Golf and Grief

According to the National Eye Institute, only 5–10% of Americans are farsighted. I'm one of them.

For years, I assumed that would give me an advantage on the golf course. Surely I'd be the one who could keep an eye on that tiny 1.68-inch white ball, trace its flight, and help my group find the shots that wandered into the rough. Instead, I was the one asking, "Where did it go?"

Time and again, I lost track of the ball. Sometimes I never saw it at all. My depth perception was off, and I wasn't nearly the spotter I thought I'd be.

My golf girlfriends took me out and gave me the grace to be a lot of things...!

At my annual eye exam, I finally got an explanation. My ophthalmologist told me that the prescription I wear every day intentionally compromises my distance vision in order to improve my vision up close. If I wanted sharper distance vision for golf, I could wear a different prescription or contacts on the course. I decided I would stay with what I have (to be honest, I'm not that a serious of a golfer / good enough to do that).

I did however, find solace is coming to realize that what I was really seeking wasn't a new prescription—it was an explanation. And I got one: My vision, though compromised, is corrected.

Lately, I've realized that's how grief works, too. Death, loss, and sorrow have compromised my vision. They have changed the way I see the world, the future, and even myself. But, I see. In fact, I have resources to correct my vision. Even strengthen it. I'm lucky. And through this experience, I understand that golf has become an unexpected teacher. The purpose of this post is to provide three examples. I hope one or two will resonate with you.

Women Show Up
In the eulogy I gave for my mom, I mentioned the fourth station of the Cross: Jesus meets His Mother. In the time since my mom's death, the significance of the Ninth Station of the Cross has been revealed to me: Jesus meets the Women of Jerusalem. 

It is written that Christ encountered a large crowd of women who mourned and lamented Him. They wanted Him to know this burden was not His to carry alone. 

I joined the Olympic Club in 2013 and signed up for the Women's Golf Network. In 13 years time, I have played and competed against these ladies at home and on travel trips. It is a multigenerational group. We are single and married, with or without children. There are women who are new to golf and others who have played for most of their life. What brings us together is the game of golf. 

These women get it, and that is been evidenced by the number of cards, emails and messages I have received from women at my golf club. They understand the special relationship between mothers and daughters. They know what it's like to lose a parent, and what my mom meant to me. Even though my mom didn't play golf, though she isn't someone they met, they mourn for me.

There is no official grief committee among us, and yet I cannot describe how moved I have been by their words of sympathy and condolence, wisdom and kindness. This outreach is remarkable and it's important. I show up at my golf club to have fun and recreate. To be able to go there and know that people know a little bit about the heavy heart I carry makes it easier to be present and in the moment.

Truly, SO many of my colleagues and friends have done the same, but this golf group of women has taken me by surprise; I am grateful.

Look up and Out
The nature of playing golf means there's time to talk. I think it might be easier to open up and talk because both parties are often looking toward the pin and not at each other. Golf leaves its own room for conversation. Somehow that stance makes sharing a little easier. 

I asked a dear friend how he was doing after losing his dad. Some time had passed. He told me he had felt numb for the first few months. Those words stayed with me.

Everyone grieves differently. There is no right way to mourn. But he had given language to something I couldn't yet name. Since my mom died, I haven't had the same edge, the same zip, the same instinct to chase after things. Grief comes in waves. Right now, I'm still in the ocean.

When Jimmy came to my mom's funeral, I told him I finally understood what he had shared with me on the course. "I trust it gets better," I said.

He smiled and replied, "We'll talk."

We're due for another round.

Peripheral Vision
So much about golf is counterintuitive. Less is more. Slow is fast. Trying harder often makes you worse. And while golf demands that you keep your eye on the ball, good golfers rely on their peripheral vision as well. They see more than the shot in front of them. They notice the wind, the contours of the fairway, the hazards, the opening to the green. They hold the whole course in view.

Thinking back over the last seven months, I realized I saw my mom's decline the same way.

Walking down the hallway, I caught a glimpse of her caregiver helping her from the corner of my eye. In that instant, I saw how frail she had become.

