notanotherphony.

every single day I wake up with new hope.  new dreams.  new excitement.  a world filled with so much hope.  so much promise.  I have a coffee.  I listen as Rylee talks.  and talks.  and talks.  A young girl filled with so much energy and so much promise.  I worry that I will fuck her up.  My own thoughts and opinions infesting too many people.  too many times.  I wish I could sometimes keep my mouth shut but I can’t.  Too much energy.  too much fire.  too much frustration.  life?  is this all there is?
I was once excited for new cars and new homes.  now I sit in my basement drinking wine.  listening to Neil Young.  Hoping for conversation.  conversation about life.  about love.  about hope.  about dreams.  DO NOT LET THE LEADERS SUCK YOU IN!!!  I believe this but as I believe this my bank account is dwindling and my confidence is floating in the cold air.  it is there one day.  it is above the clouds the next day.  DO NOT LET THE LEADERS SUCK YOU IN!!!  I know that they are wrong.  I know that they are greedy.  I know that they DO NOT care about me.  you. my bank account is low.  stress.  hope?  greed?  what are people worth?  why?  so many brands and “things” are completely unnecessary and yet they are making millions offering us nothing.  nothing substantial.  nothing needed.  nothing relevant.  when did we become a society of nothingness?  dull tv shows.  dull music.  dull books.  dull people.  dullness beginning in grade school and ending with death but nothing exciting to do or say.  why do we follow such dull people?  nice people?  “oh they are sooo nice.”  “nice or safe?”  I am nice but I have an opinion.  I have a voice.  life quickly going by.  yoga and wine trying to put up the good fight but the good fight is getting harder and harder.
  accept and be me.  accept and be me.  accept and be me.  power vinyasa.  wine.  red.  love.  neil young.  sad.  hope?  beautiful.  I truly hate phony people and phony things and I have a really good knack in spotting the phony.  spotting the fake.  but I also have a really good heart that is open for love.  open for soul.  we need to connect more.  life is ending.  day by day life is ending.  live.  love.  laugh.  touch.  connect.  we are all human beings.  STOP HATE.  LOVE.  ACCEPT.  UNDERSTAND.  LISTEN. 
I don’t think Rylee will ever understand just how much I love her.
tears.
listen.
love.
accept.
hold.
hug.
I love people so much.
why is there hate?
why?
why?
why?
listen to good music.
have great conversation.
drink tasty wine.
love.
love.
love.
don’t let go.
it all ends much too fast.
Nicole.
Rylee.
me.
old.

I was a ten year old kid living with a wonderful, loving, and talented Dad who was full of energy and full of laughs.  but also filled with a HUGE heart and an even bigger soul.  My Mom was amazing too but she was overshadowed by my Dad’s gift.  and a gift he was.  for he lifted up the spirits of anyone who came in contact with him.  My Mom had skills.  My Mom was talented.  My Mom was beautiful.  But my Dad had something rare.  something special.  My brother was great too.  He was seven back in 1978.  he was a kid who was always dirty.  always playing.  always having fun.  we both had lots and lots of friends.  we both played all kinds of sports and we were both good in all of those sports.  we were a close knit family filled with love and laughs and we also had our Nana living with us as well.  she was my Dad’s Mom.  she was our babysitter as both my Mom and Dad worked.  my Dad a talented architect and my Mom a very talented ad executive.  both immigrants from England.  leaving the known for the unknown but both flourishing at such young ages and now with two young kids who were beginning to flourish.  great times.  great family.  great friends.  there wasn’t anyone who disliked my Dad.  he had friends from all walks of life.  he also coached youth soccer in Don Mills before we moved to Unionville and was my coach for a few years before coaching my brother’s team.  he had help from his great friend Tommy Moulsdale as well as Keith Mingham.  My Dad also started the Unionville Soccer Club with his great friend Johnny Dermastja.  the club is still going strong today.  My Dad was an amazing man.  Our family was fun.  filled with love.  my brother and I shared the same room even though there was a spare bedroom.  not sure why but we did.  I liked it though as we had lots of talks after lots of fights but fun fights.  pillow fights.  healthy competition.  we both always woke up in the middle of the night and crawled into my Mom and Dad’s King Size bed.  we did this every night since we moved to Unionville when I was seven and Dom was four.  but my parents didn’t mind.  I think they actually liked it.  maybe they didn’t but they never made us feel like they didn’t.  I remember lots of cuddles.  tight knit cuddles.  lots of jokes.  lots of fun.  lots of road hockey with my Dad and my brother.  lots of parties.  lots of friends.  lots of late nights with lots of great friends.  what an amazing time for everyone!!!!!!!!  LOVE.  FRIENDS.  FAMILY.  HUMAN BEINGS FILLED WITH BIG HEARTS AND BIG SMILES.  HUMAN BEINGS WITH YOUNG KIDS.  YOUNG KIDS WITH BIG HEARTS AND BIG SMILES.  YOUTH.
