Married to the Franchise: Living a Championship Life of Partnership
214
Married to the Franchise: Living a Championship Life of Partnership
214Paperback
-
PICK UP IN STORECheck Availability at Nearby Stores
Available within 2 business hours
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781452585734 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Balboa Press |
| Publication date: | 02/25/2014 |
| Pages: | 214 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.45(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Married to the Franchise
Living a Championship Life of Partnership
By Jonathan A. Carroll
Balboa Press
Copyright © 2014 Jonathan A. Carroll, Ph.D.All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-8573-4
CHAPTER 1
Training Days
I said, "Mom, what are you doing? You're ruining my rep."
She said, "You're only sixteen. You don't have a rep yet."
—DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince
My parents, John and Emily Carroll, spoiled me rotten along with my sister, Jennifer, and brother, Jarad. They are both college graduates with advanced degrees, so their goal when it came to their children was to make sure we went even further than they had. My mother recently noted in a Facebook comment, "It was about providing the three of you with a solid foundation to build upon!" They worked damn hard to do this. Both were career teachers in the School District of Philadelphia (SDOP), which meant that they had to work a number of side jobs to make sure that private school tuitions were paid, clothes were bought, and stomachs stayed full.
In addition to teaching industrial arts, my father served in the US Air Force Reserves for twenty years, which meant that one weekend out of the month he would go and stay at Maguire Air Force Base in Fort Dix, New Jersey. At different points he also worked at Staples, Wawa, a 24-7 convenience store, and Girard Bank. For my entire youth, his day would start at about 5:00 a.m. Before I was old enough to dress myself, he used to wash me up and get me ready for school. Once he left the house, he would stop at the 7-Eleven about a mile from the house to get his coffee, and then he would teach all day. He would come home and pass out for just over an hour before he would go work his second job until late in the evening. Finally he would come home and get ready to do it all over again the next day. On Sundays he served as a deacon at our church and sang in the choir.
My mother has an equally strong work ethic. She would be up just as early so that she could wash up in peace. She would then get us all out of bed while she ate her breakfast and listen to Jeremiah Wright sermons on the radio. By the time I was dressed and headed down to breakfast, she was doing my sister's hair. Eventually we would all end up at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, and then we would pile into the car so she could drop us all off at school. When her school day ended as an elementary math teacher, her car became the activity shuttle that carried us to swim and soccer practices, music lessons, birthday parties, or anything else on our social calendar. On Sundays while my dad was up in the choir loft, she was making sure we made it to the 7:45 a.m. service on time. When the school year ended, she would often teach summer school or work for the swim camp we attended, which was sponsored by the Philadelphia Department of Recreation. As she neared retirement from the SDOP, she worked for Bed Bath & Beyond and ShopRite, which were helpful in keeping my first apartment furnished and the fridge stocked.
I was also blessed to have my maternal grandmother, Clayvonne Close, a.k.a. "Nana," as an integral part of my life growing up. We were a swimming family, and as I got older, that meant that my practices started right after school. Instead of having me take the fifteen-minute trolley ride up Germantown Avenue from Germantown Friends School (GFS) to the Marcus Foster Recreation Center, Nana would pick me up every day. She would drop me off at the pool and head back to my house, where she would pick up my siblings and bring them to practice. Then she would drive me home. She would take one more lap to the pool and back to my house to bring Jennifer and Jarad home at 9:00 p.m. before she went home for the night. On top of all the pickups and drop-offs, she had food prepared for each stop. It was futile for me to try to refuse food on the way from school to practice because I would then have to hear about how I needed the energy to complete the brutal workout that my coach Jim Ellis was about to deliver. One day there would be hot soup in a thermos waiting when I got in the car. Other days there would be homemade cheesesteaks. On still others there would be ramen noodles. All of it was kept warm using a hot bag and jars of boiling water. When I was finished with my meal, I could go into the trunk, which she literally turned into a mobile convenience store and snack on my choice of chips, Snickers, Blow Pops, or whatever else she had snagged from the wholesale store near our house in West Philly. Even when I was in high school and took the train from Central High School (CHS) to the pool, she would still make me a snack and deliver it as she dropped off my sister at practice. At one point the meals were a source of embarrassment because I feigned myself Mr. Cool who was too old to still have Nana cooking after-school snacks for me. On top of that my homies were masters at imitating her voice as she would call me to the car. All that embarrassment went out the window as I got older and realized that I didn't have to spend as much money on food during the week, and the practices got so hard that I really needed the food before the workouts. Soon my friends were joining me at the back of the car for something to snack on before and after practice. Nana was always more than willing to share. As far as she was concerned, my friends were additional grandchildren who needed the same energy boost that I did when it came to getting ready for practice. Her trunk was open to all.
