when music and theater became their go-to participatory "sports".

Pre-covid both kids participated in a sweet theater troupe called Musical Mondays. They got to play a variety of roles, which was so much fun to watch their fun. Bryce participated in another theater program after that, but like in soccer, the clique competitiveness was too much. But choir was different in middle school for Bryce, who got to perform solos with a tentative but growing confidence. 

Now both our teens are in high school choir and theater and loving them because. The environment is still competitive, but much more inclusive and supportive. However, the disappointment of auditioning and not getting the roles they want is painfully real. It sucks, especially when they have experience and they practiced the roles beforehand. 

Some would say, "Well, that's life, and it's only going to get more competitive, and there will always be winners and losers." And that's true. There will be those who are stellar at what they do because of their abilities. There can also be bias, favoritism, nepotism, and privilege that help propel them. 

A certain amount of "putting yourself out there" and competitiveness is helpful character building. It can incrementally improve confidence and fuel the passion and the willingness to take a chance for something we want to do or be and like to do or be. Liking and wanting are important fulfillment companions, but wanting without liking can be just frustrating and self-loathing as never taking a shot in the first place. Thank you Rick Hanson and your Foundations of Wellbeing course.

We must be able to process and learn from not getting what we want (the part, the job, the position, etc.), from the disappointment that can gut us. Training or no training, practice or no practice, innate talent or aspirational talent, favoritism or fairness, it still all sucks when it doesn't work out for us. How we grapple with this disappointment, reassess what we liked and wanted and what we want to do now, understand what ultimately generates joy for us, and how we move forward without fear of judgment or self-judgment, are the only things we have control over.

Our hearts ache when our children ache with disappointment. We can't protect them from that; they have to go through it. However, getting to the other side of it and feeling grounded and confident to keep going is what's critical and what we've worked to impart on them. 

As parents, we’re proud of them and grateful they continue to explore their passions. The good news is that they're both getting the part where, no matter what happens, they hold their heads high and are proud of who they are and what they're capable of. They prioritize the joy in what they do while empathizing with others who don't. 

To Do Or Not To Do

The first time it happened I opted to not do it, to not deal with it. So, I called for roadside assistance via our car insurance. In our own driveway.

The second time it happened, less than six months later, I was at a crossroads: do I attempt to do it myself or call again for roadside service. In our own driveway.  

Fortunately for me, I have an amazing and versatile wife who keeps her head cool under these circumstances. I, however, do not. My wife Amy came in the front door and said, "The back tire isn't holding air, and I found a screw in it."

I sat in the living room working as I listened to her words. I cursed multiple times, something I always do when I escalate into being stressed out. 

"Do you want to call roadside assistance again?" she asked.

I thought about it, continuing to curse in my head about the whole thing. 

"No, let's put the spare on. Please help me."

"Okay, let's do it," she said.

As we moved outside to the car I kept thinking about the life-hack lists that parents are supposed to share with their kids, the ones that include learning how to change your tire. Something I hadn't done since I owned my first car in high school. But how can I tell my kids to learn something that I haven't even done?

Amy and I did it together. Our youngest Bryce helped a little with the jack, and our oldest Beatrice came in and out of the house to watch us.

Now we know how to do it. I know how to do it. Later that night I joked with our kids, "Let's go change a tire."

They of course said, "No thank you."

A week later we discovered the Yoda fountain in front of the Industrial Light & Magic offices in the Presidio in San Francisco. This was after visiting the Walt Disney Family Museum, which was a true gem for any Disney fan, learning all about Walt's life from birth to death. Walt was a doer who transformed animation and imaginations around the world, and when we found the Yoda fountain, Yoda's famous quote of from Star Wars The Empire Strikes Back popped into my head: “Do or do not. There is no try.”

I was 14 years old when I saw The Empire Strikes Back for the first time. My sister, an old friend, and I rode our bikes to the theater to see it. I loved it. I've loved everything Star Wars since, too. George Lucas was another doer who transformed storytelling and imaginations everywhere (and now Disney keeps the magic alive). 

