BROKEN DREAMS? HERE’S THE GLUE

Broken dreams need more than glue, but you’ve got to start somewhere.

Will glue fix the hurt from a broken heart?

Will it help heal connections?

Can glue bring back the good feelings you remember?

If you are the glue, there’s a chance.

Broken dreams are a tough fix the first time you realize what you missed.

Like buying stock in start-ups that turn into world class brands, fulfilling personal dreams takes work.

How much do you want to turn your dreams into realities?

First you need to believe in commitment.

If you dream alone you can fool yourself; if you have a partner to help keep you balanced, you need a plan.

For the dream of driving big rigs, you’ll need a truck.

But, there’s more.

Do you want to hit the ocean as a commercial fisherman?

First, like a truck driver, you’ll need professional fundamentals, like a boat.

Then credentials.

How many of you have dream jobs that fulfill your life hope and aspirations?

Those jobs prove that if you’re doing what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.

Who are those people and where do they live? They might live right next door to you and you didn’t know.

The Happiness Secret Of Broken Dreams

As a youth coach legend I told my players, whether it was soccer, football, baseball, basketball, or wrestling:

The longer you stay in sports, show up for practice, try hard, the better you’ll get.

They asked how that works?

Because lots of kids quit.

They quit in grade school, middle school, high school, college.

When they quit, no matter the level, they leave room for those who won’t quit.

The first stringer quits and the second stringer steps up.

Why would a first string player quit?

They get hurt, their parents pull them from the team, or they find new cool friends who don’t play anything. Also, bad grades.

The good coach creates an environment that is so rewarding no one quits.

Then everyone grows up and forgets their youth sports coach.

In the cycle of life, this is normal.

It would be wrong for some coach to hound their players as adults for what they did, or didn’t do, in fifth grade.

2

I had a great basketball team one year.

We had a big win over a stacked team of former all-stars coached by a former McDonald’s all-American player.

The same year we lost to a so-so team with a powerhouse in the middle.

At next year’s draft I chose that player.

Turns out I was a year late. He’d already peaked and the other kids were catching up.

I saw the signs and didn’t add any pressure. His interest in being the best player on the floor had faded. He wasn’t the first.

It’s been a topic over the years, a motivational moment to inspire other kids to hang on.

I saw kids from my teams play through high school and it warmed my sports heart.

Some of them showed up for championships, others showed up for everything.

Do you know an athlete that played varsity level sports as diverse as water polo, tennis, football, basketball, and wrestling?

They got better and better at everything and embraced the joy of victory and the agony of defeat.

What more could a coach ask for?

What more could a dad ask for?

Broken Dreams From The Archive

The light beamed down and me and my opponent, illuminating us in a golden glow, the crowd relentlessly screaming garbled sounds.

This is the sport of wrestling, one I that I never, ever, wanted to be a part of. One that I knew I would hate. Who would have thought that I would succeed in something that I hate?

I blame my dad for making me do it.

The dad that made his kid wrestle?

That was me when I took my thumper to a youth wrestling practice.

I didn’t like the way the volunteer coaches ran practice, or their interaction with kids and parents.

It was one practice and I understood immediately: if I forced my kid he would burn out before he grew into his strength and coordination.

Fast forward to his first year of high school:

Freshman year, the beginning of high school and I had played basketball my whole life.

I even played on the freshman summer team that previous June and July.

I didn’t want to play in the winter, though. Instead, I wanted to lift and get strong for football, which, as I observed my friends doing, lasted for a consistent and wholesome two weeks.

All of the kids I coached over the years got an earful of why they ought to go out for wrestling.

Some of them did, some tried, most ignored the whole idea.

I got some advice from an older dad: “You can be their dad, or their coach, not both. Let the kid decide.”

2

He was right. This is what I said to my kid:

You’re growing up and can make your own decision on sports. If you want to play basketball, that’s good. I think you could make the team and be a good player.

No matter what you decide, I’ll come to the games like always. The only ones I’ll miss are games the same time as wrestling meets.

You’ll be a good player, but you might be the best wrestler in the school.

On the last day of football season I didn’t see him at practice, or after.

He got home a little later.

Me: Did you hang out with your friends after school?

Kid: No.

Me: Did you have a study group in the library with classmates?

Kid: No.

Me: In the gym with the basketball team?

Kid: No.

Me: Okay, I give up. Where were you?

Kid: I was at wrestling practice.

Me: (Bursting with pride and joy) Oh? Okay.

My first time on the mat was the most confusing, frustrating, and painful experience I had ever had up until then.

And this, Dear Reader, is exactly how a new wrestler was supposed to feel.

It’s also how we’re supposed to feel when we make a big decision that we act on.

We’re confused, frustrated, in pain, and we still do it.

We do it with confusion, frustration, and pain, and keep doing it.

Practice makes perfect. And no, I didn’t just make that up.

Broken dreams can heal in a way that creates bigger, better, dreams to work on.

I’ll take the blame.