Bites and Elbows

This past weekend, I walk into a gym teeming with 7-to-9 year old boys, who are jumping out of their shoes with excitement. They're warming up for an evaluation session, where they will be divided up and put on teams for a league. I'm told to go cover a basket and am the only female on the floor. I pick a hoop and feel the pressure to say something to a bunch of rugrats, but I'm not fired up to bust up their little party, filled with running, crashing and tackling, and throwing the ball with no respect for any rules of the game or a civilized society.

Two little guys who look alike are beating up on a lefty in a Ray Allen jersey. Three other boys are buzzing around them and the hoop, and it's a train wreck waiting to happen. I say, "Guys, why don't brothers stop beating up on Ray Allen and you start a game of 3-on-3." Three buzzing boys look at me and run away from our hoop. I ask them to come back, they run faster. Smiling Brother #1 looks up and says, "They don't want to play with a girl."

I let it go, look around at the masses, and say, "All you need is one!"

Smiling Brother #1 yells, "You're on!"

I guard Ray Allen, and totally shut him down.

I record another hoops sound bite for the books the next day when I'm coaching my 6th grade boys' traveling team. We do okay in the first half, despite not having any players that understand why great athletes play to win and sometimes get emotional about it. We basically have a bunch of nice boys from the upper east and west sides of Manhattan, and their collective indifference is going to force me to take drastic measures soon. I'm just not sure I have the pipes or the energy to blow my top like the coach from the other team does during a timeout. The coach yells at his guys so loudly that my boys come to the huddle shaking.

And it works. We lose by 15. At the end of the game, we shake hands. I am a good sport on the surface, and a coach says to me, "Well, at least you're the prettiest coach in the league."

"Thank you," I say. "But too bad that counts for absolutely nothing."

Next game I'm going to have one of the boys ask the official if it's okay if our pretty coach subs herself in. The boys will do it. They do everything I say except show any dramatic, even desperate signs of needing to win like a starving dog needs food.

That night I go to the gym and play pickup, which is always a risky endeavor. I've played occasionally in the past six months and after the last few runs, I've seen myself in the mirror and stop in shock. I am so red it's alarming. I think it's a combination of being out of shape and embarrassed by my play. I've started the habit of having a meeting with myself before we start, and in this meeting I remind myself that I do not have to get every loose ball, every rebound, and make every shot. I play, I hustle, I pick my moments, with the hope of keeping safety in mind. By the end of the second game, a guy on the other team says to me, in front of everyone, "She's the bruiser out here." He starts pointing to areas of his arms and body where I've tagged him with my blade-like elbows. I say I'm sorry, I never mean it, but I've just got these really sharp 'bows and I just use them subconsciously. It's Darwinian.

A guy on my team, Dave, who I enjoy playing with quite a bit, says, "That's right. She's our Charles Oakley."

Everyone starts laughing and I'm embarrassed. I try to tell them that I didn't get good feet, but I do have the gift of the 'bows. One time during the off-season at Northwestern, while playing against my teammates, I drove down the middle and took it hard to the hoop against M. All you need to know about M is that she was so into her looks that she had photos of herself around her apartment and by her bedside. I take it to the hoop and catch her, barely, above the lip and she screams. I stop, thinking, I didn't get her that bad, did I? She takes her hand away, and our point guard and captain looks at M, her jaw drops and she says: Oh. My. God.

M is hysterical. I'm embarrassed to admit that I started crying, but I did. I swear to you, hitting this girl in the face, and sending her to the hospital to get stitches under her nose was as bad as ending some players careers.

Now that I think about it, if I want to spare myself comparisons to Charles Oakley, while there's no one I love more than a blue-collar rebounder, I am now considering elbow pads.

I try to take a photo of my 'bows to show the blades that are attached to them. But it's tough to take a photo of your own elbow, especially when you're so white you're almost see-through and you're in a white room.

I point one of my two weapons to this shameless promo and click the button.
And lastly, getting back to the topic of kids, check out this shot of Sophie.

This is one fine, harmless elbow.

