The champions

The women’s NCAA basketball championship has been decided, in fairly dramatic fashion, with the University of South Carolina Lady Gamecocks crowned the victors. They are national champions, with an incredible record of 38 wins and no losses. Coach Dawn Staley, a product of the North Philadelphia housing projects, is no slouch in her own right before her tenure as coach of this phenomenal team – she’s an award winner as a player, an Olympic gold medalist, and a 4-time Naismith award winner as a coach. Her demeanor is one that suggests humility and benevolence, and she is unafraid to credit her faith in God for her success.

Dawn Staley is a champion, in our parlance, having success sand mastery at her craft. She is doing what she loves, and she is very good at it It is her occupation and her vocation, and she is handsomely rewarded with salary, esteem, well wishes, and loyalty. This is as it should be, I believe, and even the those who have fallen to her team’s superior play do not begrudge her of those honors. In the eyes of most, she has earned the accolades and has come by them honestly.

What of the rest of us, who are unexceptional, those who fall solidly amongst the crowd that occupies the mean of the bell curve. Not on the fringes, not on the margins, but directly at the midpoint. Some of us claimed our places there by no lesser effort than a champion like Dawn Staley, but perhaps did not have the innate stellar talent to progress to the margin. Perhaps this is the way of the world, the universal law of averages, odds, and expectations but maybe…just maybe…more champions would emerge if not for the expectation they were not exemplary, not stellar, silly for attempting to stand out.

Some of us are told that we are simply lucky to be under the bell curve, and we should be grateful for that. Trying to escape that prophecy is often considered insanity, a waste of time, not productive, and the dreams of children. Grow up, get to work, you’re not supposed to like it, just bring home a paycheck and take your place in the grocery store checkout line. Conform to the expectations and you’ll be fine. Accept the fact that you’re not Einstein or Marie Curie or Leontyne Price and face the reality of your bell curve existence.

For many of us that is a viable reality, and many of us do not have larger dreams. But what of the people who do have dreams, the ones who try something different? They often find themselves on the streets, or in institutions, with the hope literally beaten out of them. People often marvel upon conversing with homeless people, or incarcerated people, and finding them to be intelligent and philosophical. What happened, they wonder. How did your intelligence and sensitivity lead you to less than self-sufficient. How did you wind up being less than expected?

How, indeed, does that happen? There are so many ways people can be exceptions to expectations. Some of us do not conform to expected styles of learning, and we are categorized as underachievers who lack discipline when in fact we have learning disabilities, or ADHD, or mental health issues. When there is no systemic aid forthcoming, many of us self-medicate with alcohol and street drugs, desperately trying to feel “normal”. Others get some medical intervention, but it is often inadequate or inappropriate for the misunderstood and misdiagnosed patient as a child or young adult. We are still medicating hyperactive children into chemical dependence with things that render them zombies because they appear to be uncontrollable in traditional learning institutions. When their grades are poor, they are written off and moved to “special” classes, where it is hoped they’ll just stay out of view and cause no trouble. The stigma of that is horrifying, and can follow a child for life.

It does not serve anyone to be on the fringe of anything, and so most of us do whatever we can to fit as comfortably as possible into the mainstream. It doesn’t matter if you are miserable, just do what is expected and you’ll be just fine. Again, for a lot of us, that works relatively well, but there are tolls for that passage into obscurity. And, as many of us learn as we age, the body pays the price. We have earlier and earlier onset dementia and Alzheimer’s Disease, need to replace joints, cancer, diabetes, circulatory and respiratory problems, cancer, cardiac issues. We begin falling apart by trying so desperately to hold everything together according to the expected plan. The problem is the expected plan is often not our plan, and the only winner is injustice, the system, capitalism, and on and on and on.

I believe my mother considered me a champion, but also a prodigal. She could squeeze a penny until it bled and cried for mercy. She was born in 1935, and experienced the uncertainty of the Depression, but also a change in fortune in the family. She never forgot that uncertainty, or the stigma of poverty, and she spent the rest of her life in dire resistance to both. It bothered her that I freely spent what little I had on what I wanted at any given time. It disturbed her even more that I was generous, and thought nothing of buying things for people that I felt they would enjoy regardless of the cost. I was most definitely the prodigal daughter, and we had much conflict about that over the years.

So, the prodigal daughter is now on her own. My frugal mother has been dead for many years, but left me a small nest egg to sustain me. That gift has made things somewhat easier for me, but now that I have no income, it’s not going to be all that I need. I am overwhelmingly grateful that I am in such a position, however, but I cannot forget my prodigal nature Perhaps if I had followed her example, I would be in much better shape financially, but I will be able to live independently for the foreseeable future. Prodigal is my nature, however, and I can make some attempts to conserve, but I fear that I shall go to my death bed with some of it.

The pressing question, however, is how does this prodigal daughter return home to demonstrate growth and redemption? The home has been sold, the parent is no longer on this planet. Where is home at this point? Where do I belong? How do I live into my own promise without being disloyal to my legacy? I have far more questions than answers, but it occurs to me that I demonstrate growth and redemption where I stand, and that home is within me. I belong to myself, I suppose, wherever I land. My legacy is signed, sealed, and delivered wherever that is as long as I am true to myself. Those are my thoughts at the moment, and I feel some miniscule solace in having them. Perhaps that is enough.