Later, leaving the skilled nursing facility, I looked through the rehabilitation room and saw her working with a physical therapist. She was trying so hard to keep up. There were moments when I wondered whether she wanted to get better. That glimpse answered my question. She was fighting with everything she had.

It is brutal to watch someone you love die.

Maybe that's why we never really see it with near sight.We absorb it in glimpses. Out of the corner of our eye. A moment here. A moment there. Slowly, almost mercifully, our hearts begin to accept what our minds cannot bear all at once.

In Conclusion
Golf is a great game because it teaches you about yourself.  It teaches me to look up and out, to accept what is in front of me, to trust companions who walk beside me, and to notice what appears at the edge of my vision. Grief has undoubtedly compromised my sight, but it has not taken away my ability to see. Through faith, friendship, and the quiet lessons of the fairway, my vision continues to be corrected. Maybe that's what healing is—not returning to the way we once saw the world, but learning to see it anew.

But we do not grieve as people without hope, for Christ the Lord has risen to die no more. He has taken us into the mystery and the grace of this life that springs up from death. 
—Constitutions of the Congregation of Holy Cross, Constitution 8.118

My Heart Is Full, My Eyes Overflow—A Eulogy for My Mom

I haven't written much about Sports and Spirituality since my mom died on June 16, 2026.

I've still found joy in watching the World Cup, checking in on Wimbledon, and getting out for a few rounds of golf, but my routines—and my writing—have been on hold. My creative energy has been devoted elsewhere. I wanted to make my mom's funeral as beautiful and meaningful as the life she lived. Yet writing has always been one of the ways I make sense of life, and I realized there is one piece I have already written that belongs here.

Thank you to my dear friend Jackie for thinking to take this photo AND travel all the way from Raleigh

My mom was a sports fan. While she wasn't an athlete in the traditional sense, she loved competition, and faithfully followed the teams and athletes that mattered to our family. She valued sportsmanship. I could tell you the athletes she admired and who she disdained (one of them won Wimbledon on Sunday). I can't say I disagree with her grievances! 

More importantly, she taught me to see beauty—in people, in traditions, in faith, and in everyday moments. When it came time to design the program for her Mass, I couldn't help but choose a quote attributed to Mother Teresa: Together we can do something beautiful for God. That was my mom. Those lessons have shaped the way I understand both sport and spirituality.

The following is the eulogy I delivered at her funeral Mass. It was written to be spoken within a community of faith, but I hope it also serves as a prayer of gratitude—for my mom, for those who walk beside us through life's hardest moments, and for the people whose love colors our world long after they are gone. Whether or not you knew my mom, I hope you find it meaningful that his tribute can serve as a prayer in gratitude for her life and all who shaped, shared and celebrate it. 

Mark wrote the poignant obituary for mom.

Eulogy for My Mom
Good Morning. My name is Anne Stricherz. As many of you know, my Dad is the oldest of five boys. I follow Mark, my older brother. He shares the same name as my Dad's youngest brother—my Uncle Mark who is here today. When my mom was pregnant with me, she thought she was going to have another Stricherz boy. She rejoiced when the doctor told her, "it's a girl!" And I'm proud to say I am the oldest of seven more Stricherz girls (my cousins). The family is bookended by my cousin, Guy. My mom loved telling that story about me...

I'd like to begin with a quote that Father Greg Boyle uses in "Tattoos on the Heart." He writes: When you fill my heart, my eyes overflow.

I stand before you with a heart that is full. So, this is how it is going to be: there’s going to be some overflowing….there will be tears and I will get choked up, but I’ll get it back together. However, I might need a few moments.

My heart is full of gratitude because you are here. Thank you. 

I cannot say it enough. Thank you for being with us today, for the cards, the flowers, the text messages and emails. This road has not been an easy one…. but it was made possible because so many of you walked with me, beside me, ahead of me…sharing your wisdom. In a very special way, I have to extend my gratitude to two of my aunts: Irene and Wendy. Their shared wisdom from living with cancer, taking care of their parents. You model what family is all about.