Garnett's High School Sidekick: Ronnie Fields

I stumbled on these YouTube videos that were a blast from the past. I wrote a story on the stars of Farragut High School on Chicago's West Side during my senior year at Northwestern. One kids was daKid -- the now internationally known KG -- and the other was an unbelievable leaper named Ronnie Fields. Ronnie, only 6'2" had the body of a grown man. When he jumped, much to my surprise, I stood up as if I was going up with him, and so did everyone around me. A guy I was dating at the time went to some of Ronnie and Kevin's games with me, and he said that the only person he saw jump with such a burst of force, power and grace was Jordan.

I spoke with the writers who came into town and knew I had the in with Farragut and the boys after spending so much time watching the team. I told my friend Jack McCallum that there was this one move that KG made during a DePaul game--this turn around jumper that was just a piece of art in motion, and I knew right then he had the skill, and after speaking to him many times, I knew he was smart enough to protect himself and not trust anyone. Garnett, even at 17, was one of the best interviews I've ever been part of. Ronnie, on the other hand, trusted too many people and always had a big goofy smile on his face. He was so friendly and kind to me that he came to Northwestern's campus that spring and he played on my team in a 3-on-3 tournament. The last play in the championship game: Ronnie threw the ball off the backboard, to himself and dunked on two college football players.

I saw Ronnie at a bunch of events over the years and he always came up to me and gave me a kiss. I was rooting for him, but unfortunately Ronnie trusted too many people and made some poor decisions. He also never seemed to put in the time, and let his weak jumpshot remain the same for too long. It may have been a case of things being too easy for him too early in his life. As I was watching the videos of him on YouTube, one commentator summed up Ronnie's career when he said, "Ronnie just looks bored out there."

Until he found an open lane ... check this out. I remember where I was sitting when I saw the first dunks in this clip, the one when he's in the yellow jersey and he almost takes off from the foul line. Our entire section rose to our feet.

My Grandmother Had 10 Children

It's funny that after writing my blog on sex education, I log in and see one well-written, eloquent comment, and the author? My cousin, the mysterious Catherine, who occasionally drops by the blog or myspace and puts on a writing clinic, and then tells me she has no confidence in writing.

The funny part to me that I've been walking around the streets of New York City and thinking about our grandmother and the health and power of her plumbing, and wondering if she had a sex ed teacher who told her that the rhythm method was effective. The back story: Grandma Anita Rose Holohan, a brilliant woman and pianist, was offered a full scholarship to college, but her dad said a woman's place was at home and he did not let her go. She married our grandfather and had not three or four or seven children. She had TEN. Yes, she was pregnant for approximately seven years, which leads me to believe grandma and grandpa used absolutely no method of contraception, unless you count getting pregnant as a way not to get pregnant.

I needed a piece of art for this blog, so I googled "sex" and found a photo of Grandma back in her day, practicing their form of contraception:

Whatever a parent says to a child, it's just important to be honest, to put all the options on the table, to say sex is a powerful act and here's the positive and here's the negative of what it can do to you and to others. And I'd even tell the kids that I am not running around and telling Bush that he nor anyone else need to preach to me about spirituality and sex as a special moment between two people. I act responsibly, and if there's any doubt that I'm doing something that makes me uncomfortable, I do not proceed, and would tell my child or anyone else's to do the same. So if anyone can't get through to their child, call me and I will level with them free of charge. I once had to do this after house sitting for a week, and busting a girl for drinking and sneaking a boy into her room. Mom and Dad needed to get their heads out of the clouds and so did the girl.

Regardless of whether or not one waits until marriage, the problem I have is spending a billion dollars in ten years in attempt to persuade kids to wait, which is pretty much saying you've got to get married to partake in what can be a rewarding, fun and positive experience between two responsible and respectful individuals.

All this writing about sex is making me horny.

Why My Sister Thought She Was Pregnant

Here will be the beginning of the end of a conversation I will have with the next guy who wants to sleep with me and I'm looking for a good excuse:

"I really do want to have sex with you, but I can't, it's Bush."

He will wince and say pardon me? I'll say, no, no, no it's PRESIDENT BUSH.