But doers don't have to be the most famous or transformative or successful; we all have a choice every day to do or not to do (sorry, Shakespeare). To try is a nice sentiment on the path to doing, but it's also a cop out to not commit fully in doing (thank you, Yoda).

The only way to know is to do, even if doing means failing. We couldn't know the difference otherwise and we couldn't recalibrate otherwise. When we finally changed a tire after decades of not doing (and calling roadside assistance), which again was a choice, through all the angst of the act for me, we did it. And now we can do it again. I don't want to friggin' deal with a flat tire again, but we can do it now. 

This an important distinction and one I hope our teens get. They must, because otherwise they wouldn't have tried out for theater, sang solos in choir, learned guitar, organized a student march, and so many other things, some of which we encouraged, but they ultimately chose and did. The same with me and Amy, too. It's okay not to do, that's always a choice, but to do is to know something new, and who knows where that could go.

Never Be Remiss About Missing Out

I didn't realize it was national competition. I only thought it was a local choral festival we were going to. It's probably better that I didn't know, since I agreed to play the drums on one of the songs for the middle school advanced (gold) choir that our youngest Bryce is part of. The song was Nanuma, a traditional greeting song from Ghana. 

It's a fairly simple repetitive beat, a welcoming pattern, which made sense since it is a greeting song. I practiced it for over a month along with my usual drum regimen nearly every night I was at home and not traveling for work. 

Halfway through that month, the choir teacher sent me an email that she had another person to drum, someone who was going to do it in the first place, so I was off the hook. Now, I could've just let it be at that point, and walked away from it. I've had enough work stress of late, so why would I want to stress about performing in front of people for the first time, including both my children, Bryce and Beatrice. Both were supportive, although Bryce might have been kind of mixed about it in the first place. Supportive, but mixed. I mean, I am Dad, and they are teen, so there's that. 

But I didn't walk away. I wrote the choir teacher back and said I'd been practicing and really wanted to do it. She replied excitedly that I should still do it; she thought I'd want to back out. Both my wife Amy and I would also help chaperone the choir event, because after the performance all the kids were going to the Great America amusement park. 

The morning we left for the choir festival, I had to pick out an acoustic tom drum, stand, and sticks from the choir/band room at school to bring with me. I play an electronic kit at home and have never really played acoustic. Acoustics are much louder and the feel is different, even though I have mesh heads at home, which have a give feel like acoustics. 

We all rode the bus to the choral performance, then came the performance itself. I set up my drum and then stood poised sticks in had. The choir took to the risers. The choir teacher hit the piano key for pitch, started waving her hands in the beat count, looked at me, and I started the song. In retrospect, I wasn't actually nervous to perform, just more nervous about being too loud. As the choir sang the lovely greeting song Nanuma, I drummed lightly until the very end when I drove it home. 

And then it was over. Less than three minutes of song overall. It wasn't a big audience, but here were family and friends and another choir in the room waiting. After I was done I sat and listened to the other two songs Bryce's choir sang, which were wonderful. In fact, our middle school choir won gold in the top 10% of schools participating at the Forum Music Festival! 

Not because of my drumming, of course, but I was still proud to be a part of it (and couldn't wait to share with my drum teacher!). Nope, you're never too old to learn new things. Never. We encourage our teens to try new things, to overcome any anxiety about trying new things, and continue to develop the new things they end up enjoying, maybe even loving, like sports, theater, art, music, and more. Just like they're doing now, with theater winning the hearts and minds of both kids (more on that soon). We never want them to be remiss about missing out. 

The Beat of BhivePowered Drums

After decades of thinking about playing the drums, and with only a few short-lived runs at starting to play but never following through, I finally picked up the drumsticks for good shortly after the COVID-19 lockdown started. That was nearly four years ago now, and since then, I’ve practiced for over 1,000 hours, averaging about 5 hours per week, usually playing after dinner. When I travel, I bring my practice pad with me and try to bang out some rudiments. 

In addition to practicing rudiments and taking various lessons, I’ve also had fun learning to play many songs I grew up with and loved (and still love), nearly 120 songs to date. I get to 80%-85%% proficiency, record myself playing, and then move on to another song, always learning two songs simultaneously. Early on I couldn’t always get the entire song down, but now I can. 