Thank you to my mom’s wonderful, amazing, loving and outstanding caregivers. And thank you to our dear family friend, Jean for giving your time and presence throughout this journey.

My heart and my eyes overflow because I was given the gift of a wonderful mother. This is who we celebrate today. 

I can’t remember where I heard this, but someone asked, “Why do Catholics love Mary so much?”

The answer I heard is simple: "because she loved Jesus."

This has stayed with me… but in my mom’s final moments, we told her we wanted her to be at peace. I said "go to Jesus, be with Jesus."

I have to think I love Jesus and entrusted her to Jesus because HE had a Mother.

Think about that. A God who became one of us. Who suffered and died, And he too had a mother. What an incredible God. I imagine his eyes overflowed too.

Thinking about Jesus this way, I thought of a few events in His life and His relationship with His mom that resonate with me.

This photo cracks me up. My mom at my brother's wedding.

1. The Wedding at Cana may be the story of his first miracle, but that only happens because she tells him to do it. Mary urges him to respond and his public ministry begins.

This is a great quality in a mother, and it was in my mom too. She knew when to urge and when to encourage.

While there was no turning water into wine,  in 2003, I applied to coach rowing at St. Ignatius College Prep. I got the job but I turned it down. I didn’t think I could do it. I didn't think I could handle my other job and coach at SI.

I had some familiarity with SI because my mom was from The City. She invited me to consider otherwise. She said her own Dad told her “never turn down a job opportunity” 

I took it… I began to love the community, my colleagues and Wildcat athletics. I applied to teach full time that same Spring for the following school year. Had I not coached, I would have applied when it was too late. I would have been an unfamiliar candidate. Twenty three years later, I am still part of that community. 

I have to say thank you to the SI community for the way it gave me the grace and space to take care of my mom throughout her diagnosis.

• to Father Jack the presider…we share an office….your support and ministry is such a gift
• to our acolyte/sacristan John. An amazing Immersion co-leader
• to you my colleagues and friends

Thank you mom! You get the assist. More on that stat later…

June 27, 2010. Didn't wash my hair for a week. Battle scar  makes me look tough.
Thanks mom for being there for me.

2. The 4th Station: Jesus meets His mother, Mary
Mary was at the foot of the cross but this example—of meeting her son on the way there— speaks to me because Mary knew where to be and when. 

In 2010, I had a cardiac event that changed my life. I spent a week in the hospital and my mom came every single day (many of those days with my Godmother who is here today, Valerie. Thank you). My surgery was moved from a Friday to a Monday. I was to be implanted with an ICD. It was expected to be a long surgery so I told my mom: "Don't worry about it. Stay with Dad. Take the day off. Come the next day…"

The surgery was seven hours long. In my recovery, I was brought back to my room and I remember as I was waking up, I saw my mom sitting right there in a chair, solo. She was rocking back and forth and looked at me so lovingly. I never would have guessed I needed her there as much as I did. She knew I would. Truly my heart was so full that moment, it still is.

My mom always said "I love you to the moon and back." 
I think this photo may capture that sentiment.

3. “May it be done unto me according to thy word”
While St Jospeh has no words in Scripture, Mary does. She has said “May it be done unto me according to they word”

Throughout my mom’s diagnosis, this was her approach.

She tried the chemo. She did the PT and was trying to get stronger but it was always with this knowing…that there may be another plan.

Although I don’t fully understand that, I think there is a grace in it.

I come from a family of teachers….and my mom was one of my greatest.

Sometimes we forget that Mary was a Saint. It’s just so obvious.
In 2019 I did a pilgrimage, the Camino de Ignaiciano. The way of Saint Ignatius. The Jesuit that led it kept waxing on about Ignatius…. He was the GOAT. The greatest saint. 

I told him Padre…discuplame. I get it, but he’s not the greatest. The greatest is Our Lady…Mary…Notre Dame! She is the original tabernacle. She was without sin… She is the mother of God.