The fact that I was spoiled set the foundation for how I would treat myself as an adult as well as how I would approach relationships and eventually my own family. My father would go without so that we could continue to enjoy the lifestyle he felt we deserved. He famously drove some of the most beat-up cars I have ever seen and rarely spent money enhancing his wardrobe. My mother did whatever she had to do to make sure that every Easter there was a new suit for me and my brother as well as a dress for my sister. There was never a Christmas where we came downstairs to an empty tree, and despite my habit of losing everything that wasn't snapped on to my body, at some point it would get replaced. When jackets made by Starter became popular in the early nineties, my mother got me one bearing the name of my favorite college basketball team, the Georgetown Hoyas. The first day I wore it, it got stolen from swim practice, and I just knew I wasn't getting it replaced. What killed me even more was that it seemed like all of my boys got Starter jackets that Christmas, and out of all the jackets that were on the rack that day, only mine was stolen. This didn't sit well with Nana, and she took me to the Gallery the very next day and bought me a new jacket. When I was in college, Nana continued to look out for me, as she would lend me her car on the weekends provided I would bring my laundry when I came to pick it up. This laundry was washed and ironed by the time I dropped the car off on Monday, and she also packed food for the week, which kept my roommates and I from having to go to campus dining as often. As an adult, the behavior of my parents and Nana stuck with me. I had it in my mind that I needed to be willing to go without so that my family could have. It also meant that I sought a partner who would be as willing to give of herself for her family as mine did for me. In addition, in looking at a potential partner's family, I wanted to see if they treated their children in a manner similar to how my parents treated me.
The strong work ethic that my parents displayed in order to make sure that the material needs of my siblings and I were met meant that there was precious little time to attend to our emotional needs and wants. Our household was not one where hugs and kisses were the norm. I felt loved because of how well my parents took care of me, but when I compared the outward expression of that love to others or what I saw on TV, it was different. I don't remember the first time I told either of my parents I loved them, but I know I was into my teens. While I would often hug Nana and other members of my extended family, I rarely exchanged hugs with my parents, which almost seemed to be by design. When I would get in trouble, which was often, my dad would talk about how he was being a tough disciplinarian now, but as I got older, our relationship would grow closer just as his had with his father. The words turned out to be prophetic as I certainly enjoy a closer relationship now with my parents than I did when I was a child, and there is not an occasion when I see them now that there is not a hug and an "I love you" exchanged. The arm's length on affection as a child, however, meant that as a single adult I sought those expressions of affection in my partner more than I might have if it had been a regular part of my upbringing. I needed a partner who wouldn't mind my need to be snuggled up under her or hold her hand or stroke her hair. (Okay, you can't stroke a girl's hair in the age of the weave, but you get my point.)
My confidence as a young man to be able to approach a girl came from my ability to excel in school. My parents made the financial sacrifice to send me to GFS, a private Quaker school in the heart of Germantown, so that there would be no question about the educational foundation I would receive. While I had my moments of silliness or mischief that would inevitably land me in hot water with my teachers, the academic part of school was not that difficult for me, so a great deal of my identity became wrapped up in my ability to do well on tests and assignments. In addition, I considered myself an athlete because of my swimming and overall fitness, so by middle school I fashioned myself somewhat of a Renaissance man. The cocoon-like environment that GFS provided only enhanced this perception.
When I left GFS after eighth grade in the spring of 1991, I was confident that I could go into any educational environment and thrive both academically and socially. I went to Central, which was a complete 180-degree turn from the environment I enjoyed at GFS. The class of '95 at GFS ended up being 72 students while my graduating class at Central was 494. Whereas GFS had a sprawling campus with multiple gyms, fields, and buildings, Central was one four-story building with facilities that could best be described as serviceable when I arrived in 1991. To its credit, the gym and science rooms were all renovated during my time there as was the library. Central is a magnet school, which means that you had to do well on a citywide test to gain acceptance. It was among a handful of schools that could lay claim to the "best school in the city" title. Central has a long tradition of producing graduates who have gone on to the most competitive universities and become successful professionals in all fields. As I anticipated, the academics, while challenging, did not kill me. My real growth came socially as I learned to navigate through a student body that brought students together from all different neighborhoods and backgrounds.
It was at Central that I really began to figure out how to connect with ladies given who I was. Lots of dudes talk about having game—in other words, the ability to use poetic lines to gain the attention and affections of one or more ladies. I had none of that. I hated rejection, so the idea of using some line I heard someone else use or approaching a young lady without knowing anything about her just wasn't comfortable for me. The successes that I had in dating in high school had to do with me developing relationships organically without any game involved. Whenever I tried to behave in a manner outside of what was natural to me or instilled in me by my parents, I inevitably had problems. I shouldn't have been surprised, given how much effort my parents put into making me understand how they believed I should comport myself as a young man.
