The Things We Don't Say

*** I started this post last night, but had to go to bed before I finished it (EARLY, EARLY flight this morning!). So, I decided to finish it tonight... ***

Why is it that we just can't say the things we want or need to say sometimes? (Have I written about this before??? Oh well... even if I have, you're gonna read it again. Eh, sucks for you.) The primary phrases that come to mind are "I'm sorry", "I was wrong", and "I love you." Is it just me (and those like me)? Or is it really all of us who, at one point or another in our lives, just haven't been able to utter those simple little words?

There have probably been many, many, many times in my life when I should've stepped up to the plate and said that whatever just happened was entirely my fault. Yeah, I know if I just thought for a minute about it, I could come up with hundreds of those situations. (HUNDREDS?!!??!?) Anyway, so this is one of my major flaws (in my own opinion, of course). Even when I know I am at fault for something, I have a really hard time stepping up & saying "yep, that was my bad". Why can't I just say it right then and there? We all make mistakes. This was one of my many. Instead, I always try to hide behind whatever else is going on, cover up the mistake, even attempt to deceive those who may call me out on it (I am choosing not to use the word "lie", so back off).

Okay, so maybe this is going to go in a little different direction than what I planned or you may expect, but... there's one instance in particular that I started thinking about when I began writing (actually, this memory popped into my head sometime early yesterday morning... and I have no idea why). There was this junior league boys' basketball game on a Saturday morning sometime around the year 1993 (ish). Junior league basketball was a big part of my life (and my family members' lives -- did you see that pic of Haley in the Lady Hawks sweatpants?). I played for the Cougars for two years. (Was it the first year that Sylvia walked, like, a million times when she was passed the ball & found that she was too far under the goal to shoot... so, of course, she just backed up? Duh! And maybe the second year was the year we were really good?) And I played with the Lady Hawks during my 3rd (and last) year of eligibility, for my Dad! (Right, Dad?) Anyway, so... I had a lot of fun playing. Then it was Haley's turn. And I enjoyed the heck out of being a fan, watching my lil' Nona play her heart out and Papa John (& Ricky) coach, coach, coach, coach, coach. Okay... so, get to the point already, Heidi... geez. When I was in high school, I stayed involved in the junior league system for at least one year while serving as a referee. Now, I don't remember very much at all about reffing those games. But there is, of course, one game that I remember... and, thus, the whole point of the rambling about junior league basketball... and how the whole thing ties into me not being able to step up & take the responsibility for making a mistake.

So, I don't even remember the teams that were playing, but I remember that Mrs. Carey's younger son (wait, are there two or three Carey boys?) was on the team. I remember that because, man, that woman was mad at me! Anyway, so, I actually kind of remember arriving at the gym that morning. It was at WJ Elementary, and I came alone. There was a team of four of us who reffed together... all from ACHS: three guys (my best friend, my favorite HS crush, and the guy for whom I seemed to be his favorite HS crush) and me. I remember that we couldn't decide who was gonna be the two refs and who would keep the clock & stats. Eventually, thanks to no decision on my part, I was paired with my bestie for this fateful game while my crush, who was probably the best ref of the four of us while I was probably the worst, worked with the other guy on the clock/stats. Why couldn't he have had a crush on me too? Why couldn't he have wanted to ref with me? Why couldn't he have just assumed that he would need to save me at some point during the course of the game & WANT to be out there with me? Well, anyway, he didn't... do any of those things. Instead, when that horrible, horrible child (who I remember absolutely nothing about) who was playing for the anti-Carey team committed a blatant travel in the last minute of the game, I couldn't bring myself to blow the whistle. What the heck??? I knew he walked. I saw him walk. I knew the game was on the line. But I soooooo did not want to be on display at that point in time. And then dang if that kid didn't walk AGAIN!!! There were two of us on that floor reffing. Why couldn't Bestie have blown his whistle? He clearly saw the travel (and told me that he saw it later!). And, look... here I go shirking the blame again... I was the one in position to make the call. I was the one who messed up. I should've stepped up to make the call. I didn't. I knew I made a mistake. Yet, when the parents and coaches jumped up & down on me, I had a million excuses. And I tried to hide behind anything I could think of... it's a learning experience for the kids, it's just a game, I couldn't see it, my whistle was stuck, my co-ref could've called it, shoot... my crush could've pressed the horn to stop the game! (Yeah right!) But none of that happened, and I messed up... and even though I completely knew that I had just BLOWN IT, I couldn't step up & say, "my bad". Honestly, to this day, this moment, I do not believe I have ever said that it was, in fact, my fault that the Carey team lost. It was. Sorry, Marsha.

Now, why was that on my mind? Who knows?!?! But it was... and I just had to get it off my chest. So... for all those times that I even flat-out lied to y'all... telling you it really wasn't my fault when I knew it was: MY BAD. Oh, and I'm sorry and I love you.

Happy Monday from a warm (!!!) State College!