Finding the King

There's something to be said about a proper ending. Movies used to get them right before the age of the sequel. The killer keeps being resurrected by the dollar, the monster leaves a nest somewhere hidden by the screenwriter and the hero's 50 foot fall was only an illusion. TV shows are more problematic. Sometimes they get cancelled halfway through a season. Some you invest your time in only to realize you'll never know how their stories end. The only season of "Freaks and Geeks" is a prime example. I'll never know what happened to those kids after their summer.

In life, you hardly ever get to have the right ending. People move, people die. Most of are lucky to have that "Shane" movie ending where the kid calls out our name as we lay slumped over a horse riding into the sunset. Better yet, we don't even die a anti-hero's death like in "The Wild Bunch," in slow motion glory while we take 50 mexicans to hell along the way. Ask Steve McQueen how he felt about his ending, as he traveled to Ohio for treatment of cancer that wouldn't quit. Cancer loves matinee idols, heroes, cowboys, moms and even kids.

Today my daughter played her final game of the summer. For about 15 minutes or so, the girls stood in a circle and simply stared at one another. Some of the girls will never play with their high schools again, or travel softball. They are moving on to college where the game will be more like a job. Their tears are not tears of fear. Perhaps it was a simple innocence. They know the next time they will see each other it will be under different circumstances.

Amid their ending, parents too stood in a wavy line around them, shaking hands, hugging, and crying too. To many of us, it was an ideal ending. Another chapter in the volume of parenting. My book has yet to be written, so to speak, or has found its ending.

Characters have come and gone, resurfaced and changed. Some remain static. I don't remember the literary term for them in my mind, but my writing teacher warned they were only needed to further to make the main character grow. Too many and your novel was doomed. A friend told me this weekend that the static players in my life are there simply because, as a teacher, I'm used to seeing results. I expect change, I demand it, perhaps.

So I find myself in the middle chapters. There's so many characters in my book. I'm not privy to who will remain or who will change. One thing I do know, it is not my responsibility to "make" them grow along with me. Leading a bible study, praying or inviting them over for wings or barbecue will not suddenly transform anyone and my epiphany is simply this: It's okay. I have to release the teacher in me.

I've been reading about the cheating scandal in Atlanta. Teachers changing answers, erasing furiously in locked rooms. Placing poor performing students next to the smart ones so reading their answers would be easier (hell, we already do that in non-testing situations!). I don't want to be that person. I cannot move people along a chess board with hopes they will find their King. I cannot erase anyone's mistakes, simply to bubble in their next step with a #2 pencil.

I do want that perfect ending. It's the human part of all of us. We want to fly around the earth like Christopher Reeves after he saves the planet from leather-clad villains. I want to stand on the podium as Princess Leia places the medal around my neck, barking like Chewbacca. I want to stand in the circle like my daughter and her teammates, shedding a tear with the ones I love, our uniforms dirty from life, but alive and willing to see what is next.