"The man who believes he's the Great God of the Western World says I should abstain. Actually he would like you to abstain, and cross your legs in solidarity along with every single man and woman, boy and girl, here and everywhere on this earth even in places where young girls are forced to have sex, and young boys and men feel it is their right, their duty to do the deed, an act that, honestly, might just be a natural one that might relieve them of stressful and violent tendencies."

And I will look up and this guy will be gone.

Last year a friend of a friend made a case over dinner that world violence would be reduced significantly if teenage boys across the world were allowed--even encouraged--to have safe sex, particularly in oppressed and depressed Third World Countries where boys, out of sheer boredom and lack of identity package all there angst and aggression and direct it at the U.S. (I'll save this topic and research for a separate blog.) As I tried to figure out the logistics of marketing this concept, and somehow selling it to the Department of Defense, he suggested that teenage boys be paired up with 30-something single women. My burst of laughter almost made me cough up my wine and I had to call a timeout.

I admit I'm going nowhere with this blog, but so is President Bush. Let me do as he does and continue. I'm going to write to the U.S. Sex Department and propose a two-part experiment. The first part will require that every single American girl and women to be given a government sponsored chastity belt with a big B for Bush. At first I went with the arbitrary and lucky number seven -- as in doing this for seven days -- until I envisioned major bloodshed, heads rolling, not any work getting done, and realized all we would need here is seven nighttime hours for the federal government to order a recall of those faulty, hazardous Bush belts.

The second experiment would require boys and men to put on the Bush belt. Take a look at this cute visual and envision a big bling of a B right over the lock, hanging on there like a hood ornament.

And if boys and men worldwide had to wear this thing for seven hours, seven days, even seven minutes, there most certainly would be bloodshed, a march on Washington, heck, Bush might be impeached not because men couldn't control themselves, but because all this talk about what doesn't work is so ridiculous, so embarrassing on so many levels. Let's start with the fact that the President of the United States is trying to look comfortable talking openly about sex. I watch him and think this is worse than having to listen to my mother, a nurse, tell me about it; and more awkward than when she used to send me and my college roommates a care package of cookies, banana bread and condoms. President Bush might want to consider leaving the delivery of this topic up to the health professionals. And if he feels pressed to step up to the podium, and make us all wonder, was Ms. Bush the first and only, he might want to remember he's got the wind behind him and the finish is in sight, the game over, the victory of him surviving two terms near complete. And while things are a total mess in Iraq, and there's no end or answer in sight, let's try and stick to what we can do as reasonably thinking human beings, who might want to stop dumping hundreds of millions of dollars on something that studies show does not work.

Check out this information in "Get the Facts on President Bush's Pet Project" by Rebecca Regan-Sachs, Georgetown University" in Campus Progress (http://www.campusprogress.org) under the headline: Bad Science, Silly Gender Stereotypes, Dangerous Misinformation : Why Federally Funded Abstinence-Only Education Isn't Working.

This "Abstinence only" endorsement, which now has a $200 million price tag, is still going on in Washington, despite no proof that it works. Jessica Arons, Legal Policy Associate for the Women’s Health Program at the Center for American Progress, says it is inaccuracies such as these that trouble her, not the inclusion of abstinence in a sex-ed curriculum. “I would like to see sex education be based on medically accurate information instead of distortions and fear,” she said. “Teaching the benefits of postponing sex is very important and should certainly be part of any sex education class…[but] sex education needs to be medically accurate and it needs to help all the students—even those who decide to have sex.”

After going on a about the numbers, percentages and risk associated with condoms, birth control, etc. the article goes on to state:

Even teens who openly take “virginity pledges” to remain abstinent until marriage don’t always follow through. A CDC study showed that while many pledgers postponed having sex, 88 percent of them lost their virginity before marriage. More troubling still, the students who break this pledge are less likely to use contraceptives. In comparison, students in comprehensive sexual heath classes do not engage in sexual activity more often or sooner but do practice safer sex more consistently.

My sister told me that when she was a kid, maybe around nine or ten, she was told, by me, the commanding and all-powerful older sister, and my small group of silly friends, that if a boy touched any part of her abdomen -- just touched it with his hand -- she would become pregnant. In gym class one day, amid an intense game of dodgeball, a boy who wanted a ball stripped my sister of the ball, and in doing so, ended up poking her in the lower abdomen.

