I am trying to explain to my children why their father isn't "qualified" to coach football this upcoming season. After 3 years of coaching football, 25-3 record, and dozens of supportive parents and happy players -- he is now considered "unqualified."
Sliding in the space between angry wife and protective parent I want to be diplomatic. I want to be positive. I want to find the silver-lining lesson.
But I can't. Because this is a hatchet job. Plain and simple.
Leaving only one question, "Why?"
Their father is their hero. He's mine too.
He is strong, sturdy and solid. Like quality oak furniture.
Not many frills, just clean, classic lines. His style doesn't suit everyone but there is no denying his quality craftsmanship.
He's a little rough in some places and like oak, he has a coarse texture that with a little effort can be sanded extremely smooth revealing a beautiful inner grain.
But this hatchet job has done a number on him. This gash, this break in his confidence allows the doubt to creep in.
Now when pressure is applied the crack lengthens and threatens to snap the great piece in two, down to the deepest grain.
Though this crack can be repaired, the oak will never again be the same. Some glue and some screws will hold together the once flawless wood with a lick and a promise.
But there is no way to truly repair the damage. No way to fix this wrong. And the loss is ours.
His optimism is fractured , splintered and jagged with sharp points jutting out. His glass half-full lies shattered on the ground, his bright-side is dimmed.
Oak, like the father of my children is incredibly durable, a favorite choice of wood workers. Oak like my husband is accepting of stains and lacquers better than most - the workhorse of wood. But oak, like my husband must be cared for properly.
After being left out in the elements, my great oak has become dry, brittle and in need of conditioning.
This great broken oak will be beautiful again but has been forever changed. Once the support beam of our family he now needs to let others brace him. He rests some of the weight on those who love him. The initial adjustment was scary, uncomfortable and uncertain but the new structure is exciting and unique - and most of all, stronger than ever.
My love is as sturdy as an oak.