Confidence Game

I went out and bought gas yesterday. That may not sound like a big deal to you, but the last time I did that was on September 16, the day we arrived in River Falls. I had filled the tank in mid-state Wisconsin on our way up here, and I still had nearly half a tank at that point. Admittedly, I rarely drive; I can walk to town, and anytime we go to Minneapolis or otherwise hit the highway, we take Kathleen’s 2018 Camry hybrid rather than my 15-year-old Ford. After a while, it had become a game as I tried to see how long I could go without buying gas. I checked the gauge each time I got in the car, and as long as I had confidence that I could make it home without running out, off I went. It was kind of like the classic Seinfeld episode in which Kramer is taking a test drive in a new car that is on dead “E,” but he keeps passing exit after exit, confident he could make it to the next one. Today, though, we are supposed to get six inches of snow and my confidence ran out—I don’t want to risk getting caught somewhere during a blizzard because of my stupid personal contest.

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

This weekend, we attended the River Falls HS fall musical. I did not expect much, because they were putting on my favorite musical, Les Mis. I have seen it in London and in Nashville, and I have always loved the powerful music and the idea of a modern-day opera in which the entire story is told through song. I know little about foreign languages and how translations work, but I have always been amazed that a musical written in French could be translated to English and still rhyme during all of its clever and emotional lyrics. If you are not familiar with the play, it is an incredibly complex show to perform, involving elaborate staging, costumes, and orchestration as well as numerous strong voices (there are six lead performers). For instance, the role of Jean Valjean requires a male lead who can stretch his voice over three octaves—a tall order for a high-school amateur. I’m sure the early rehearsals were painful for the directors and teachers. I know enough about these things to understand that it takes a long time for the performers to grow confident enough to feel comfortable in their roles. To my astonishment, however, this group pulled it off, and the performance was amazing. Everything worked well, and the girl who played Eponine was especially good. I had seen many high school plays during my years at Harpeth Hall, and even performed in one, but this was the best I had ever seen. I wondered how they could do this show in such a small town, but it turns out they had been rehearsing for four months before putting on the sold-out shows. At Harpeth Hall, they started practicing at the same time (early August) for their musicals, but the show is usually scheduled for Labor Day weekend, so they have only four weeks of practice before the show. As we walked out with our grandkids, Kathleen said, “We have to make sure we see every play they put on.”

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

The other day, Kathleen and I watched an episode of The Unicorn, a new network TV show. The show is not great. It’s just a typical sit-com, but we watch it on occasion because we love the lead actor, Walton Goggins, who played Boyd in one of our favorite long-form series, Justified. This episode concerned his 14-year-old daughter who wins the lead role in the school musical. In the first rehearsals, she is terrible, and her voice is a scared little whisper that can barely be heard. That’s when they realize she only got the role because the teacher felt sorry for her after her mother just died. She wants to quit, but her father makes her go through with it, despite doubts that he might be doing the wrong thing and setting her up for public humiliation. Over the course of the practices, however, the girl slowly gains confidence, and she is spectacular on the night of the show. She is a changed person from that point on, as her new-found confidence permeates the rest of her life.

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

Our grand-daughter, Abigail, is nine years old. Her parents have encouraged her to try lots of different things. Her mom was a very good volleyball player and urged Abigail to try it this fall. She had previously played soccer, but hated every minute of the sport. She seemed to have a similar attitude when she started volleyball. Abigail is a quiet girl who visibly withdraws when faced with social situations or anything that would draw attention toward her. We attended her first game, and it looked like more of the same. She played with her characteristic timidity and couldn’t serve the ball over the net. Of course, neither could anyone else. On the rare occasion when a serve cleared the net, all of the inexperienced girls moved away from the ball as if it were a live hand-grenade about to explode. Every time she made a mistake, Abby would look nervously toward the bench, waiting to be pulled from the line-up. The team was terrible and lost game after game. Luckily, though, Ben and Amber have a basketball court in the lower-level of their home, and they worked with Abigail, as did Kim, her maternal grand-mother and former volleyball player. Slowly, Abigail began to improve. Then, near the end of the season, a remarkable thing happened. She came up to serve and nailed it. Then she scored another ace. And another. Gaining confidence with each winning stroke of her arm, she scored five straight points. At that point the league rules required her to rotate out of the serving position. The older girls on the team rushed over to give her high-fives and congratulate her. She looked over at us, and her smile lit up the gym. She simply glowed. After that, she was a changed player, eager to get her chance to serve again, and much more active in returning the ball or setting up her teammates. A few days later, we heard a knock at our door at night and were surprised to see Abigail standing there, all alone. She was bundled up with a biker’s light on her head and had walked a half-mile to our house in the dark and the cold to deliver some mail of ours that had been forwarded to their house. I could not have imagined her being brave enough to do that just a few weeks earlier. All I could guess was that the self-confidence she discovered on the volleyball court had spread over into other aspects of her life. Such is the transformative power of confidence.

And that’s what I wanted to talk about.

As we brace ourselves for the first serious snow of the year and come to grips with the idea that we may not see the ground again until April, I am reminded of why we moved up here in the first place. The look on Abigail’s face when she started nailing those serves was worth all of the aggravation we have experienced during the move. That smile will keep us warm during the long winter to come.