She freaked out, keeping her secret to herself, asking "How I going to tell Mom and Dad?" For weeks, she watched her stomach, and after about a month, not seeing any growth, she just forgot about it.

Maybe Bush should enlist the help of older brothers and sisters, knowing that kids are far more likely to listen to them than a man in a suit. If they used this same line, sure, it would be an untruth, but it seems to stand a much better shot of being effective than telling kids to abstain, particularly when most reasonably-thinking individuals know that kids tend to do the opposite of everything adults say.

I think I'm going to write the Sex Department, telling them that I'm going to vote for the candidate--male or female--who I think has the guts, savvy and compassion to talk about the power of sex, the option of abstinence, and then take out a dildo and show an auditorium full of kids how to put on a condom properly.

I tell this story from my experience as a teacher. In my first year as an English teacher, fearing for my job and not confident in how to raise the subject appropriately, I avoided all conversations about sex -- I even skipped over passages in literature that were of a sexual nature or said such minimal, rushed comments that I know it left the kids baffled, particularly after we read of the alleged rape of a white woman by a black man in To Kill A Mockingbird. In my second year, I took a deep breath, and promised myself to just talk to them and treat them as responsible young adults. (It certainly helped to know that I had already decided to not return to teaching the following year.)

In the Spring, feeling as though I had nothing to lose, we read a story in a women's publication, a story so gripping and moving that I must retype it or find a link to it one of these days. It was about women and children who were cast aside in India because they had AIDS.

As I'm sure you know, women, left with no other option of making a living, often work as prostitutes in order to eat and provide shelter for themselves and for their children. Married truckers on the road are their regular customers. But the story wasn't about a prostitute. It was about a married woman who, like too many, was faithful to her cheating husband. She was a virgin before she got married. In fear of crossing him, she never asked her husband to wear a condom when he came home. She contracted AIDS and passed it along to her child. The writer told the story of women and children spurned by families and friends, and sent out of the villages, cast aside, unable to access any pay for the medicine. They are sent away to die.

By the end of the story, we had also followed the life of a boy who was living alone in one of the few AIDS shelters for women in children afflicted with AIDS. This boy was four years old, so sick that by the end of the story, he was down to less than 20 pounds. When the last few paragraphs about the boy, my voice cracked and I had to pause. There was a collective gasp at the end of the article, an even longer pause, a look of anger and shock and sadness in all of their eyes.

Some of the boys became infuriated with the men. A few boys didn't care; they laughed at the girls who got all worked up and glared around the room, and then begged aloud for the women to have not let the men treat them with such inhumanity. Two girls were so upset and disturbed that they came up to me after class and just looked at me. Nothing came out of their mouths. One of my favorite students approached me after they left; he was so shaken that I thought he was going to cry. In a few broken sentences, he told me that he was going to wait until he was married. And I said, "Good for you." Then I added, "If you ever change your mind--not that I would want or encourage you to change your mind--please make a wise decision."

We discussed the story more the next day, and surprisingly--maybe it was because I was teaching in liberal Manhattan--I wasn't fired or even given any heat. I reiterated to the kids that I regretted not talking as openly with the previous year's class about the risk, rewards and power of sex, and how I simply wanted them to protect themselves and others.

Everyone lives in such fear about writing about this taboo that I hesitated to write about it here in my own blog. Why? I coach kids--I'm coaching mostly boys right now. I'm now wondering if a parent reads this, will they think that I will discuss it, huddle up the boys and underline the message with a "One, two, three ... CONDOMS!"

Totally inappropriate for a basketball coach, but certainly not for a president who could take that $200 million in abstinence-spending and buy trillions of the one thing that we know works.

(A day after posting this blog, there was a leading story on teenage pregnancy increasing, and a source said that $1 billion has been spent on abstinence-only programs in the last decade. And seriously, how can it cost a BILLION dollars to pay people to tell kids not to have sex? The link: http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/12/05/teen.births.ap/index.html)