February 17, 1978.   cold.  dark.  snowing.  my Mom and Dad getting ready for work.  Dom and I getting ready for school.  Nana no longer with us as she was fighting Diabetes and was hospitalized.  she went from a plump but vibrant woman who loved everyone to an old, skinny shell of herself.  she walked with a cane and she became angry.  bitter.  sad.  lonely.
Dom’s soccer team had an indoor soccer practice later that night.  7pm to be precise.  It was at Cassandra Public School.  But Dom had a birthday party to go to so he wasn’t going to make it.  I helped my Dad coach as I just loved being around him but, because my brother wasn’t going to go, my Dad wasn’t going to come all the way to Unionville to pick me up to then head all the way back down to the school for practice.  he normally did this which is just another example of how great a man he was. 
“Please Dad?  Can you come and get me?  Please?  Please?  I want to go!!!”
I wanted so badly to be there.  I loved being around him.  around his energy.  around his laughter.  around his love.
“Sorry Chris.  Not tonight.  I will see you later though. Don’t worry there will be many more practices.”  My Dad responded with his mischievous laugh.
He gave me a huge hug and I held on tight.  I didn’t want to let go.  He gave me a kiss and said, “Bye Chris.  Love you.”
Dom and I then kissed our Mom and we walked out to the bus stop together.  We threw a few snowballs at each other as we walked to the corner of Village Parkway and Carlton to wait for the bus to arrive.
as we waited my Dad’s ugly brown station wagon approached the stop sign and stopped.  he pressed a button that lowered the window and waved to the both of us.  he had a huge smile on his face.  a smile always filled with love.  we waved back and he drove on.  the bus arrived shortly after that and Dom and I got on.
the school day was uneventful.  or maybe it was eventful but I find it hard to remember anything about school that day.
I am sure my Dad’s day at work was filled with fun.  laughter.  jokes.  work.  skill.  love.  he lit up every room he entered.
I am also sure that my Mom had a great day at her work.  I know that she had to play second fiddle to my Dad on many occasions and I am sure that bothered her but she rarely showed her frustration to us.  My Mom didn’t have an easy life as I have found out over the years.  not many do.  But I still love her with all of my heart even though I have not made it easy on her.
School ended for Dom and I.
Work ended for my Mom.
Work ended for my Dad.
Dom went off to his friends birthday party.
I came home and played road hockey with my friends.
My Mom came home.
My Dad drove over to Cassandra Public School to coach his soccer team.
it was cold.  It was dark.
I played road hockey until my brother came home from his birthday party.  I am not sure how he made it home because I don’t think my Mom had a driver’s licence back then.  I also don’t know how we managed to get Pizza Subs from Mr. Subs.  There are many things that I don’t remember from my youth.  But I remember Friday night.  Friday February 17, 1978.  Dom and I finished eating our subs and went upstairs to play in our room.  we were in the middle of a big pillow fight when my Mom frantically opened our bedroom door and said, “get changed.  we need to bring you to the Vine’s house.  there’s been an accident.”
