No animals were harmed in the posting of this blog.

I’m pretty proud of that.

My mother crocheted this basketball for me more than 35 years ago. For context, she was the most gracious, tender, sweet, kind-hearted, loving knockoff artist and brand thief that has ever lived.

This ball was her response to my ridiculous, preteen desire for a Nerf hoop. You know — the kind kids used to hang on the back of their bedroom doors before smartphones were invented. The kind that probably cost about $3 in 1982. The kind all the normal kids had.

She also crocheted a hoop to go with it because she had mad yarn skills and a hypersensitive frugality gland.

You can read more about her here: My Mother the Felon -or- the Many Spellings of Adidas

I did life with this ball. Perfected my jumper. Dunked like Jordan in slow motion. Played a million games of HORSE. I even used it as the key gauge of discernment for a solid portion of my teenage years.

“If this goes in she totally likes me . . . ok, two out of three.”

Other kids had magic 8 balls. Mom offered to crochet one of those too. I passed.

In many ways, it sparked my life long love for basketball which led me to TWO high school state championships (of small Christian, private schools in Illinois) AND nearly launched a career modeling short shorts.

I’ll pause for a moment and let you take that in. 

I realized something important last summer when I stumbled across my ball packed away in one of our sentimental boxes of “stuff we don’t want to throw away but also don’t want to ship all over the world a dozen times” (ask any expat if that’s confusing).

This ball is a ROCK for me. Not literally.

A ROCK is something I talk a lot about and it is CRITICAL for your kids, especially if they’re growing up under the constant cloud of neverending global transition (like mine are).

It’s a super simple concept really:

ROCKS don’t move when everything else does.

Say it backwards.

When everything else moves . . . Rocks don’t.

This is a massive game-changer for families who encounter incessant change. If that describes you then you’ve probably uttered these words in a time of chaos and self-pity:

“UGH!! EVERYTHING IS CHANGING . . . AGAIN!”

ZERO judgment here but that’s a horrible lie that we choose to believe. NOT EVERYTHING is changing but when it feels like that, it is time to get CRYSTAL CLEAR on what is STAYING THE SAME . . . what CAN stay the same.

Routines. Traditions. Habits. Games. Language. Discipline. PEOPLE.

And objects. Special objects. Some even call them sacred objects.

Like fridge magnets.

And family photos.

And stuffed ducks.

And Magic 8 balls.

And ESPECIALLY crocheted Nerf knockoff basketballs.

You can read more about ROCKS here: Rock, Paper Scissors -or- Helping Kids Thrive in Transition

ROCKS are the nouns and the verbs that can be true and present whether you live in a cornfield in Illinois, an apartment in China or a space station on Mars.

So I was thrilled to pass on a stable piece of my childhood to my son.

Then we got a dog — and you know what happens next.

But here’s the big, heart-wrenching REST OF THE STORY. 

Ready for this?

My son (who just turned 10) broke the news to me with tact and empathy well beyond his years.

“Uhh. Dad. Do you know how to sew?”

“Yeah, a little. Why do you ask?”

With appropriate fear and sensitivity to what might happen next, he held up the shredded ball.

(next part censored)

After a few minutes (but well before the steam had stopped rolling out of my ears) he spoke with a shaky voice that I’ve only heard from others offering condolences at a funeral.

“Dad.”

Me, still fuming, flaring my nose, gritting my teeth and determined not to take it out on him.

“Yes.”

“I’m feeling two emotions right now.”

“Ok.”

“One. Sadness. Because this is the only thing I have from Grandma Paula and I never even got to meet her.”

“Ok.”

“And two. Forgiveness.”

And here are the morals of the story:

1. ROCKS matter. Whoever you are — however you are doing life — something needs to NOT change.
2. Even ROCKS don’t last forever. Stuffed ducks get lost. 8 balls break. Dogs happen.
3. The things that ROCKS represent, and teach and instill in the character of your kids are worth a billion times more.
4. It feels really good when you realize you are raising kids who are better than you.

And here is the happy ending.

I think we can save the ball. Won’t be perfect. But even the scar . . . will be a reminder of forgiveness.

And hey — if you don’t know what your rocks are . . . figure them out.

Write them down.

Share them below.