By JULIE HOLT
When I make my bed, I lie in it.
Of course, the only time I literally make my bed is the day the housekeeper comes, but that’s not the point. When I figuratively make my bed, I might not like it, but I own it.
I learned a hard lesson very early in my career that when you make a mistake, you do four things: admit it, apologize, promise to do your best not to make the same mistake again and ask how you can make it right.
In fact, I made my sweet Lu do those four things last week when she got sassy with me. Since I knew her attitude was the result of being exhausted from a hectic week, I also modeled graciousness by accepting her apology and moving on, when I would normally let her have it for being disrespectful.
There you go friends, my one good parenting moment of the month. I’ll take my gold star now, please.
But I don’t want to talk about making beds in the context of parenting, I want to talk about this subject in an open letter to a person in the public eye who may not realize how greatly he has affected my day-to-day life.
You may not know me personally, but my blood has run orange since you were a running backs coach at a Division III school. Before you even dreamed of joining Vol Nation, I was yelling at my television for Jay Graham to find a hole and take it to the checkerboard.
I have proudly worn that distinctive orange every fall, in good seasons and bad. I have cheered for good efforts, close calls and heartbreakers more times than I can count. All five members of my family are die-hard fans, and if any one of my children even thinks of becoming an Alabama bandwagoner, they are invited to sleep in the back yard with the other dogs.
You may not know this, Coach, but sometimes my entire weekend rides on whether you and your boys show up to play on Saturday. Maybe that’s wrong, but it’s true for my family, and many others, I suspect.
I know you managed a W this past weekend versus UMass. But was that really a W? Do the “Champions of Life” feel good about narrowly defeating the Minutemen, who were beat by a team called the Chanticleers?
I think the eternally faithful Big Orange country was more than generous in being on your bandwagon for a while. We knew that you had a lot to overcome after the previous two coaches, and I think we gave you room to build your program. We overlooked a lot.
But Butch, you’re no longer lying in Derek or Lane’s bed (ew). You’re lying in Butch’s bed. And the worst part is, you’re feeding us a bunch of baloney and telling us it’s filet mignon. Those are your guys — very talented and capable guys — and somebody is dropping the ball. Again, figuratively and literally.
Game management and execution stink. And then you tell us “It’s a scheme thing.” Do you think we are idiots?!?! I’ll tell it to you like I tell it to my nine-year-old — when you mess up, you do four things: admit it, apologize, promise to do your best not to make the same mistake again and ask how you can make it right.
Although in your case, I think there’s a step five — polish up your resume.
A fan who had to hang her head in shame this weekend
Overheard at the Salon: “Can we talk about how ridiculous it is that he’s grown man wearing capris?”
Julie Holt is a wife, mother of three, writer and suffers from chronic road rage. She loves to keep it real, but she is not lit or woke. Actually, she’s pretty basic. Her hobbies include naps, pizza and writing about herself in the third person. You can read Julie’s blog at jholtwriting.com or follow her on Facebook @julieslighterside.