Hard to argue that one. 

Whether or not its obvious, in her own way, my mom was a saint. And I hope this makes some of your laugh because Mrs. Stricherz could be tough. My sister and I have often said "her bark was bigger than her bite."

But, her sainthood is evidenced to me in her selfless love and devotion to my siblings and me and by extension to those of you here today. I guarantee whether or not my mom met you, she knew about you. She always took an interest in the people we care about….you—my friends…my colleagues… because you care about me.

The Patron Saint of Color
I was thinking if my mom was named a saint, she would have to be the patron saint of color.

Long before social media made color analysis and naming one's "seasons" popular, my mom loved this topic. I can’t tell you how many times over the years she would say “You know, I’ve thought about this, I don’t think you’re a summer.. I think you’re a soft autumn." She would take this topic almost as seriously as developing a plan for world peace. So in that spirit. I’d like to comment on three colors.

I love this photo. My mom is on the right.
I think my Grandma may have made her little outfit for my aunt's first communion day!

Green symbolizes my mom's Irish heritage. They love to say there are 40 different shades of green on the Emerald Isle. There are some things in life you simply can't buy, and culture is one of them. The traditions, stories, values, and understanding of where you come from are among the greatest gifts a person can receive.

From the very beginning, my mom made sure my siblings and I knew exactly where we came from. She always said, "Be proud of your Irish heritage." And she didn't just say it—she lived it.

Some of our greatest family memories were made in Ireland. Long before "River Dance" made Irish dancing famous, my sister and I were taking lessons because it was important to Mom that we experience the traditions of our ancestors. 

I wear this medal in honor of my Grandfather, her father: Michael John Naughton who was All Ireland for the one mile. It is my most prized possession. 

Her mother’s maiden name was Harley and I would tease her that Harley is an English surname. It doesn't sound Irish to me. She didn’t laugh. She and I took a 23andMe DNA test, and the results only proved what she always said. In fact the numbers were almost comical: Mom was 99% Irish and less than 1% Scottish. It was so specific it traced our family to the Inishowen Peninsula in north Donegal.

My friend Eileen will be handing out shamrock pins at the back of the church after Mass. Please take one as a memory of my mom.

I got the pin idea from my friend, Annemarie. Pass this idea on!

Blue: Blue is the color of Our Lady…as much as the Fightin' Irish are known for their green, the official school colors and blue and gold. Why? Because blue symbolizes Mary.

One of my great memories that my high school friends often recall is that when I got into ND my mom came to Carondelet and decorated my car with a big Congratulations sign. I parked in the ASB parking lot (where the Garventa Center is today). You had to walk by it on the way to De La Salle, so this was hard to miss.

That gesture is totally and completely my mom. She loved to decorate. She made life events and holidays meaningful and memorable. 

What makes the story even better is that she almost never got the chance. Back then, college decisions arrived in the mail, and the size of the envelope was often thought to be a clue. My acceptance letter came in a thin envelope, and my parents were convinced it couldn't possibly be good news. They even debated whether I should open it at all. They did and she felt badly about that. Hence the sign and the story.  

My mom accompanied me to Notre Dame the first time I even saw it. Arriving to campus sight unseen, my parents decided  in an effort to save money, she would move me in while my Dad stayed home. A few months later, my Dad and my Uncle Tim visited for a home football game. I think he might have gotten the better deal. 

Whether it was a sign or moving into Farley Hall, She didn't just acknowledge important moments; she turned them into memories. Thank you mom.

My nieces Grace and Lucy loved being with my cousin's daughter, Addison. 
I wish there was a special term for the children of our first cousins. We love her!

White: classic color of medicine. It symbolizes healing, compassion, cleanliness, hope, and the white coat worn by physicians and nurses.

Please look for the photo of my mom on the memory table. In this graduation photo from nursing school, she looks like a 1960s version of Florence Nightingale.

My mom was a public health nurse, school nurse, she taught Lamaze classes for years and worked triage. 

