AD

I've had no break for nigh onto three weeks, my friends calling me on occasion to inquire as to whether I had passed away and they somehow didn't hear. But our local Oklahoma Centennial celebration is nigh and I've been happily involved with peering into the backgrounds of ancient, dusty photos, creating (in my own mind, at least) an understanding of what the world I inhabit today was like 100 years ago. Fascinating stuff, the rediscovery of history. So fascinating, in fact, that I chose that title for my part of the museum exhibit we shall convene on July 4th, to open just after cowboys from five states ease a herd of 150 Oklahoma (not Texas, mind you) longhorns 12 miles from the old Chisholm Trail to the Main Street that runs in front of my house. I can't get anyone to promise that the cattle won't get into the flowers my nephew planted in my yard. I hope they won't but I won't be devastated if they do.

Expect many pictures and even some video of the event, which continues all day and includes everything from a mock territorial wedding (the marriage of Oklahoma and Indian Territories) like the one conducted in OKC in 1907, to the dedication of a permanent granite marker etched in tribute to this small Chickasaw Nation town. At least I think there will be a monument dedication. In addition to pushing what proved to be my feeble graphic design skills to the limit producing the commemorative tee-shirt and poster for this event, I am also responsible for editing the proposed copy for the monument. I should probably be writing at this moment with an eye to posterity rather than blogging. :)

But I have a day job and that, along with the volunteer work and parenting, lasts all day (AD), every day. I was reminded of that Saturday when I was being pulled six ways to Sunday trying to get on the road to repair the computers of the company scheduled to print our tee-shirts so they could actually get on with the printing. My ex had chosen that day to schedule his second in a lifetime parental afternoon with Ann, who only agreed to go along if her father would take her best friend as well. Louis also insisted upon taking the dogs (maximum, if brief, parental experience) and as he packed them all in his van, my cell shrilled with a call from another computer customer. I talked RAM in megabytes and processor speeds in gigabytes as the dogs escaped from the van, the children piled out after them, my ex looked vexed as hell and I threw up my hands. You fucking deal with it.

Off the phone for two seconds while the crew chased Dexter and company down the street, I received a cryptic text message. What is AD doing on Monday?

I do the text messaging thing, too. It's a surefire way to contact folks whose phones are close at hand and it doesn't use daytime minutes. But a text message from Ann's basketball coach?

Being 46, I called the coach, using the excuse that it is beyond my considerable expertise to text, navigate, shift, drink a diet pop and ponder an upcoming computer job, all at the same time. Coach chuckled and posed the question. Could Ann go to team camp with the high school team on Monday?

My first and last answer was "of course she can." I made a few phone calls between answers to ponder fairness, opportunity and the fact my kid is 12 and the youngest of the high school roundballers 15. But while the Baptist church camp was full of excitement for young Ann, the Methodist camp found her returning home at a hair over 5'6", a full inch taller than she was when she left five days earlier. The food or the spirit, I wonder?

"Of course she can."

Early this morning, I drove Ann the two blocks to catch the van in which Coach would drive them to the day camp. I eyed the high school starters, noticing they sported muscles and adult definitions my little girl doesn't have. When I told Ann she was unexpectedly going to camp, her first response was to hope she didn't embarrass the high school team. When I let her out, I worried a little about that and about the kid getting her face bashed in on the high school court. Waiting to get on the van, Ann shuffled her feet and ducked her head, obviously in the throes of an uncharacteristic attack of shyness in the active company of much older girls. I didn't know what to do and simply drove away, hoping that the jock sisterhood would somehow take over.

And so it did. But girls are a tough nut to crack and AD had to prove herself. For two hours after I returned home this evening, my kid and I processed her day. She was the second tallest girl our school fielded. She did not play in the first team competition but her heart jerked when Coach called on her halfway through the second. "Can you keep up with them?"

That, Ann pointed out, was not the issue. After all, she looks much more the runner than any of the rest. She was worried that she would be blown away but Nikes on the court settled that down and AD played high school ball.

The high school girls were remarkably amenable to the presence of a 12 year old. When Ann tripped, fell and was mortified while diving for the ball during her first minutes on the court, they encouraged her. She played wing rather than her normal post position. She didn't score during the game and a half she played, but she forced turnovers and tied the ball twice. Most importantly, Ann found this new game a challenge to be met that was in no way overwhelming. When she returned to the bench with two minutes left in the last competition, Coach whacked her on the back and told her "great job." Ann speculated that no one on the opposing teams knew she was so much younger. When I asked her if anyone forced her into a turnover, she looked at me with her head cocked as if I was from Mars.

"No. I couldn't have that. I protected the ball."

If you've heard it since you could walk, eventually you begin to do it.

But, to me, the most interesting part of the day as recounted by Ann was when the high school starting point guard, Beth, protested when Ann took the court that the "baby chick" as they began to call her, didn't have a proper nickname like the rest of them.

"Oh yes she does," Coach said. "It's AD."

"But those are her initials," the team pointed out.

"Yes, but..." Coach noted.

Four or so years ago, the University of Oklahoma's football program snagged the premiere high school running back in the nation. Texan Adrian Peterson was the high school Player of the Year and chose to don our Crimson and Cream to spotlight his college career. Nationwide, he earned the nickname of AD...all day....every day....never quits...willing to give everything.

The team looked at Ann differently. All day, every day.

Just like her namesake, AD, at 12, hung with the big girls.