No, I’m not starting a band anytime soon, but the point of all this ongoing practice is to improve and sustain my drumming performance. Hitting 100% isn’t easy, but consistency in proficiency is key. I’m also always adding wrinkles to my rudiments, the lessons I’m learning, and periodically getting feedback and lessons from a professional session drummer. 

I’ve been beating a similar drum for our teens recently, getting them to understand that it's never too late to try something new and see if it lands on the right heartbeat for them. Especially now, this is the time for them to explore what moves them the most (and they should do this throughout life). Both my wife Amy and I tell them that they should never be afraid to give something new a go. Our youngest Bryce gave theater a go and loves it. But even if Bryce hadn't liked it, they really put themselves out there during the very first audition, which is always a super-big deal. Our oldest Beatrice has given lacrosse, track, and now theater a go, and we'll see what she really enjoys and wants to continue the most. Although art is her true love and that is definitely something she continues to invest in.

The key is the heartfelt enjoyment our kids get from whatever those endeavors, hobbies, activities are that they try. The world is cutthroat competitive enough, and while our teens will still need to put in the work to learn and grow in whatever they aspire to do, they've got to have fun, too. When I coached both our kids in soccer for years, that was always my mantra. Learn new skills, embrace teamwork when applicable, and have fun. Always. Have. Fun. That's the beat of BhivePowered Drums. 

Riding a Bike on Your Feet

I didn't think we'd make it more than one time around. It was slow going; she held onto the outside railing with her right hand and my right hand with her left. Thankfully when we'd come upon a group of kids clumped against the railing, they'd move along to let us pass before we had to say "excuse me."

And it was super hot inside. No air conditioning. Only the front and back doors were open to draw air through, and a few ceiling fans near the front entrance. That helped when we were near either entrance, but it was still the hottest day of the year so far for us outside, which made it really hot inside.

So, after one time around, and falling once, both our faces were wet with sweat, and poor Beatrice's face was beet red. We certainly picked the wrong day to teach her how to roller skate at the Santa Cruz Roller Paladium.

That's not exactly true though, because it's always the right time to learn something new, even when you're uncomfortable. Before we had children, I never would've enjoyed overheating in a roller rink; I never would've gone skating on such a hot day. But it barely crossed my mind as I only thought about helping Beatrice learn how to skate. I knew she wanted to finally learn because of an upcoming birthday party she was invited to at this same very rink. So, the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and our youngest, Bryce, went shopping, and Bea and I went to the roller rink. We'd all meet up together again later in the day.

Bea was nervous, but determined. "But what if I fall?" she asked me.

"You will fall," I said. "And then you just keep working on your balance. Keep feeling your weight on your skates; the more balanced you get, the easier it will be to lift your feet and skate."

"Don't let go," she said.

"I won't."

We made it one time around the rink and then took a break to cool down and drink some water.

"Dad, why is it so hot?"

"I know, right? Because there isn't any air conditioning in here. Keep drinking water."

Bea hung her head and said, "I want to go."

"I get it, sweetie, but the only way to learn is to keep practicing. You do want to learn, right?"

"Yes, I do."

"Remember when you finally learned to balance on your bike?"

"Yes."

"And now you ride it like a champ, right?

"Yes."

"It's like that, only now you have four wheels on each foot."

"Okay."

And with that, we went around again, slowly. As we completed our second lap, sweating and puffing along the way, and Bea falling again, I told her about when I first learned to roller skate around her age. I told her how it took a few times to feel balanced and comfortable, and then ever since, and even now at 52, I've never forgotten how to skate. I told her about all my pre-teen and teenage years skating at Roller Towne where I grew up in Visalia, CA. And how her mother used to skate at a place called Skate Ranch when she was young in Milan, IL. And how we even skated with Bea in the Mama's belly, and then again when she was a year and a half at Roller Towne after one of my high school reunions.