Many of you may have been triaged by her. She took that work very seriously. Whether it was my college roommate or current roommate, anyone who has been triaged by my mom (from the phone) always said she had a young sounding voice. She always said "it’s the only thing young about me." But that’s not true. My mom was so full of life and energy and that is why her cancer was so hard. I never really saw her get old. She went from driving down Stone Valley Road with her California stop to staying in bed and being cared for everyday. 

• My mom, a patron saint of color
• The final song of this mass is “For All the Saints.”
• And we profess in the Creed to believe in the Communion of Saints.

The Communion of Saints means that we are connected to one another in God’s love. I say this line with conviction. They are working for an with us and this was evidenced in this journey.

At Jim's funeral. My mom and Josie

Over a year ago, my mom and I went to Jim Duggan’s funeral. At that mass, we ran into our beloved neighbor Josie who is here today. My parents moved from the Walnut Creek house almost 30 years ago. It’s not easy to stay in touch with folks…but a month after that funeral they went out to lunch with two other friends from the neighborhood. These women visited my mom many times in her illness and she loved it. Jim Duggan was a saint. And he connected these women in God’s love. Jim gets the assist.

In one of our final conversations, when my mom was still able to talk, I sat with her and my heart was full…my eyes overflowed. 

She said "Why are you crying? " I told her how much I love her. I said "I miss our adventures." We went out to lunch and shopping, she was the best travel companion. And then I said, "I'm just so grateful. I have been given the best mom." 

Without missing a beat she said “I’ve loved being your mom.” 

I told her “I’ve always known that.”

My mom and I in Pasadena for a Christmas home tour.
As a soft autumn, she really thought that brown was my color.

What that we can all say “I’ve loved being your mom, your sister, your husband or wife, your teacher and your friend.” What that we could all say that based on our life’s work and our legacy?

My sister had the wisdom to sing to my mom. She would sing "Sunshine of my Life" or "Just the Way You Are." As she was dying she sang "Time After Time." I love this song by Cyndi Lauper. She is also known for the song "True Colors." I can't help but thank God for my mom, who colored our world.

Thank you, Mom, for coloring my world—and making it so beautiful.

30th Year Reunion Prayer: Help, Thanks, Wow

The Class of 1996 continues to grow more legendary.

When our 25th reunion was canceled because of COVID, we rallied and returned a year later to celebrate together. This year, more than 400 classmates gathered on campus for our 30th reunion. As noted in our official class communique, the efforts of Larissa Herczeg and the class leadership group resulted in "an all-time record attendance for a 30 year class and the most memorable reunion we have had." Here, here!

When I tell others about reunion, they want to know: Don't you have Homecoming? Why attend a reunion? Is it mostly networking? Why hold it in the spring rather than during football season? These are fair questions.

Notre Dame does not have an official Homecoming. In many ways, every football weekend feels like one. Reunions are held when school is not in session because many alumni stay in the dorms—which I have said more than once I will never stay in again...and yet, I know I will. While networking undoubtedly happens, that is not why most of us come back.

I know why I come. Upon returning home, I found the answer on the front of a card I received in the mail while I was away. It says:

Ask yourself what makes you come alive and go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.— Howard Thurman

That is exactly why I have returned to my class reunion in recent years. Time with friends and classmates, walking the campus, sharing stories, laughing about old memories, and creating new ones—these things make me come alive. I suspect the same is true for many of my classmates.

Farley girls. All non-smokers

For one weekend, hundreds of people stepped away from their routines and reconnected with a place and a community that helped shape them. The result was more than nostalgia. It was renewal. So, rather than editorialize my experience or give a (Keenan) review, I thought I would share my highlights in the form of one of my favorite prayers. 

