Dear Mr. Steblay:

You need to know that you were a really great tennis coach.

Tennis was the only sport I played, and I played it big. I spent hours and hours at the old tennis courts and the new tennis courts. Countless mornings, dad woke me at the crack of dawn to hit ball after ball at the courts, just the two of us. Then, after school during tennis season you’d meet the team at the courts and we’d practice our hearts out until the clock ran out. I vividly remember traveling to various tennis meets in the van with our team. You’d drive up front, and the rest of us would pile in the back. We’d do homework on the way to the tennis meet, and we’d chat and laugh on the way back. The fast food stops after meets were always my favorite.

We knew you expected a lot from us, and we performed well. Our team stood up to some of the toughest players from the toughest teams. I was more fearless than I knew at the time. In fact, I’d be much more fearful under that athletic pressure today – that’s for sure. And I credit you for instilling in me, instilling in us, a confidence and a skill level that allowed us to play tennis under any condition.

Through the years, I played singles and doubles with a variety of partners. I appreciate that you gave me a broad experience so I could develop into the best tennis player I could possibly be. My recollection is that I felt equally confident as a singles player as I did a doubles player, which signals to me you did a wonderful job of developing well rounded players. As mom of an almost 11-year-old who just finished six months of traveling basketball and six months of traveling baseball, I know the importance of developing well rounded players.

But in all of my memories of you and my time on the tennis team, there’s one that stands out amongst the rest. It’s a time I need to thank you for, but it’s also a time for which I need to extend an apology.

It was fall, the end of the season was drawing near. It was gray and it was getting colder, which always puts me in a foul mood. We’d been losing a lot, or maybe it we’d been winning a lot? All I know is that the pressure was on to win. We felt it and we knew it. We needed to win. Right before the meet that day, we stood outside the entrance to our tennis courts. You gave us your coach talk and said firmly, but enthusiastically something like “Let’s go out and win this one!”

And I, all naive in my youth, responded with a big sassy “WHY?”

You called me on the carpet immediately for my response. I deserved it. I had been inappropriate and disrespectful in my tone, and my timing was all wrong. So for that, for my questioning your desire to win and disrespecting your authority at the inappropriate time, I would like to sincerely apologize.

On the other hand, I also want to thank you for that moment.

1) You addressed my improper behavior, but then you moved on. For that, I am grateful. You could have shamed me or punished me further, but you didn’t.

2) To this day, I’m still fascinated by my “WHY.” It definitely has something to do with the high pressure I place on myself to do well, so sometimes when others point out I need to do well, it adds stress on top of stress and I feel like I have to perform perfectly. In this instance, I responded to your desire to win with a big fat “WHY” was because I already felt pressure to win before you pointed it out. I was probably stressed out, maybe even burned out. I needed to vent my real emotions, and in a way, I’m grateful I did because it gave me a way to release my pent-up frustration with feeling I needed to perform perfectly all the time.

3) When I questioned your desire to win with “WHY,” it was probably one of the first times I expressed a thought that went against the status quo. I wasn’t a disrespectful girl, nor was I a girl that regularly questioned authority. In fact, I was probably too quiet about my thoughts. So I needed to learn how to express my opinion even when it wasn’t popular, even when the majority thought otherwise. Being willing to speak up, say what I think, and not worry what others think is something I’ve worked on for years, and still work on through this blog. So for being there at the beginning of this journey, for allowing me to express my real thoughts and opinions without shaming me or punishing me forever, I thank you.

I know you may have forgotten this incident and erased it from your memory days after it happened, but I want you to know my long-term memories of you are fond, positive. The impact you made on my life was great, and for all those hours you spent with us on the courts, I am grateful.

With all respect and sincerity,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!

Dear Nativity Director,

I was 12 that Christmas. You chose me to play Mary, mother of baby Jesus, in our nativity play.

From the looks of it, I didn’t think it was very cool to play Mary. Maybe I thought it was super uncool to be in a church nativity when I was TWELVE, maybe I thought it was gross to have to stand by the boy playing Joseph, maybe I thought that costume was lame and I was being polite but I really wanted to get out of it as quickly as possible.

But let me tell you, I’m grateful you chose me to be Mary that year. Because I never got the chance again, and I’ll never get the chance again.

You knew what I didn’t – it’s an honor to play Mary.

Mary embodies traits that are core to Christianity, traits I strive to emulate as an adult living out my faith in a real way, every day.

Faith. In every circumstance.

Obedience. When I’m called.

Trust. That He is in control.

Strength. To face any trial thrown my way.

Hope. That His best waits for me.

So thank you for giving me that one opportunity to be Mary. I didn’t appreciate the honor then, but I do now.

