"It takes a village to raise a child." - African proverb
There are places that capture the imagination; places from our youth, buried deep down in the mental file cabinets that hold a certain…. curiosity. Rooms we had not explored, roads we have not traveled. Places that mere mortals dare not go. Closed doors that sparked our imagination and wonder, if only we could get inside.
Places shrouded in mystery; the faculty room and the boys’ locker room. The building down at the far end of the corridor that led to the chapel, the convent, where the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary lived. What was it like in there? What did they do? How did they dress? What did they talk about? Our imagination ran wild. Visions of penguins in foot pajamas, eating popcorn by candlelight and watching reruns of the “Flying Nun” were more than the mind could bare and if someone actually made it in there? Well, the inquisition was merciless. What had they seen?
It was with this flood of memories that I entered the “bat cave” for a meeting Friday morning with my son’s football coach.
The “bat cave” is legendary. I had been hearing about it for three years now. A secret room behind a crimson door that held the secrets of a school rich in football tradition. The assembly room of a secret society where only coaches and players could enter, a chamber steeped in tradition and shrouded in mystery for those who had not been granted access.
Until yesterday.
There are moments in life when you cannot go it alone. Moments when, despite your wisdom and experience and vast knowledge about life and communication and even the psychology of human development that you have to reach out to someone else. A time to call in the guards, throw yourself on the mercy of the court and say out loud, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
This, my friends, is called adolescence.
And so, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I made my way to the “Emerald City” to speak to the wizard.
The wizard is a quiet man, a far cry from the gigantic green hologram with a booming voice that greeted Dorothy and her friends at the end of the long marble hallway. No, this wizard speaks in hushed tones with a self effacing modesty, as though he is sincerely unaware of his greatness. Innocent to the wisdom that pours from his every word.
He leaned back in his chair, listening intently. The principal and I stumbled over our words. We are educated, competent individuals who are unaccustomed to this role. We were the solvers of problems, not the solvees. We’re not, it turns out, very good at asking for help.
And somehow the wizard knew this.
We stopped talking at some point. We had been rambling for minutes, talking quickly, trying to get out all our jumbled thoughts. “He’s a good kid,” we said, trying to convince ourselves of something we already knew. “We’re just, you know, worried.”
Letting go is no easy task.
At some point, the person in question entered the cave. He sat at the end of the table, an over-sized teddy bear whose body appeared way to big for the average sized chair that he plopped into.
And then the wizard spoke.
He spoke quietly and directly. His words were measured. Purposeful. Intentional. He spoke directly to his player, a surrogate father addressing his son. A private conversation we were permitted to witness. There would be no confusion. No miscommunication. No “he said, she said.”
This conversation was to make sure that we were all on the same page.
We stood up and shook hands, a warm, compassionate embrace that said what we knew down deep in our hearts. We were not alone. We were in this together. This is a village. There was help here if we needed it.
All we had to do was ask.
We can’t know everything we need to know. We don’t have all the answers. Despite the combined wisdom of over 100 years of living, we don’t always know what to do. We cannot go it alone. Sometimes we have to ask for help. Sometimes we have to go out into the village.
In these troubling times, we need to come out of our houses. Be a village for each other. Help is all around us.
And what of the “bat cave”? What did it look like, you ask? What did we find? What are the secrets that lie buried inside?
I’d tell you, as the saying goes, but then I’d have to kill you.