Nobless Oblige

I was twelve the first time I consciously and mostly independently stood up to authority.

His name was Mr. Stange, and he was the coach of the select softball team called the Stanges.

It was the first time I had ever had to try-out for something, and I can still remember being in an unknown gymnasium about sixty girls all in lines throwing a softballs back and forth.

While I was nowhere near a prodigy, I have always been “good enough” to make a team.

I’ve always been tall, and always been able to grasp the intellectual part of a sport. I’m also generally friendly and find commonality with anyone (at least at first).

The Stanges were part of an independent league, but we were young enough that we still had the rule that all of the players must take the field at least one time during the game.

But Mr. Stange was a coach who valued winning above all else.  Even for 12 year old girls.

He was tall and imposing, always wearing the team baseball cap and windbreaker, always yelling,  his puffed out cheeks perpetually red from said yelling.

Wait, what? This was new.

What was all this hostility directed our way?

Sometimes he grunted at me, but mostly there were other girls who were slower or less engaged and they took the brunt of his frustration.

On the team was a girl named Ashley Green.

I’m Ashley Greer, with an R, she was Ashley Green, with an n.  We also had the same middle name.

As the season moved forward, he stopped playing all the players.  He stopped playing Ashley Green.

I’ve always been good at catching fly balls and drives.  About 1 in 4 at bats would lead to solid contact or a spot on first and occasionally second base.

Stealing bases a specialty of mine, and you better believe I was dirt sliding into them.

It was a skipped ground ball to the face during that season that moved me from short stop too centerfield.

And while I didn’t play the whole game I usually got at least 3 good innings in.

I did have a nasty habit of overthrowing the ball during first base plays.

When I sat on the bench, I started to notice there were quite a few girls who didn’t leave the backless wooden plank.

They dressed, and sat, and sat, and watched the game.

In high school I would learn this is very normal, but as a 12 year old, with league rules that stated all players must take the field at east once, this bothered me.

Mr. Stange, the coach, the man I believed was morally bound to comply by league regulations was wantonly and flagrantly ignoring this rule.

After a few games, I could abide no longer.

I had already voiced my displeasure and indignation to my dad.  He said he would support me in whatever I decided.

If I wanted to talk to the coach I could.

It was a crisp blue-sky-green-grass day.  A chill in the air just sharp enough to sting, and just warm enough to cause a cold sweat once you started running.

It was the fifth inning and I hadn’t been played yet.  It was the fifth inning and some of the girls who hadn’t been played in the last three games hadn’t been played yet.

I could take it no longer.

I told my dad.

He said, “do what you think is right.”

He wasn’t going to fight my battle, but he would stand behind me while I did so.

I was scared but I approached the ruddy faced man who towered above me with his clip board and sharpened pencil.

“Um, I don’t think what your doing is right.”

He looked down at me.

My hands had started to shake with nerves.

“You are supposed to play all the players, at least once” I squeaked in a low voice.

“What?”  He was confused, either he didn’t hear what I was saying, or he couldn’t believe someone so small was so boldly disagreeing with him.

“You are supposed to play all the players at least once, and you haven’t done that for the last three games”

“Go sit on the bench, I am the coach and I will make the calls”. He bellowed at me.  Did I mention he was a yeller?

“Well, it's not right, and I’m not going to play for you anymore.”

My dad was standing about 2 yards behind me on the other side of the chainlink fence, just far enough to let me handle myself, and just close enough that he could hear or intervene if needed.

Mr. Stange looked at me like I was a mosquito who had lost her mind.

“It’s not right” I got out one more time before grabbing my glove, bag, and bat and walking out of the dugout.

My dad joined my side as I walked and we left the field.

If I had it to do over again, I would have finished out the game and then quit, but I was 12 and had just had my first confrontation with an adult man who wasn’t family.

My heart raced, my head was light, and my body shook, but I was also exhilarated.

I had a voice.

I had choices.

I could opt out.

I could stand up for myself.

I could stand up for others.

I could be righteous.

It hadn’t killed me.

It wasn’t that big of a deal after all.

This inability to stand by idly while unfairness is being committed is one of my greatest vulnerabilities and streghts.

In high school the girls learned to use me to fight their battles.

I don’t think they would do it consciously, but they knew if they told me their version of events and I juried that they had been wronged, I would confront the situation.

They could use me to fight their battles.

This often lead me to being in the middle of squabbles that were really none of my business, and when the dust settled, I was the one on the outs.

It wouldn't be until my late thirties that I would come to realize this trait and common pattern.

That I would learn to be more discerning and to look at the bigger picture.

But I have had advantages and experiences that most people don’t and never will have.

My biggest asset, a father who has always been there for me when I needed him most.  This is not to say he is perfect . . . or that we don’t have our issues . . . but I have always had confidence because it is backed by an unwavering knowing that he will be there.

Of course time keeps ticking and the physical reality of his presence is not something I can take for granted, still, I will have all the knowledge all the values all the experiences that he shared with me.

Nobless Oblige, was a principle that was instilled into me as a very young girl.  If you have more, you are responsible for helping and taking care of those around you who have less.

It is a duty.

In many ways the last decade has hardened me.  There have been many events I would consider injustices, many things that are out of my control.  Relizations that occur only with years of hindsight and new information.

The present can change the past and the past can change the future.

When events happen that knock us so emotionally off course it can be hard to see the orchestrated calculation.

What does removing someone from a position really accomplish?  If left in place would they have upset the applecart? Discovered a French Intelligence pipeline? Further abuses of power? And what connection does their recruiter have to their nemesis?  How often do they share information?

Disregulation one of the best most loyal manipulation tactics in the handbook.

As an undeniable emotional person, I am certainly not immune, but I have learned to recover more quickly.

Recover and not harden, for if you harden, you have lost.  So stay soft, stay open, be willing to be hurt, otherwise its really not a life worth living.