Inspirations From the Bench. Kelly MDiv Scott

a kid, being alive meant playing outside in all sorts of weather conditions. The wintertime was really rough because winter coats were too bulky to allow me to shoot properly. So, I dressed in layers with a scarf and hat to play basketball outside in this crazy, cold Minnesota weather. The problem was two-fold. My hands got really cold with no gloves on, but I couldn’t shoot well with gloves, so I had to do without them. Also, the basketballs would go flat from the cold. Every fifteen minutes or so I would run the basketball inside, throw it into the closet, and grab a warm basketball and hustle back outside. It was best not to linger inside or you might determine you didn’t want to go back outside. The only time that changed was when my hands got so chapped I had to come in and put lotion on them. I would then take the opportunity to warm up a little, and have some hot chocolate.

      As I was getting older, Mom said I could make the hot chocolate myself. That was great because normally she made enough for one cup, and when I did it I poured some extra in so I could get a couple of cups at least. One day my brain kicked into high gear, and I decided I would make about four cups worth of hot chocolate. I got the milk out, mixed the hot chocolate, warmed it on the stove and poured myself some tasty hot chocolate. Now I had three cups left over and wanted to keep it warm on the stove, so I poured the rest from the pan back into the plastic measuring cup, washed the pan and sat down to this satisfying drink. Within about two minutes, I swallowed the last gulp and was ready for more. I walked over to the plastic measuring cup on the stove, and it was doing its best impression of the Wicked Witch melting on the burner. I quickly shut off the burner and pulled the plastic container off the stove. With that jerk of the measuring cup all the chocolate went spilling on the stove and floor, and the bottom of the container was secured to the burner. Actually, it had melted on and under the burner, much to the delight of my mom and dad. My dad reminded me of where the word dummy came from, and Mom handed me a knife and said. “Clean it up.” I never spent a longer 45 minutes trying to get this gooey mixture off the stove, and, worst of all, I was still thirsty which I didn’t think was fair at all.

      All this basketball playing did lead to some nice achievements, including being selected to play at the half-time of the Minnesota Gopher basketball game when I was eight. The game we were selected to play at was Minnesota vs. Ohio State. Yes, that game where a brawl broke out in the second half, and they sent everyone home with the Gophers forfeiting to Ohio State. I remember just as half-time started the Ohio State team came down to the locker room next to ours and their center, Luke Witte’s head looked like it dragged across the ceiling. I ran up on the floor and dribbled the length of the court to start lay-ups, but missed my first one. I fell in love with Williams Arena right on the spot, and said I would be back one day to play there once again—next time as a Minnesota Golden Gopher!

      Besides basketball, as I went through my freshman year of high school we had Casey’s illness to deal with. He was through two operations and the doctors did not feel like there was a lot more they could do so they sent him home. Along with coming home came five cases of Carnation Instant Drink eggnog flavor. (Casey did not like the taste of Chocolate—can you believe that?) Casey was to drink that seven times a day along with six meals. How many different ways do you drink eggnog Carnation and not get sick of it? I got sick of it, and I never drank the stuff! He drank that for years to keep his weight up, and I do not think I ever heard him complain. There is a thing called gratitude for being alive, and Casey has exemplified that every waking hour of his life. I do not hang around a lot of heroes, but there is no question Casey is a hero and saint rolled into one. Still don’t go within fifteen feet of the restroom he has just used, or you will be looking for a wastebasket or other such device to throw up in, because, as Casey says, “the smell will get you!”

      I didn’t like the smell, taste, or feel of high school as a freshman, so I decided as a sophomore to get more involved. I was named Class President (no one else ran) and the only job I had to do was get class football shirts for each of my classmates. I could not screw that job up but somehow we had trouble getting the printer to print names correctly. Scott was easy but a number of the other names looked like vague references to my classmates. It took a few trips to the sporting goods store and a half dozen tries before finally things were straightened out. Luckily for me, because the football players were talking about stringing me up and using me as a blocking dummy by the last time I ran back to get the shirts right. I didn’t go out for football because I didn’t care much for cleats in my back, arms torn off my body, and various other football injuries at our school. Now, I had another reason to avoid playing the sport.

      

By my senior year, I was doing quite well and even had my name up for Homecoming King. The football players said there was no way they were allowing a basketball player to become the Homecoming King, but the student body had other ideas. I was crowned on a Thursday night, but by Friday afternoon after the Pep Fest I had already broken the crown. You see, in my rush after the pep fest to change to play some basketball in the gym, I sat down to put on my socks. “What was that I just sat on?” I wondered, and turned in horror to see I had just flattened the crown.

      In four hours, I was to be introduced at halftime with the queen, and I had a badly broken crown. I had a choice, either go get help to fix the crown, or go play basketball. So I made the right choice and hustled down the hall to the gym. It worked out with my mother’s help that I was King with a crown, but those football players were looking for more tape and rope to string me up from the moment I had been crowned. As I told them “you can’t catch what you can’t see” and I made sure to make fast exits so they couldn’t put their plan into action.

      Photo: FamilyArchive

      Graduation picture with Dad and Mom and the opportunity to now take on the world

      The plan of action for most graduations is for the Valedictorian to speak and give the commencement address, but our Valedictorian was not interested, so I volunteered or was volunteered, I can’t remember which. The night was beautiful and I got up to give the first real talk of my life. It was exciting and nerve racking, but I remember that everyone was pleased as I said these words:

      “Our graduation: A time for leaving behind, a time for taking with. A time of joy, a time of sorrow. Our high school days are over now, we are moving on to, I’m not sure if bigger and better things, but different things. People are going to be telling us that it is a rough world out there and that we are going to have to make decisions. That it is cold and impersonal and we are going to have to make adjustments. That we will be hurt and even stepped on. Maybe though, what we have gotten here can be used to make the world a little kinder and gentler for us and others. An education comes in two parts: What a person learns in the classroom and what we have learned in over-all student life. Problems come through daily interaction, but we handled most problems and have grown closer to one another in the process. We are experiencing a feeling here tonight of togetherness, and soon that being together will be gone, but that feeling will never die.

      I hope as each of us travels on in life we can reach the level of success where we can see the invisible and do the impossible, but much more important is that we must be true to ourselves. I have a poem that says it clearer than I can.

      The Man in the Glass –Anonymous

      When you get what you want in your struggles for

      self, and the world makes you king for a day.

      Just go to a mirror and look at yourself, and see

      what that man has to say.

      For it isn’t your father or mother or wife whose

      judgment you must pass.

      But the fellow whose verdict counts most in life is

      the one staring back from the glass.

      Some people think you are a straight shooter

      chum, and call you a wonderful guy.

      But the man in the glass say’s you’re only a bum, if

      you can’t look