Beatrice and I were only at the roller rink for an hour, and in that time she made it around five times. The last two times she even started to not hold onto me as much, and then letting go of the railing, and she started to learn how to move her feet with greater balance and control.

"See, I told you. It gets a little easier each time. Do you want to come again next week to practice some more?"

"Yes, I do."

"Great!"

"Dad, you’re right. It is like learning to ride a bike, except on your feet."

A New Hope of Grit and Growth

"Beatrice G. and Bryce G.," called the Jedi training coordinator.

Music to my Force-filled ears. We had missed the regular reservation times and could only sign the girls up as alternates. No guarantees. Come back at least 15 minutes before one of these times later today. Thank you and good luck. And now they were being called to participate!

"I don't know if I want to do it," said Beatrice.

"It'll be fun, Bea. Don't worry," I said.

"I want to do it!" said Bryce.

"Don't worry," said the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife).

"Okay," said Beatrice.

This was the part where many parents come to in the lives of their beloved children: making them do something whether they want to or not -- so we can experience the experiences they need to have that we never experienced otherwise and live these experiences anew vicariously through said beloved children.

Thank you and good luck.

"Do you both want to do it?" asked the coordinator.

I'm not sure if they both said yes or not, but we ushered them to the gated entrance where all the Padawans were corralled, being dressed in robes and prepped.

Bryce beamed when I took her picture in her training robe. Beatrice had that look of constipated anxiety she gets when she's nervous about something, the same look I've had since I was a child and even into adulthood.

I gave Bea a big thumbs up and then we smiled and waved at them both. One of the Jedi training coordinators called for the parents to follow her and led us to the open quad stage where the performance/training would take place.

"I didn't realize we'd be leaving them up there alone," said the Mama.

"I know. They'll be all right, though."

"I'd better go check on them," she said.

"Okay, I'll be right here. Love you."

"Love you."

But then I worried that, by going up there to where the Padawans were being prepped, one or both girls would have a out with the Mama not to do the training exercise. I didn't want that to happen, although I did feel a little guilty about pushing them, Bea especially, out of their comfort zone. I remembered how painfully shy I was at her age, and how tentative I was to try new things like this, to try anything for that matter. Thankfully both girls already have more grit than I did at their ages, more like their Mama in that regard, so I thought they could handle it. It wasn't like we were sending them out to fight for the lives in The Hunger Games.

Right?

I mean, I wanted them to handle it; I would've paid money, begged, may even cry a little if Disneyland would've let me participate in the Jedi training. Even the Mama would've loved to do it.

I waited for the training to start and kept looking in the direction where the Mama went to check on the girls, half-expecting to see her return with one or both of the girls at any moment. I hoped they'd persevere and enjoy the experience. For me. And for them too, of course.

The Star Wars theme music launched and my heart lept back to the summer of 1977. John Williams composes a mean crescendo and diminuendo, that's for sure. The Mama joined me back near the stage, no girls in tow, as a line of Padawans filled the quad, Jedi trainers guiding them to their starting positions.

"Were they all right?" I asked.

"Yep, just fine."

The performance itself was quite entertaining, with all the Jedi trainees collectively controlling and channeling the Force to vanquish the dark side and the Seventh Sister, Darth Vader and Kylo Ren. Each Padawan had an opportunity to battle the Seventh Sister and Darth Vader, showing off the newly acquired light saber skills.

Because the Force real. Really. No judging, please.

Our girls made us proud, washing away any guilt of pushing them into Jedi training. Pushing Beatrice more than Bryce that is. Which, with all due respect to our beloved children, was pretty minimal in the first place. After the performance ended, the girls ran to us all aglow and confident.

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes, I want to do it again! It was exciting for me," Bea exclaimed.

"Yes! It was awesome" said Bryce.

We want them to get excited like this after trying new things, to experience the unexperienced, and to always see them through. Not all of what's learned will stick long-term, nor will they even like everything they try, but that doesn't matter. What's matters is in their becoming of something better, smarter, stronger and resilient for whatever life throws their way -- and throw things it will, lots of things (damn all those things). What will matter the most is for them (and us) to always be a new hope of grit and growth.