A spiritual writer whose work I return to often, Anne Lamott, has said, "I do not know much about God and prayer, but I have come to believe that there's something to be said about keeping prayer simple: Help. Thanks. Wow." She writes that authentic prayer can be distilled into three simple responses to life:

1. Help — When we are overwhelmed, frightened, confused, or in need, we ask for assistance.
2. Thanks — When we recognize gifts, blessings, or simple goodness, we express gratitude.
3. Wow — When we encounter beauty, mystery, love, or wonder, we respond with awe

Thus, allow me to frame my thoughts about the 2026 reunion and offer them as a prayer. Amen.

Help. 
I wasn't sure if I could or should attend reunion, given that my mom is in hospice. Diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer in December, my mom's prognosis took a hard turn on Mother's Day. Rather than celebrate my mom, we ended up in the E.R. only to discover her cancer had spread. She came home later than week with hospice care underway.

As a teacher, I love to make travel and adventure plans for summer. My mom has been one of my co-pilots and compatriots in these experiences for years. This year, I am grateful that June and July give me time to be with her and help out. But going to campus was a risk. With cancer, the hospice timeline is unpredictable And yet, my one hope was to be able to return to my spiritual home, Notre Dame for reunion. I asked Our Lady to protect my mom when I was away. She answered my cry for help and my mom is holding on and hanging in there.

What I did not expect from my three days on campus is the help I received from my classmates in the form of empathy and compassion. So many of my peers have already dealt with the challenge of aging and ill parents. Although I don't wish suffering on anyone, it did help to hear the struggles and the graces the moms and dads of my classmates have endured. Perspective. Community. Wisdom. Their offers to pray for my mom and my family, to listen and let me cry provided much more than help, it brought healing. Thank you... which leads to...

One aspect I love about ND is that you often make friends with your classmates after graduation

Thanks.
I arrived at Notre Dame sight unseen in August 1992 (times were different back then). In an effort to save money, my mom brought me to campus, while my dad planned to visit during a home football weekend with my uncle (he may have gotten the better end of that deal!).

I still remember my mom and I not knowing exactly where to go or what to think. We entered through the Stepan gate—not quite the iconic arrival down Notre Dame Avenue and into the Main Circle. However, when I got to Room 213 of Farley Hall, I was delighted to discover that I had a view of the Dome. (That's a "Wow!") My roommate, who had grown up in South Bend, was not impressed.

My mom helped me get settled and then left me to begin my new life. I was homesick. I knew only one other person on campus. Yet I found my way.

Returning 30 years later, I realize that I succeeded academically, socially, and spiritually because my parents believed that I could. Through every challenge and every uncertainty, I knew I had their support.

At our class Mass, Father Joe Carey, C.S.C., encouraged us to thank our parents for the opportunity they gave us to attend Notre Dame. For those whose parents have died, he invited us to share with our siblings what Notre Dame has meant to us. What a beautiful invitation to gratitude.

This mass was made that much more meaningful because it was held in memory of the 27 men and women from our class who have died. We read each name and honored them with a yellow rose. This bouquet was taken to the Grotto as an offering to Our Lady. 

Traditions and rituals like these are what animate the ethos of Notre Dame. I have never taken that for granted. I love that Father Carey noted that the chapel where we gathered—Saint Patrick's chapel inside of Dillon Hall— opened in 1931. Construction was funded in part by revenue from the famous 1925 Rose Bowl team coached by Knute Rockne. The head coach of Notre Dame football, Knute Rockne died on March 31, 1931, just months before the hall opened. This explains why there is a shrine honoring Saint Olaf—the patron Saint of Norway—in remembrance of The Rock, who was born in Voss, Norway. Indeed, Sports and Spirituality is part of that ethos.

The Shrine to Saint Olaf inside of Saint Patrick's Chapel
Dillon Hall

Wow.
Ask anyone of my classmates their favorite part of the weekend and I have a feeling we might offer the same response—being together. Football weekends are incredibly hectic. There is so much packed into a short amount of time and for me, all the hype around, before during and after the game make those visits exhausting. Reunion however runs in a liminal space...a kairotic time. Wow!

The dinners, parties and after parties are tremendous, but I enjoyed the simple pleasure of reconnecting for a meal in North Dining Hall (NDH). Given the amount of time I spent there as an undergrad, this might not be a surprise. But it was at that table and the eucharistic table that we share our authentic selves.

