This morning I woke to Gabby Douglas getting bullied and
people condemning the bullying… and I’m just really over it. I’m over this presidential race and the s***show
that is my social media feed. Some days
I just wish I’d be re-diagnosed with a deadly case of cancer so I could say all
the really honest things that I want to say to my online friends. Things like, “When did you go bat s*** crazy?”
and “Please stop posting pictures of your overweight kid eating donuts and ice cream.”
Yeah, I know. I’m an
awful person. It’s true. But if there’s one thing I took away from my
upbringing, it’s original sin; we’re all a little crappy. I don’t trust the people who look perfect. I’m sure that could be analyzed and over-analyzed
and maybe it will be. I’ve certainly got
my issues, but… isn’t that what makes us human?
There’s all that psychobabble bumper sticker philosophy about the
importance of the journey. I’m working
on the assumption that we believe that – a little bit.
So back to Gabby.
My daughter doesn’t participate in gymnastics. We tried it; it didn’t stick. Fine.
However, she watches the Olympics and she watched The Gabby Douglas
Story. If you haven’t seen it, it’s
exactly what you think it is: an uplifting story about a gifted athlete who
overcomes physical, financial, and emotional difficulties to become a
champion. My daughter loved it. Because of this movie, she know the name of
this gifted athlete. She knows about the
health of Gabby’s mother. She knows
about how weird it would be to live in someone else’s house in order to train. She knows about getting discouraged and about
the pressure to succeed.
I’m not saying it’s a great movie, but it’s probably been
the most inspiring movie my kid has seen.
You know what I like about it?
Gabby was weak. You know I don’t
mean that she had a lousy back handspring.
I mean that she doubted herself and cried and quit. Then she changed her mind and started
again.
I think it’s important that my kids see that – that my girl
and my boy see weakness. Every adult
knows life is a series of failures. You
don’t always win the elections. People
say bad things about you. You fall. You have people who stab you in the
back. The real story happens after the
game/match/set/event.
Watching the Olympics, my daughter wanted to know why Gabby
Douglas wasn’t in the all-around and we explained about the cutoff and how
difficult Simone Biles’ combinations are and how strong she is. So then my girl questioned why Ms. Douglas
would compete if she knew she wouldn’t win.
That’s the question, isn’t it? For me, that hits the heart of why people are
so pissed right now. Everywhere. All the time.
We know we aren’t the best. We
aren’t the one percent. Life isn’t quite
as awesome as we thought it would be when we were 7. I haven’t won American Idol. Not once.
No Nobel Prize. Not even a
Pulitzer. The Met is not clamoring to
have me do an installation of my Avant Garde artwork. I don’t even have a self-published book
out. I have failed.
This week, my daughter saw Gabby Douglas as a failure – and I
was GLAD. Here is this hero, a glowing,
smiling child who conquered the balance beam and floor routine with spirit and
hard work, who has grown into a woman I’d like my children to emulate. She understands fortitude. She also understands good luck. She knew Simone Biles, if healthy, would
win. She may not have the same glow as 4
years ago, but I don’t need her to glow.
She owes me nothing but her best.
This Olympics, we both knew her best was not good enough to win unless
someone else stumbled. But I am so, so
very grateful she went anyway.
I am not the best painter.
I am not the best writer. I am
not the best mom. I am not the best
wife. I’m not the best daughter or
sister.
Most likely, my kids won’t be either. I also know they won’t be going to the Olympics. Instead, I want them to be the Gabby Douglas
of their own lives. My hope for them is
that they will have the grit to keep tumbling in the face of their own doubts,
their own shortcomings, and the disappointments of others. When a coach benches them, I hope they stay
on the team. When their friends laugh at
their choice of footwear, I hope those shoes don’t go in the trash. When they have to work a part-time job while
their friends don’t, I hope my kids get promoted. I hope that they will continue to work hard
and enjoy life when they are not the richest and the tallest and the skinniest. I hope that they can be teammates with those
who work hard to create beauty and those who appreciate effort. I hope they will fail and fail and fail… and
then keep going. I want them to have big
dreams, but for them to know that the days between the dreams are the best.
In the meantime, thanks Gabby and Ally and every other
gymnast out there for coming out to compete even though you knew Simone Biles
was gonna kick your butt. Thank you, Laurie, for your absolute joy. Thank you, Aly, for your leadership and your hilarious/painful parents. Thank you, Gabby, for your composure. Thank you, Madison, for your grace. Thank you for not being the best, but for
being pretty darn awesome anyway. Way to
stick the landing.
