LJ Idol 10: Push Me (Brushback Pitch)
There must be something about me which attracts people who like to push:
several Former Employer managers
my old softball coach
my college advisor
one of my two student teaching mentors
She Whose Identity I'll Never Divulge (let's just say our paths crossed and it wasn't pretty)
my current assistant manager at What's Now Current Employer (not pretty at times either)
my husband (grrr)
it's weird how they manifest themselves to me compared to how I see them attempting to manifest others.
You have good instincts, but you can be better. Watch me.
You don't want [particular store] to have the number one in-store bake, do you?
Two outs, Lori's on third. You're up [said with that sort of look which happily mingles with the pit of your flluttery gut]
You know [name of classmate], if I suggest to Kiz to rewrite she'll do it because she knows where I'm coming from. You don't get it, do you?
I don't care that your arm hurts. I've got a bad back. Have I ever asked you to do [whatever] for me? Of course I haven't because [whatever] is MY responsibility, not yours.
I once dated a man I didn't particularly like for almost three years. I dated him because he dared me to go to dinner with him. He dared me in such a way that it raised my hackles enough to think, “Hey, buddy, you want to play hardball? You're on.” That, basically, was our entire relationship.
I love being challenged and I'm a worker. Maybe that's it.
Maybe neither are as common in people as I think they are - or should be.
I complain about fatigue and pain only because I detest having either or both, not because I'm looking for sympathy (I'm looking at you, Whiny Coworker) nor because I'm looking for an excuse (that's you, Party-Hearty Classmate, in case you didn't know).
It obviously doesn't matter to either of you.
I don't get it.
My old softball team? I was there to play because I wanted to make my father the baseball fanatic proud. He and I practiced pitching in the backyard, batting down at the neighborhood Little League diamond. I wasn't very strong nor fast. Every time I dug my heels in the dirt I mentally recounted everything he'd tell me: Anticipate. Eyes on the ball. Picture in your head what you're going to do and follow through. Ignore the background noise because that's all it is, noise.
I wondered why my teammates' fathers didn't do the same. If they had, maybe my teammates wouldn't have braided grass instead of playing the outfield.
I had two mentors when I student taught. Every afternoon I sat with the older teacher in the dank faculty lounge and showed him my lesson plan for the following day. He critiqued it, and together we either formulate another plan or embellished what I'd written. If I asked him to sit in on a class he would.
The younger teacher sluffed me off with a hand and a “Go for it.” He never once sat in on my class. I later learned he did that with every student teacher because he disliked teaching seventh graders.
I'm past the age of feeling compelled to push myself. Nevertheless I still do, despite my aching feet and lack of sleep.
It must be genetic. There' no other explanation.
Want to see it in action?
Dare me.
Feed my interest.
If we push each other, we can conquer anything.
several Former Employer managers
my old softball coach
my college advisor
one of my two student teaching mentors
She Whose Identity I'll Never Divulge (let's just say our paths crossed and it wasn't pretty)
my current assistant manager at What's Now Current Employer (not pretty at times either)
my husband (grrr)
it's weird how they manifest themselves to me compared to how I see them attempting to manifest others.
You have good instincts, but you can be better. Watch me.
You don't want [particular store] to have the number one in-store bake, do you?
Two outs, Lori's on third. You're up [said with that sort of look which happily mingles with the pit of your flluttery gut]
You know [name of classmate], if I suggest to Kiz to rewrite she'll do it because she knows where I'm coming from. You don't get it, do you?
I don't care that your arm hurts. I've got a bad back. Have I ever asked you to do [whatever] for me? Of course I haven't because [whatever] is MY responsibility, not yours.
I once dated a man I didn't particularly like for almost three years. I dated him because he dared me to go to dinner with him. He dared me in such a way that it raised my hackles enough to think, “Hey, buddy, you want to play hardball? You're on.” That, basically, was our entire relationship.
I love being challenged and I'm a worker. Maybe that's it.
Maybe neither are as common in people as I think they are - or should be.
I complain about fatigue and pain only because I detest having either or both, not because I'm looking for sympathy (I'm looking at you, Whiny Coworker) nor because I'm looking for an excuse (that's you, Party-Hearty Classmate, in case you didn't know).
It obviously doesn't matter to either of you.
I don't get it.
My old softball team? I was there to play because I wanted to make my father the baseball fanatic proud. He and I practiced pitching in the backyard, batting down at the neighborhood Little League diamond. I wasn't very strong nor fast. Every time I dug my heels in the dirt I mentally recounted everything he'd tell me: Anticipate. Eyes on the ball. Picture in your head what you're going to do and follow through. Ignore the background noise because that's all it is, noise.
I wondered why my teammates' fathers didn't do the same. If they had, maybe my teammates wouldn't have braided grass instead of playing the outfield.
I had two mentors when I student taught. Every afternoon I sat with the older teacher in the dank faculty lounge and showed him my lesson plan for the following day. He critiqued it, and together we either formulate another plan or embellished what I'd written. If I asked him to sit in on a class he would.
The younger teacher sluffed me off with a hand and a “Go for it.” He never once sat in on my class. I later learned he did that with every student teacher because he disliked teaching seventh graders.
I'm past the age of feeling compelled to push myself. Nevertheless I still do, despite my aching feet and lack of sleep.
It must be genetic. There' no other explanation.
Want to see it in action?
Dare me.
Feed my interest.
If we push each other, we can conquer anything.