With a heart full of gratitude,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!

Dear Grandma,

I turned 10 just two weeks before you passed away.

10.

That means I had 10 short years, from my birth to your death, to form and cement any memories of you in my little girl brain. Looking back, and realizing how young I was, the years we had together seem like a pin point in time. But I want to thank you, because you managed to make a mark on my little girl memory that was positive, lasting.

I”ll be honest, I don’t remember a lot of details about our time together. I remember you sitting a lot, and I remember you playing the piano a lot. I know you were sick and in pain most of the years I was alive, but you were always there.

One memory remains cemented in detail. One little girl moment translated to a long-term memory I hold dear as an adult. It reveals the love of a 10-year-old granddaughter for her grandmother, a little tucked-away secret of my heart.

We were sitting at your kitchen table, the white one with the sparkly silver flecks. Yellow and white painted cupboards were in front of us, and those bright red, white, and orange fruit-patterned curtains were to our right.

We sat side by side, paging through the girls’ clothing section of a JCPenney catalog. You must have been really sick, because there was a JCPenney in town, and I’m sure we would have gone there if we could. We’d made a lot of trips to your house, and deep in my little 9-year-old-girl heart, I knew this was going to be one of the last times I’d “go shopping” with you. My task was to pick an outfit. You were buying. I narrowed my choices to a sky blue sweater, a striped blue and white button down shirt, and sky blue pants.

And it wasn’t so much the picking of the outfit that stuck in my heart all these years, it was what I thought to myself after I made my selections and we’d placed the order – I’m going to keep this outfit forever.

The outfit arrived, you passed, and I’m sad to say I never did keep that outfit forever like I promised myself at the table that day.

What I did keep was the memory of that moment. Knowing myself, there must have been something very, very special about you that I wanted to tuck away, to literally KEEP. forever. So I did. I kept all of my memories, specifically that memory, close to my heart.

I can wish you were alive to see me graduate not once but all three times, I can wish you would have there to see me walk down the aisle, I can wish you’d been there when my babies were born. And I can even wish you were still alive, so I could come visit you tomorrow. We’d have coffee and cookies, chat about days gone by, and your grandma advice about every little thing would be golden.

But we had our time, you made your mark. Your impact on my 10-year-old little-girl heart was deep, forever.

I tucked those sky blue pants and that sky blue sweater in the deep recesses of my mind, and I’m looking forward with great anticipation to the day we’ll meet in the forever-blue skies of heaven. You’ll lead me to the place where the world’s greatest musicians, writers, and artists gather, and we’ll hang. You’ll play a tune on the piano for me and a great big crowd of witnesses, and we’ll linger in the glory of eternity. Together. Forever.

Thank you grandma. I remember, I’m waiting,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!

Dear Florence,

What can I say?

You were my “babysitter.” These days, you’d otherwise be known as my child care provider or home day care provider. But you weren’t just any child care provider, you were like a mom and a grandma rolled into one, or a great auntie who just happened to take care of me while my parents were at work. There was nothing provided at your home but care.

I’m pretty sure I started going to your house when I was a toddler. I was the first of three kids from my family to grow up in your care, and not one of us had a bad experience.

Dad brought me, or maybe it was mom. Oh, it didn’t even matter, because when we pulled in your driveway, it was like driving back home. I remember walking up the sidewalk to your house like it was yesterday. There was your door, all we had to do was open, no ringing of doorbells was needed at your house. We walked in and there you were, up just a few steps to the left, waiting to greet us the second we walked in. I took off my coat, hung it on one of the hooks to the right, hugged dad or mom, and up the stairs I went.

And while I was there? I recall nothing but pure enjoyment.

Down the long hall, we played in that back bedroom. Honestly, I don’t even know what we played, but we played for hours and it was a blast.

In the morning and after nap time, we watched a little TV in your living room. Captain Kangaroo, Sesame Street, Electric Company and Mr. Rogers were favorites at your house, especially Mr. Rogers, he was the best!

In-between times, you’d send us outside for some “fresh air.” We played on the swing set, built snowmen, picked bright yellow wild flowers and weeds from the field at the edge of your property, and engaged in a multitude of other fun outdoor adventures. We hung out on a big swing you set up half way between your house and the baseball field in the backyard. We must have talked about some pretty cool things on that swing, because I can still visualize it distinctly.

When it was lunch time, you served up the best homemade delights. Hamburger–tomato-cabbage casserole was one of my favorites as was pea soup. And my favorite snack of all time? Cold pancakes topped with peanut butter and jelly rolled up into snacking perfection! I’ve never tried making those myself, but not sure I want to. I know I’ll never get them quite right.