The first time I ever got a C on a report card happened to coincide with my first girlfriend experience, and when news of that grade made it to my dad, he wasted no time sitting me down and delivering one of his famous monologues. It was tradition in my house that when you got in trouble, you had to weather the storm of my father first blowing his top at you and then the forty-five- to sixty-minute talk that followed, which was loaded with lessons about life. A C grade was not acceptable in the house, so the monologue was about how I had to be responsible and stay focused on the task at hand. At the time the tasks were to get good grades and to swim as fast as I could. There was no room for talking on the phone with some little girl. As I got older and could handle more mature topics, those got layered in as well. He talked about the responsibility of having sex and the need to use protection. He talked about the duties of fatherhood and the need to be humble and consistent. He always highlighted the types of characteristics that he wanted to see develop in me like patience, compassion, and the ability to communicate honestly. What made these lessons stick even until today is that my dad lived this life that he spent so much time talking about. He got up every day and was consistent. I saw him sacrifice for his children. He wasn't a heavy drinker, so we never saw him drunk, and even as my parents' marriage started to deteriorate, he never laid hands on my mother. It was not only my father who practiced what he preached but also many of the other men in my life.
The fathers of my teammates on the Philadelphia Department of Recreation (PDR) swim team were also an influence in that they provided additional evidence of the behavior that my dad talked about in his monologues. These were men who were professionals, but not to the point where they were not present for their children. I spent so much time with my teammates between the ages of ten to eighteen that it's fair to say that these fathers were additional surrogates for me. I got an inside look at the way they taught their sons and found that in many ways their messages were the same as my father's. I could never really think that my dad was being overly hard on me because the fathers of my best friends were preaching the same message. These men served as important role models for the ways that men go about the business of being career-oriented yet attendant to the needs of their families.
When it came to my earliest relationships, my mother made it very clear when she thought it was appropriate for me to be dating. As a sophomore in high school, my mother told me that I was too young to have a girlfriend shortly after I had gotten an upperclassman (a junior) to fill that position. Here I thought I was acting mature and behaving in a way that I had been taught to the point where an upperclassman was willing to go out with me. My mother had other ideas. Eighteen was the age for dating because at least then you could drive a date somewhere. Until then there would be no official recognition of any girlfriends as far as my mother was concerned.
My mother also made her expectations about my behavior with women clear just before I was about to start school at Penn in the summer of 1995. I had been accepted into a one-week pre-freshman program sponsored by the African-American studies department known as the AFAMS program. We took classes during the day and socialized at night with the occasional academic assignment due to keep us honest. Sometime during that week I got cozy enough with a young lady that I nearly said good-bye to my virginity. So in preparation to return to campus only a few weeks later with the hopes of sealing the deal, I had bought condoms and had them in the bag that I had taken to campus. Given that I was spoiled and never did my own laundry as a teen, my mother unpacked that bag and found the condoms. So as I prepared one night to go hang out on campus after AFAMS, she stopped me at the door and sat me down. Her message was brief and to the point, and it went something like this:
"Jonathan, sex is not something to be toyed around with," she said. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Mom."
"These girls are not toys, and you do not enter into a sexual relationship lightly. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Mom," I said.
"All right."
And with that I scurried out the door. The fact that I remember that conversation like it was yesterday indicates the impact. However, I wish that she would have said all that was going through her mind that night so that I would have been better equipped for what was coming my way. I might have sidestepped some of the anguish I would later face, but that was not her way. I imagine that monologue would have gone something like: "If you're going to be having sex, then know that you have now entered the adult world, and if you're going to act like an adult, then you'd better be prepared for the adult consequences that having sex can bring. Talking all night on the phone and going to the movies with your little girlfriends won't prepare you for that. I'm your mother, and I know just how sensitive and naïve you really are. If you think you're going to that school and you're just going to have your way with these girls, you're wrong, and you're going to get your feelings hurt. Please act like you have some home training and be respectful. If you do find someone worthy of having sex with, make sure you use this protection that you bought because I'm not ready for grandchildren yet."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Married to the Franchise by Jonathan A. Carroll. Copyright © 2014 Jonathan A. Carroll, Ph.D.. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Foreword, ix,Introduction: Franchise Player, xxi,
Part 1: The Road to the Altar, 1,
Chapter 1: Training Days, 3,
Chapter 2: Becoming a Relationship Owner, 26,
Chapter 3: You Gotta Lose First to Win, 52,
Chapter 4: Scouting and Drafting, 63,
Chapter 5: Signing a Lifetime Contract, 96,
Part 2: The Newlywed Years, 109,
Chapter 6: The Newlywed Years, 111,
Chapter 7: Additions to the Team, 143,
Chapter 8: June 11, 2011: Celebrating a Championship, 157,
Part 3: The Foundation Years, 173,
Chapter 9: The Foundation Years, 175,