Inside NDH

When it was time to gather for our class photo, the photographer had to keep adding more chairs and benches. Our class smiled as we shared stories e.g. "What P.E. class did you take?" (The best answer came from Aaron V who said he took gymnastics because he thought it would be all girls. It wasn't). At the conclusion of that picture—a snapshot in time—someone started the cheer "Let's go Irish!" It caught fire. We responded. We cheered. We clapped as one. Again, Wow! Wow!

I absolutely loved Garret Gray's Improv show: "Cheer, Cheer for Main Stage Improv," reconnoitering with members of ACE 3, and taking over Legends once again. I don't know how or when my class became so awesome. We know who we are and appreciate each other. We know that we are part of something special...and for that I can only say "Thanks" and "Wow."

Why go to reunion? Sure, it's the beer tent and closing down the Backer. But, it's fortified by continued learning in sessions like. the University Leaders' Forum—a conversation between Irish Athletic Director Pete Bevacqua '93 and Alumni Director, Dolly Duffy '84, participating in the Notre Dame Women Connect retreat and even meeting up with Father John Jenkins, C.S.C. in his President Emeritus office before walking to the all class mass (I got to know him thanks to my time in ACE). I hope my prayer spoke to a gathering that IS a homecoming. It is networking in its most basic form. And yes, we will have smaller ones during the football season.

I watched the movie Song, Sung Blue on my flight out to South Bend. My favorite moment in the film is when Eddie Vedder invites Lighting and Thunder to open for him. He joins them on stage to sing "Forever in Blue Jeans." I can't help but think that message of that song underscores what I found at my 30th reunion: love, companionship and joy in the simple memories of the past and new ones of this past weekend. So helpful. So grateful. Amazing.

Photo Credits
None! All taken between June 5-7

From the Locker Room to Commencement: What the Words of Tom Brady Reveal To Me

I just completed my 27th year of teaching—move over, LeBron—and my 20th at St. Ignatius College Prep. People often ask me what the biggest change I've seen in students over the years has been. Most assume they already know the answer, and there is some truth in their assumptions. But my answer may differ from that of many educators. And, listening to Tom Brady's commencement address at Georgetown's McDonough School of Business only reinforced my thinking. Watch it. Give it a listen and let me know what you think—or keep reading and let's talk.

For some context, many in my department will suggest that teaching Religious Studies feels increasingly more like teaching a foreign language. While recent news has highlighted a rise in Mass attendance among young Americans, especially those between 18 and 29, my experience in the classroom suggests another reality: each year, many students arrive in theology class with less religious formation, less catechesis, and fewer encounters with the life of faith. But sadly, this has always been the case for me and my experience. 

Ask most educators what has changed, and they will point to social media, the proliferation of smartphones, and the ubiquity of iPads and personal computers as the chief drivers of change among today's students. There is certainly truth in that assessment. Each technology offers its own powerful distractions, and the intended and unintended consequences are evident: shorter attention spans and increased difficulty sustaining focus. Students do not read the way they once did. I've said it myself—there are books I once taught with confidence that would be far more difficult to teach today. Indeed, every era has its challenges, and the newest—and perhaps most consequential—is unfolding as I type this: how to use A.I. in the classroom.

Yet none of these developments capture my sentiment on change. I suppose it is because the shift I have noticed is not technological but cultural. It is revealed in both formal and informal settings. Social scientists would note it is reflected in both high and low culture. To me, one of the bigger changes in my time teaching is the widespread acceptance and use of profanity.

Is the "F" necessary?!

That is why Tom Brady's commencement address caught my attention. I was not surprised that Georgetown invited him to speak. He is, after all, one of the most accomplished athletes of his generation. I was, however, surprised by how casually he employed profanity throughout his remarks. Early on he quips, "I had a coach for 20 years tell me how sh***y I was every day." Sports fans know that Bill Belichick could be demanding, but I was not expecting that language in a commencement address delivered before graduates, parents, faculty, and administrators from the get go. But that example is soft.