Mr. Mingham was with my Mom and they both looked terrified.  Frantic.
“Accident?”  I said.
“Yeah your Dad has had an accident we have to go the hospital.”  Mr. Mingham responded.
“Is it a broken leg?”  I nervously asked.
“Yes, something like that.”  he nervously replied.
My Mom and Keith helped us pack our bags and we were quickly whisked off to the Vine’s house.
Gerry Vine was home and he let us in but he looked nervous as well as he spoke with Keith and my Mom.  everyone looked nervous.  everyone looked scared.  My Mom left with Keith but forgot to hug us.  I watched as Keith’s green hatchback sped away.  silent.  alone.  Dom and I with Gerry.  Gerry’s wife, Nora,  and their kids, Tammy and Steve,  not around.
Dom and I went downstairs to play ball hockey.  Gerry sat silently upstairs.
Ball hockey wasn’t as fun as it normally was as my racing mind was worried.  scared.
a few hours later I heard the phone ring and secretly snuck upstairs to see if I could hear Gerry’s conversation.  I quietly opened the basement door and listened.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo”.
That is what I heard Gerry say.  “Noooooooooooooooooooooo.”
I then walked upstairs as Gerry quietly hung up the phone.
“Did you hear anything about my Dad yet?”  I asked Gerry.
“No.  Nothing yet.”  he replied with a very clear look of shock on his face.
I was confused.  lost.  lonely.  I went back downstairs to continue to play ball hockey with Dom and then Dom and I went to bed.
I don’t remember seeing Nora.  I don’t remember seeing their kids.  I just remember laying in the Queen size bed with Dom.  two brothers side by side.  lights off.  wondering where my Mom was.  wondering if my Dad was okay.  not really grasping the full scope of just what exactly was happening.  I tossed and turned for awhile and then heard Staying Alive by the Bee Gees playing on the radio.  I looked over at Dom and he was peacefully asleep.  too young to really know what was happening.  I put my head beside his and cuddled him tightly.  I closed my eyes but I couldn’t close my brain.  I tossed and turned all night and then morning arrived.  Nora was now home and woke us up.  She told us to get our stuff together as she was going to bring us to our Auntie Marions’ and Uncle Mac’s house.
“Is my Dad okay?”  I asked.
“We still haven’t heard anything.”  she replied.
I was worried.  scared.  confused.  sad.
Dom and I got all of our stuff together and then ate breakfast.  Toasted Western sandwiches.  Not sure how I remember that but I do.
we then played a little more ball hockey downstairs before leaving to go to my Aunt and Uncle’s house.
Nora drove us in her Silver Mustang.  Dom and I in the back seat.  the ride was eerily quiet.  Nora usually spoke a lot.  A passionate woman filled with strong opinions and an even stronger heart.  she was always a good match for my Dad.  they would both argue passionately about politics and current events and the debates were heated.  but they always ended with hugs and kisses.  big smiles.  lots of wine.  lots of love.  this is what life is all about.  love.  respect.  fun.  discussions.  learning.  and more loving.
we soon arrived at the corner house just off of Village Parkway and Nora let us out the passenger side of her car.  all three of us walked slowly up to the front door.  she rang the doorbell and my Aunt quickly opened the door.  tears streaming down her face.  she looked at both Dom and I and said, “I’m sorry Chris.  I’m sorry Dom.  You’re Dad didn’t make it.”  She hugged us tightly but I quickly pushed her aside and ran to my Mom who was sitting on the blue reclining chair.  she was filled with tears and sorrow.  I wrapped my arms around her as tightly as I could and screamed, “WHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYY???  WHERE’S DAD?????  WHERE’S DAD?????”
