LOPS (LAST ONE PICKED SYNDROME)
I suffer from LOPS - also known as “Last One Picked Syndrome” – a term I coined shortly after grade school where I contracted this malady. Here’s how it started.
At school, the boys and the girls never had gym class together. I had to bear gym class a couple of times a week with all of the boys. It was so uncomfortable. We’d often play in teams – softball, volleyball, kickball, whatever. The gym teacher would pick two of the most popular and athletic boys as captains. They would flip a coin to see which one would pick the first team mate, then they’d take turns from there.
To say I was a bit awkward physically is an understatement. The first team captain would usually pick his athletic buddy. The second team captain followed. They’d continue picking the most promising boy still available on the lot. The pecking order would continue. With each name called I’d feel worse and worse, and a little embarrassed. Finally, after all the but one boy was chosen, the unlucky captain would pause, shuffle around a bit, shake his head, look down at the ground, and softly and slowly say…..”Therrien.”
What an inane way to work with children. Allowing a couple of the most popular boys to place judgement on their peers. No wonder I didn’t try too hard on the field. I was deemed unworthy before the game even began!
But there is a happy ending to this story. Flash forward about 30 years. My oldest daughter, Emily, was quite good at softball in High School. I loved attending her games. In fact, one day she got up to bat and the coach from the other team shouted to his team, “It’s Therrien! Everyone get back!” I was stunned! I never thought I’d hear those words together in one sentence. I hope my dad up in heaven heard them. He’d have been so proud!
One day, the dreaded father/daughter softball game came upon us. “Come on, dad. You can do it!” Emily said encouragingly. “Honey,” I said, “You’ve seen me try to throw and hit a softball.” “No, dad. You gotta do it!” She pleaded. I agreed.
As we got ready to play, I mustered up my courage. All was well until the coach proclaimed, “OK dads. If you’re right handed, you will bat left-handed, and vice-versa.” There was NO WAY this was going to be the case with me. I told the men, “Here’s how it’s going down. I suffer from LOPS. And I was called a ‘sissy’ all my life. I’m pulling out the sissy card and I’m batting right handed. End of discussion.” The girls and the dads laughed but agreed to the rule exception.
I did a pretty good job at bat, actually. But it was the outfield where I really shined. I was manning one of the bases. Just as when I was a child, I prayed the ball wouldn’t be hit anywhere near me! Sure enough, the ball was hit right to me. I caught it! Quite surprised, I touched one of the girls who was running toward me from another base. Then I threw the ball somewhere – I think it was home plate – again not sure. Everyone cheered!!! “You made a triple play,” they exclaimed! Me? A triple play?? “Why thank you,” I said as I bowed. Of course, my wife had to explain to me after the game what was meant by a “triple play.”
Often, we carry well into adulthood the insecurities, misplaced shame, and countless “syndromes” that we unwittingly contracted during our childhood. But we must rise above them so they don’t control or define us. Somehow, like in this case literally, we have to step up to the plate.