Coach

Coach: (n) a person who teaches and trains the members of a sports team

The same tenacity and grit which is necessary to make one successful can just as easily be used to commence a life of crime.

This is the difficulty the adults in our lives face when they train us, and of course, coach us.

They certainly know that initiative, spunk and creativity are essential for forming the building blocks of a prosperous lifestyle. Yet in the moment, these particular attributes, especially when spoken from the nasally nastiness of adolescence, can be obnoxious.

So our instructors often have to find out whether our conduct, being sweet and kind, is a foretelling of goodness or brain death–and if our unwanted opinions prophesy greatness or the possibility of time spent “upstate.”

Let me give you an example.

During a football game, when we were losing 48 to nothing, I ran to the sideline and said the following to my coach: “Come on, coach! This defense you put together for us is just not working!”

I was fourteen at the time, and he was probably in his mid-twenties, trying desperately to survive the humiliation of being drummed by his rival on this field of debauchery.

I noticed that my coach’s face began to twitch. His eyes expanded. The veins in his head popped out, and his countenance became crimson as he slowly said, “Please sit down. Our defense is fine.”

I noticed that he avoided me for the rest of the game, as I avoided many tackles.

Fortunately, he did not personally address my inadequacies and focus on them because of my snippy, snarky comment. He restrained himself, and therefore, I believe I grew up using my precocious nature for good instead of joining forces with the villains to destroy Batman.

It’s not easy being a coach. You don’t always win, but end up stuck with your team, no matter what the score. You can’t blame them or you look like an idiot. You can’t accuse the referees or you appear to be a sore loser.

All you can do is teach what you know, and hope, by the grace of God, it’s enough.

 

 

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Chaste

Chaste: (adj) abstaining from extramarital, or from all, sexual intercourse.

“To love, pure and chaste, from afar…”

‘Tis a lyric from the song, “Impossible Dream,” from The Man of La Mancha. Every time I see or hear it, I ask myself, why would anyone
want to do that?

I seem to be caught between two stubborn forces, possessing arrogant piety. Shall we refer to them as the Playboy and the Playgod crowds?

The Playgod crowd is convinced that sex is really a nasty thing and should not be implemented unless absolutely necessary for the procreation of children. Oh, every once in a while on a birthday or a holiday, you may wish to indulge. But overall, it’s a taboo subject, and certainly those who stand afar and chaste are admired for their grit.

Then there’s the Playboy philosophy, which is, “If it feels good, do it.” And if it doesn’t feel good, I have a book you may wish to purchase which may help you augment your experience.

The Playboy people mock the Playgod people as being sticks and prudes. The Playgod people have already envisioned and reserved a place in hell for those who find pleasure with genitalia.

Is there a time to be chaste?

We always need to remember that since sexuality involves two people, it is complicated by the emotions of the pair.

Maybe that’s the power of masturbation. Unless you have a predilection to argue with yourself or feel that part of you mistreated the other part during the experience, it’s pretty well over in just a few minutes.

I do not think that either the Playgod or the Playboy camps have figured out the best way to toast the marshmallows. They just have a bunch of rules dictated by individuals who are trying to be better than one another.

If I am to be chaste, it must be my decision, based upon a desire rather than intimidation or being rallied to open-mindedness.

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Abreaction

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abreaction: (n.) a psychological term for the expression and consequent release of a previously repressed emotion, achieved through reliving the experience that caused it (typically through hypnosis or suggestion).

But why do all of our abreactions have to be negative?

In other words, no one ever hypnotizes someone to have them remember all the details of that beautiful day they won the blue ribbon at the county fair. No one sits down in therapy and helps people retrieve the glorious sensations of the first kiss at the door with their date. I don’t think there is any psychologist who puts a shingle out advertising his or her function as helping us retrieve joy, exuberance and victory.

Perhaps there is some value in reliving past memories that are painful or have been pushed deeply into our emotions or soul. I would not question this. But in a negatively charged universe, to further increase the negativity in an attempt to gain positive results, seems to me to be to be both counterproductive and even mean-spirited.

I don’t know what I can do about all the stupid things that happened when I was a kid. I instigated many of them, so to relive them only stimulates my guilt instead of motivating my grit. And those things that were done to me by others might be better drowned in the sea of forgetfulness than excavated as an abreaction in some office of a professional, who believes I will be better off by exposing my terrors.

I am not a professional in this realm. (Gosh, I don’t know whether I’m a professional in any realm, come to think of it…) But what I have discovered in my journey is that the more you can encourage people to find the good in their lives, the easier it is to explain the possibility of a God.

I am sure there is value in exorcising all the demons that may have settled into deep, dark caves in our consciousness, but merely stirring these dark spirits up does not guarantee that they will leave. And once awakened, is there not a danger they will try to gain more prominence than they deserve??

As I say, I’m not sure what I feel about this issue.

But if you want to hypnotize me, I would appreciate it if you would help me remember that one day in my life, when as a middle linebacker, I intercepted that pass that bounced off my facemask, miraculously landing in my hands, and I ran the nine yards in–for my only touchdown.

That would be therapeutic.