My eyes were closed and filled with water.  but I could hear sniffles.  I could hear screams.  I could hear “I’m sorry’s”.  I could hear silence too.
then I opened my eyes and saw fear and pain in my Mom’s eyes.  extreme fear.  extreme pain.  sadness that I have never seen since.  a never forgotten image that still haunts me today.
I saw a room filled with sad people.  loving people.  loving family.  caring family.  Dom?  where was he?  was he okay?  did he truly understand what had just happened?  did I truly understand what had just happened?
and what did happen to my Dad?
he suddenly collapsed while coaching seven year old boys soccer.  he collapsed to the ground.  everyone thought he was joking.  but when Tommy went to turn him over he quickly realized that he was dying.  a brain hemorrhage.  a sudden brain hemorrhage.  a sudden death.  everything sudden.  a once loving family filled with laughter and joy was now turned into a family filled with loss and pain.  thirty six years old.  GONE.  WHY?  WHY? WHY?  PLEASE CAN SOMEONE HELP ME AND TELL ME WHY?????????
Life not fair.
Dad I miss you sooooooo much.
Life not fair.
February 17, 1978.  Bernard Wavell McKenna suddenly passed away at the age of 36 leaving behind a loving wife Mairi, 40 years old and two beautiful sons Christie, 10 years old and Dominic, 7 years old.  He is also survived by his Mother, Mary, 71 years old.
My Dad had a viewing of his body so all of his friends and family could see him just one last time but I know that what they saw was NOT my Dad.  My Dad was all heart and all soul.  and without that…what was he?  what is anybody?
the funeral was about a week later and the church was packed with friends and family but also my whole grade school was there.  JOHN XXIII.  I will never forget the love that they showed us all.  I will never forget.  nor do I think they will ever forget.  my Dad touched so many people in so many different ways that it is so difficult to imagine that he has been gone for forty years.
sad.
lonely.
lost.
we buried him underground shortly after that.  screams continued.  tears continued.  everything continued except my Dad’s beating heart.  beautiful soul.
Holy Cross Cemetary.
gone.
one month after that my Nana passed away.  my Dad’s Mom.  her strength disappearing after the death of her youngest son.  they had a special bond.  a bond that was now gone.  forgotten.
two deaths in two months.  two funerals.  two major losses.  ten years old.  my brother seven.
what was next?
I was now waiting for what was next.
the “next” came soon after that.
one month after my Nana’s death,  my brother and I came home after school to find an ambulance in our driveway.  we rushed in to see my Mom being taken away by the paramedics.  her good friend, Annie, by her side.  she was unconscious.  her eyes closed.  I was stunned.  chaos.  noise.
“MOM????????  MOM?????  WHAT’S WRONG WITH MY MOM????????”  I screamed as the paramedics quickly rushed past Dom and I.
everything went silent.
everything slowed down.
confused.
lost once again.
help?
if there is a god please help my Mom.
don’t die Mom.
please don’t die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dom and I taken away once again.
this time we ended up at the Dermastja’s house.
this time no ball hockey.
this time no Bee Gees.
this time no idea what to think.
this time no idea what to do.
STUCK.
STUCK.
STUCK.
a phone call came two hours later and my Mom was alive.  not well but alive.
she had an overdose of tranquillizers and collapsed.  almost dead but the amazing work of our amazing paramedics saved her life.  saved mine too.  saved Dom’s too.
my Mom was taken away from us for a month to get better.  to get healthier.  to get the help she so desperately needed.
I was alone.
Dom was alone.
Mom was alone.
we were all alone.
a family once filled with so much love and so much laughter was now filled with sorrow.  pain.  loneliness.  fear.  sadness.  loss.  lots of loss.  lots of pain.
family?
life?
love?
hope?
WHY?
WHY?
WHY?
childhood memories.
childhood memories.
I always love childhood memories.
the end.

much gratitude to:
Nora and Gerry Vine.
Annie and Johnny Dermastja.
Auntie Marion and Uncle Mac.