My day care friends were like a second family – Todd, Becky & Krista, Tanya & Melissa, Ryan & Reid, Amy & Aaron, and Ann & Joanie. They were all there at one point or another, and others, of course. Making a paper doll house with Ann was a highlight, and I’ll never forget the time Ann and I got the giggles so bad we couldn’t stop laughing no matter how hard we tried.

And your gem-of-a-husband, Derald? He was always around with his big smile, poking fun and teasing just enough to make us laugh in delight.

When I got older and went to school instead of your house every day, I was more than happy to be in your care on days off. We were teachers’ kids, but still made visits in the summer, and to this day, mom loves the occasional drop-by your house on her way through.

You loved us to pieces, tended to every need, and made our days fun, relaxing, and stimulating. When discipline was needed, you weren’t afraid to administer it. We respected you and loved you like no other. And maybe I missed my mom and dad, but I sure don’t remember it.

Thank you for being the absolute BEST babysitter I could have ever asked for,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!

Dear Jamie,

Thank you for being my childhood friend.

You were my friend before anyone else was my friend. You’re the one I knew the longest. You’re the one that comes to mind when my daughter and her friend Ellie paint their faces pink or laugh until chocolate chip cookies come spilling out of their mouths.

We shared most everything between preschool and high school.

We played, and we played, and then we played some more. We played in my room, we played in your room, we played on the stairs, on the deck, on the swing set, on the playground, in your treehouse, at the beach, at the park, at school, and just about every other place a kid could possibly play.

And who knows how many birthday parties we shared? We brought it, girl. Pin the tail on the donkey, Strawberry Shortcake, roller skating, Pizza Hut followed by a movie, sleepovers, and a sweet sixteen bash to name a few. Birthday cakes topped with sugary-hard candy letters and gumdrops were awesome, almost always homemade by our moms.

Speaking of moms and dads, there were plenty of Barb’s sloppy joes and homemade pickles (the post I wrote about her pickles was a reader’s favorite by the way). And my dad would remind us to abide by “Minnesota State High School League” rules, which we both knew meant…don’t even TRY a drop of alcohol!

We did dance together, band together, choir together, musicals together, prom together (remember my lovely turquoise sequined dress and your Barbie-style sheath with puffy gold sleeves?), and we even collected Muffy VanderBears together. Tennis was a blast. Singles, doubles, we did it together. And remember how strangers thought we were twins?

And then there were the random memories in the making…playing dress up and pretending we were models, eating Totinos pizzas on your basement couches with our families, stuffing so many Skittles in our mouth we ended up spitting them out everywhere, dancing at Busters night club for teens, chicken McNuggets with sweet and sour sauce, and braiding Sam’s hair at tennis camp.

But high school graduation was inevitable, and before we knew it, we were separated. Different colleges, different paths.

You came back for my wedding where we regrouped for two wonderful days with the closest of friends and family.

Then, for a short time before we had kids and before you were married, we had the fortune of reconnecting as full-fledged adults through date nights, dinner parties, and maybe even a holiday party here and there. But things changed.

I had babies, and you moved far away. And once again, we found ourselves on different paths.

But I’m so happy you found true love while you were away. God always knew it would happen that way. Your childhood home, the place where we formed so many memories, was transformed into a beautiful gathering place to celebrate you and your love, for one night only. So we celebrated. There was a fire, and pickles, and all of our old teachers were there. We hugged, we chatted with old friends, and your dad’s toast brought tears to my eyes. Because yet another chapter was closing and another was beginning in this book called life, in this story called friendship.

My third baby was born in your birth month, and shortly after her birth, I found out your first baby was due in my birth month. When I contacted you and discovered you had made those same connections, something shifted inside of me, reminding me gently…time passes, kids grow up, distance sometimes separates more than we’d like, but memories can never be stolen.

We’ve been separated by distance for many years now. You know no details about my life, and I know no details about yours. But the special place you held, the special place you hold in my heart has not been abandoned.

I’ve looked for an adult friend who might fill your shoes. Someone I could laugh and be funny with, someone who’d drop by and go with me anywhere, anytime, someone who knew every detail of my life from the very start all the way through today, someone who’d invite me to every birthday party whether I fit with the rest of the group or not, someone who knew I was on a different path but loved me as “Ames” anyway.

But the truth is, I’ve never found that person, nor will I ever. Because the childhood friendship we had is irreplaceable. No one will fill your shoes like you did. It’s impossible. So I’ll accept our childhood friendship for what it was, for what it is, a gift, a beautiful chapter in the book of life.

Thank you for being the friend that was always there,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!