Mrs. Mulqueen died this week.
She's been fighting cancer the way she fought our opponents in the Catholic Girls BBall League back in the 60's. Unrelenting until the end--even as she had to know there wasn't going to be a trophy.
Her funeral mass is on Saturday; I will surely attend. Her successful children and grandchildren and extended family, none of whom I've talked to since Gardner High School, in 1974, but most of whom I knew, up close, back in 1974, will also surely be present. (What a weird "homecoming"...in this continuing saga of "coming home"...)
One son, who has been helping to run the Worcester school system for years, used to play in the band with me. Younger, shorter back then, will he even remember? His brother has been a successful doctor and runs a clinic in Haiti, along with his wife, since Haiti needed clinics, before it was "cool". He gets high school kids to do a brief "internship" there, every year, too. (I learned to dive in their pool. I shared Oreos and family bar-b-ques and sibling rivalry.) Will he remember?
I remember--their Mom--allowing a short, round kid with glasses, and lots of internalized secrets, a place on the Sacred Heart Girls' basketball team. (A girl who always felt she was really six-four, just folded; who loved hardscrabble street games and though short, could actually shoot from the outside, if given a chance. A girl who needed someplace to excorcise the frustration and aggression of the "boys first" mentality of the town they all lived in--even if no one had ever told her "girls' rules" (in the 60's) on the court...
Mrs. Mulqueen realized, (when I caught a loose pass and ran, clutching the ball against my flat chest, down the whole center court) that she needed to "teach Minns" girls' rules, 101.
So, we began.
Hundreds of laps, sprints, drills, though we played the same three teams over and over...
It was our Universe.
It was fierce.
Transcendental.
It was Everything.
In seventh grade, she didn't hold it against me.
She also never held against me the short fuse I carried--which insured, if I was ever in a scramble, I came up with the ball.(Even if most of the time my opponent was two feet taller.) Only once did she send me home "to cool down"--later showing up at the house, to make sure I was okay.
(I was.)
Embarrassed, dehydrated, trying to hide my scarlet face from my Mom, who was pleasantly surprised at the unexpected "visit".
Mrs. Mulqueen understood howI needed basketball.
I needed to run, and slip on too-waxed gym floors, in my knock-off Keds gym shoes.
I needed to sweat my face off in practices with girls way better than I could ever hope to be--in order to get way better, myself.
I needed the friendship and comraderie of people whose bodies "thought", instead of just their minds.
I needed to exalt in being tough and strong and part of something bigger than myself.
I needed that kind of Spiritual Support.
(The one time my Mother attended a game, our only "exhibition for the parents", I played so poorly that she never showed up again.) When I began a debate at dinner, about Federal funding for girls' college sports, I was shut down with the line: "Why do you care? You were never very good at basketball, anyway. It won't ever affect you!"
Mom was very wrong. It did affect me. Big Time.
It created a platform to build a life that remains challenging.
Unsatisfied with the average.
Spiritually independent.
Filled with other comrades on the same path--some of whom ARE professional athletes, today.
It taught me to play fairly; to learn from my strengths AND my weaknesses; to share the ball; to lose gracefully, and to occasionally run, even if you aren't sure of the right direction, (simply because it's thrilling to hear the crowd roar!)
To never let Fear stop you.
(Ever.)
Just like Mrs. Mulqueen--who always knew.
So, for her and for her family, I send prayers. I send praises.
Because, it does matter.
I'll teach my kids the same.
She's been fighting cancer the way she fought our opponents in the Catholic Girls BBall League back in the 60's. Unrelenting until the end--even as she had to know there wasn't going to be a trophy.
Her funeral mass is on Saturday; I will surely attend. Her successful children and grandchildren and extended family, none of whom I've talked to since Gardner High School, in 1974, but most of whom I knew, up close, back in 1974, will also surely be present. (What a weird "homecoming"...in this continuing saga of "coming home"...)
One son, who has been helping to run the Worcester school system for years, used to play in the band with me. Younger, shorter back then, will he even remember? His brother has been a successful doctor and runs a clinic in Haiti, along with his wife, since Haiti needed clinics, before it was "cool". He gets high school kids to do a brief "internship" there, every year, too. (I learned to dive in their pool. I shared Oreos and family bar-b-ques and sibling rivalry.) Will he remember?
I remember--their Mom--allowing a short, round kid with glasses, and lots of internalized secrets, a place on the Sacred Heart Girls' basketball team. (A girl who always felt she was really six-four, just folded; who loved hardscrabble street games and though short, could actually shoot from the outside, if given a chance. A girl who needed someplace to excorcise the frustration and aggression of the "boys first" mentality of the town they all lived in--even if no one had ever told her "girls' rules" (in the 60's) on the court...
Mrs. Mulqueen realized, (when I caught a loose pass and ran, clutching the ball against my flat chest, down the whole center court) that she needed to "teach Minns" girls' rules, 101.
So, we began.
Hundreds of laps, sprints, drills, though we played the same three teams over and over...
It was our Universe.
It was fierce.
Transcendental.
It was Everything.
In seventh grade, she didn't hold it against me.
She also never held against me the short fuse I carried--which insured, if I was ever in a scramble, I came up with the ball.(Even if most of the time my opponent was two feet taller.) Only once did she send me home "to cool down"--later showing up at the house, to make sure I was okay.
(I was.)
Embarrassed, dehydrated, trying to hide my scarlet face from my Mom, who was pleasantly surprised at the unexpected "visit".
Mrs. Mulqueen understood howI needed basketball.
I needed to run, and slip on too-waxed gym floors, in my knock-off Keds gym shoes.
I needed to sweat my face off in practices with girls way better than I could ever hope to be--in order to get way better, myself.
I needed the friendship and comraderie of people whose bodies "thought", instead of just their minds.
I needed to exalt in being tough and strong and part of something bigger than myself.
I needed that kind of Spiritual Support.
(The one time my Mother attended a game, our only "exhibition for the parents", I played so poorly that she never showed up again.) When I began a debate at dinner, about Federal funding for girls' college sports, I was shut down with the line: "Why do you care? You were never very good at basketball, anyway. It won't ever affect you!"
Mom was very wrong. It did affect me. Big Time.
It created a platform to build a life that remains challenging.
Unsatisfied with the average.
Spiritually independent.
Filled with other comrades on the same path--some of whom ARE professional athletes, today.
It taught me to play fairly; to learn from my strengths AND my weaknesses; to share the ball; to lose gracefully, and to occasionally run, even if you aren't sure of the right direction, (simply because it's thrilling to hear the crowd roar!)
To never let Fear stop you.
(Ever.)
Just like Mrs. Mulqueen--who always knew.
So, for her and for her family, I send prayers. I send praises.
Because, it does matter.
I'll teach my kids the same.
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