Sue and Lee.
Michelle.
Nicole.
Mike.
Tommy and Val Moulsdale.
Keith Mingham.
Terry and Kathy.
George and Lucille.
Giorgio and Renata.
the whole McKenna family.
Auntie Eileen and Uncle John.

there are more people to thank and give gratitude to but this group were in the midst of the pain and sadness.  they were witness to the pain and suffering.  they all helped in their own way and I will forever hold them in high regard even when I forget to show it.
thank you forever.
love Christie.
xoxoxo

it’s been one month since my last breakdown and nothing has changed.  depression turned into mania which then turns to grandiose ideas and grandiose goals.  then one idea turns into two and pretty soon I have eight brilliant ideas bursting to get out of my brain.  out of my body.  late nights turn into tired mornings and tired mornings turn into tired days and then tired days turn into tired nights but then the tiredness disappears and then mania takes over again.  still nothing accomplished.  one day closer to death and one day closer to never seeing my daughter again.  never seeing my wife again.  the grandiose ideas now thrown into the toilet at the back of my brain.  but they will never be forgotten.  they will reappear in about two months and they will come back with as much fire and fervour as the first time they appeared many years ago.
the latest meltdown has put me back into yoga class and I am feeling better without any accomplishments.  just “being” for once.  breathing for once.  can yoga help my life slow down???  I continue to miss the small moments in Rylee’s life.  so many small moments in her twelve years of being on this earth.  forgotten moments.  forgotten hugs.  forgotten love in an ever forgetful brain.  tears flowing.  HELP???  but it never comes.  passed on from one doctor to another.  pills working and then suddenly not working.  zero consistency in such an inconsistent life and an inconsistent brain.  an emotional human in an inhumane world.  humanity waning as rich ignorant leaders try to control the world and in their greedy pursuit have forgotten their hearts along the way.  their souls along the way.  society constantly following the wrong people.  human beings starving to death while we consume hundred dollar steaks and throw out half of it.  garbages filled with half eaten meals and now I sit here.  STUCK.  TIRED.  SICK.  DEPRESSED.  will my life ever work out?  will my life ever be free from the struggle?  will we ever provide Rylee with two grounded parents?  we never gave her the sibling she so dearly wanted and now I look at her with sadness.  with shame.  Am I a loser?  does Rylee look at me as a loser?  does she see good in me?  should she see good in me?  what has happened to me?  was it always happening to me but I was too active to notice?  is my life meant to be shared?  without the sharing I am an old man sitting in a basement wondering where his life has gone.  friendships disappearing.  family disappearing.  jobs disappearing.  dreams disappearing.  everything disappearing but my busy mind.  forty years in psychiatrists offices has done little except lessen the bank account.  a bank account that was bigger when I was twenty.  what is wrong with me?  loss.  always at a loss.  eleven minutes left until I attempt to sleep once again.  I never want the day to end just as I never want life to end but realizing more and more that there will be an END. 
so much beauty in this world.  so much love in this world.  so much hope for this world.  knock down the walls.  knock down the borders.  I don’t even know how to change a flat tire.  I don’t really know how to do much, if anything.  busybrainbusybrainbusybrainbusybrainbusybrainbusybrainbusybrain.  does anyone really know what it is like to have adhd?  so fucking unpredictable.  so fucking frustrating. so fucking debilitating.  I NEED HELP.  OR I NEED TO WRITE.  PRODUCE.  ART.  DO.  BE.  SMALL.  NOT GRANDIOSE.  MANIC.  HYPO MANIC.  ADHD.  NARCISSISTIC.  ANXIETY RIDDEN.  BUSY BRAIN.  BUSY LIFE.  BUSY WIFE.  BUSY DAUGHTER.  EVERYTHING BUSY BUT NOTHING ACCOMPLISHED.  GOD???  should I believe in you again?  breathe.  dad?
bedtime.

what is the purpose of youth sport?  really sit back and ask yourselves that question?  is it to produce Olympic Athletes?  is it to produce professional athletes?  athletes who get scholarships to colleges?  despite what many think the chances are very very slim that your child will end up playing professional sports or even obtaining a college scholarship?  I played soccer at a very high level with many high quality players who played on our Provincial teams and college/university teams and I don’t know one player who “made it” to the big leagues.  So why are we obsessed as a culture with the notion of grooming elite players at the expense of everyone else?  why are kids dropping out of sport at an alarming rate?  why are many kids crying after games and terrified to go to practice for fear of being screamed at and belittled by amateur coaches who do not have the training necessary to inspire?  why are parents allowed to go maniacal on the sidelines screaming and hurling insults consistently throughout the game?  and then these same parents drive home and critique their kids’ “poor play” and “lack of focus” and tell them that they need to “buck up” and “stop whining” and that they should “play harder” etc etc etc.
so, again, I ask “what is the purpose of youth sport?”  It should be a place where kids can gain confidence.  a place where kids can learn the notion of teamwork.  a place where hard work and effort get rewarded. a place where you can learn the notion of adversity.  a place where you can set goals and work towards achieving those goals.  it should also be a place where you have fun and meet other kids and learn sportsmanship.  and YES a place where you can learn specific skills and eventual mastery of a specific skill.  Which will breed confidence.
youth sport should offer up so much for our kids and yet by the age of fourteen (high school), seventy-five per cent of kids have dropped out.  THEY HAVE DROPPED OUT.  should this not alarm anyone?  alarm organizations?  alarm coaches?  alarm parents?  and yet, for most, it doesn’t.  they move on continuing to accept mediocre coaches.  mediocre organizations without a clear purpose.  they continue to accept excessive screaming by the coaches because they, themselves, are excessively screaming on the sidelines.  I remember my daughter playing house league soccer for the first time at the age of six and one of the parents , decked out in his English Football gear, going absolutely berserk because my daughter didn’t move up the field fast enough.  “MOVE UP!!!!  MOVE UP!!!!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?????”  My wife had to walk over and calmly tell him to stop yelling at our daughter as she has never played before.  His response was, “I wasn’t yelling at her!!!”  But he was still yelling and YES he was yelling at her.  six years old.  house league soccer.  Orangeville house league soccer.  NOT WORLD CUP!!!  but this was and is not an isolated incident.  My daughter quit soccer shortly after and moved onto basketball.  she tried out for the rep team in Orangeville and through hard work and lack of numbers at the time,  she made it.  she was soooooooooo excited.  a huge smile on her face knowing that she was part of a team.  feeling that she belonged to a team.  but then the season started and she had to put up with the maniacal parents again.  screaming at the top of their lungs and taking an extremely fun experience and making it into an extremely stressful experience.  it was no longer about fun and growth but about winning at all costs but not having the proper coaching to inspire the kids.  nor to teach the kids.  a coach who would belittle the kids and demean the kids and never offer words of encouragement.  I once heard him tell the girls that he was going to bash his head against the wall if they missed many more shots!!!!!  INSPIRATION????  not quite.  but the response by the parents was even worse as they made excuses for such abhorrent behaviour. they insisted that that behaviour was good for the kids as it toughened them up.  they ONLY cared about winning some stupid medal at the end of the season.  in fact, they wished our girls would lose all their games during the regular season so we would drop down a division for the playoffs and play easier teams all in the hopes of winning that stupid medal.  No idea that the season was filled with negative and demeaning uninspiring coaching.  no idea that excessive screaming by coaches we entrust to build up our kids confidence was ruining our kids confidence.  ruining our kids fun. no idea that the excessive screaming and belittling was making OUR kid anxiety ridden and fearful to go to practices even for fear of being screamed at.  and this behaviour was acceptable???  what are we teaching our kids? 
I have sat back and witnessed our society fall apart due to complacent school systems, complacent teachers, complacent sports organizations filled with complacent coaches and complacent parents and my daughter is now without basketball.  she is crying as we discuss the problems and then I begin to cry as I realize that we have let her down.  we have let so many kids down.  we continue to go through our robotic lives robotically and then wonder why our kids get into trouble or get average jobs or get pregnant at an early age or end up in therapy with criminal records.  but this does not need to happen.  we need to hold organizations accountable for our kids well being while playing youth sports.  we need to hold coaches accountable and ask them why they want to volunteer their time to coach.  we need to have coaches take courses on motivation and working with kids.  we need to have parents ask themselves why they have put their kids in sport.  we need to have open communication on just what youth sport is about.
But most importantly we need to ask the kids what they LOVE about playing sports.
this should all be about the kids but we are letting our kids down.  and we only have ourselves to blame.
75% of kids drop out of youth sport by the time they enter high school. 
WHY???

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING???”  “YOU ARE MESSING EVERYTHING UP FOR EVERYBODY!!!”  “I AM GOING TO BASH MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL IF YOU GIRLS CAN’T GET A BASKET SOON!!!”
These are not words from a maniac.  Not words from some strung out crazy man living under the bridge on River Street in Toronto.  these are words from various basketball coaches that my daughter has had and had to endure in her three years of playing the game.  the sport.  WHY???  Why are such buffoons allowed to coach?  who decides who will be the coach?  and what is the criteria in choosing the coach?  and why is the game and the fun ruined for so many kids just wanting to have fun and meet friends while exercising and learning life lessons because of some buffoon who is trying to relive their youth through being some supposed expert on the game.  and even if they are experts what does it matter if they lesson the excitement of the game for the kids instead of increasing the excitement for the game?
we need coaches to inspire.  to engage.  to teach.  to passionately love the players that they have chosen to be on their journey.  why are there so many incompetent coaches?  incompetent people?  people who have no idea what it takes to inspire and to lead.  people who think that they are doing the kids a favour by incessantly yelling at them and demeaning them.  ultimately failed athletes trying to recover from the losses that they endured when they were once young and vibrant.  now old and fat they feel that the answer is to yell.  to scream.  to demean.  and all for what?  the kids are unhappy.  the parents are unhappy.  the notion of inspiring is not even a thought in their small mind.  sad.  depressing.  uninspiring.  uncomfortable.  typical behaviour by typical people.  DO NOT VOLUNTEER YOUR SERVICES IF YOUR SERVICES INVOLVE TOXICITY AND NEGATIVITY AND UNINSPIRING DRIVEL THAT LESSONS KIDS’ LOVE FOR THE GAME.  THE SPORT.  LIFE.  BACK OFF.  SIT DOWN.  SHUT UP.  GO AWAY.
and why do we all sit back and allow this behaviour?  some parents even thinking that this behaviour is needed and applauded.  sick people following other sick people.  inspiration never a thought in their small minds.  complacency at an all time high as status quo reigns supreme and the same mistakes continue year after year.  when will we learn?  who will step up?  when is enough enough?  why do we allow BUFFOONS to ruin the game for so many youth?  some parents are just as bad as the coaches.  yelling.  screaming.  demeaning. all unnecessary.  my Dad coached soccer over forty years ago before his death at the age of thirty-six while coaching soccer and his former players still message me telling me how GREAT of a man he was.  how inspiring he was.  how fun he was.  zero mention of wins.  zero mention of trophies.  zero mention of championships.  an inspiring man with an inspiring heart and an inspiring soul.
I WILL NO LONGER SIT BACK AND ALLOW INFLUENCERS OF MY DAUGHTER’S LIFE TO INFLUENCE IN A NEGATIVE WAY.  A DEMEANING WAY.  A DULL WAY.
INSPIRE.
INSPIRE.
INSPIRE.
LOVE.
LOVE.
LOVE.
TRUST.
TRUST.
TRUST.