Brady's broader message is actually quite traditional: embrace hard things, develop resilience, and never quit. The profanity appears sparingly and serves to make his stories sound less scripted and more like the language athletes often use in competitive settings. In fact he even uses that as an excuse for what caught me most by surprise. 

His recollection of Super Bowl LI was riveting. I loved the way he played with the percentages. I kept thinking what we all thought in 2017: What though the odds...?! Brady lets us in on his inner monologue as he leads his team back from a 28-3 deficit. He tells himself "Don't be a little b****. Go out there and fight your ass off." Had I been in that audience, I would have looked at the reaction of others. Would anyone else question the word choice? It's honest. It's raw. It's authentic, but is it appropriate in this setting? He does offer a disclaimer, "I was an athlete, so you might feel like you're in a locker room a little bit." But graduation is a far cry from a locker room.

I could be wrong, but twenty years ago, the language might have overshadowed the message. Today, I can't help but wonder if it only registers with me because of the household I grew up in. Movies could be rated "R" because of language alone. I wasn't allowed to see them. Today, I hear it on the radio, it is common in our student fine arts productions, such as plays, musicals and our comedy show. That, more than the profanity itself, is what I find noteworthy.

My students will drop swear words into class discussion. Sometimes, they will self correct and other times I do that for them. While I rarely see it in their essays or writing, it is part of their music and social media.But, I hear profanity the most is in the hallways and among casual conversations. SI is next to a public middle school. I hear sixth graders through seniors use it without any regard to those around them. For example, my office sits at a crossroads where students sit and walk by during passing periods. Not a week goes by when and where either my colleague or I have to confront a student about their language. The unapologetic use of the "F" word—as a adjective and a verb is prolific. I've been told that it is the akin to how the word "damn it" was used in the past. Not okay.

Sometimes people will say, "Wow, at a Catholic school—your students speak like this?" While I appreciate the notion that we hold our students to a high standard—and we do—profanity is woven throughout our culture. It is part of our common lexicon, whether I like it or not.

When I hear it at SI, I do make an effort to address it. We have expectations for young people regarding how they conduct themselves, what they wear, and the words they choose. Language has power. It shapes both the speaker and the listener in ways seen and unseen and we are a community that seeks to share common values. Respect is one of them.

Is there a time and a place for strong language? Perhaps. I'm not going to pretend like I don't use it in my own life. I have dropped F-bombs on the golf course and at sporting events. I've used foul language in front of my friend's children. I don't use it in class, but I would be lying if I said it has never slipped out. Indeed, there are certainly moments of intense emotion, frustration, pain, humor, or camaraderie when people will argue that it serves a purpose. My concern is not with the occasional exception. It is with the disappearance of the distinction. When language once reserved for exceptional moments, becomes commonplace, something is lost. Words matter because they are not all the same and that is why we invite exceptional people, icons of excellence to share their own. I would like for the language we use to reflect that. Let's go...

NB: I've read reports on the psychological effects of foul language. It's interesting because the findings do not show that profanity is simply harmful or simply harmless. Rather, it appears to have several psychological effects that depend heavily on context. I still don't want it at Commencement

Photo Credits
Georgetown
LFG
ATL

Still Learning: Tim Shriver at Notre Dame

The principal often reminds us that, as Ignatian educators, we never have to wonder whether our work makes a difference. What a privilege that is. And yet, I sometimes think we do not speak enough about another blessing of this vocation: the cyclical nature of school life itself.

Each year concludes, only to commence again. There is something profoundly hopeful about that rhythm. No school year is ever the same—and not simply because a new group of students walks through our doors each August. Every year brings unexpected challenges, new relationships, unforeseen moments of grace, and opportunities we could not have anticipated when the year began.

This year, among many other things, I had the opportunity to teach sophomores once again. Every sophomore is required to take Christology, a course centered on the life of Jesus through a close reading of the Gospel of Matthew. One of my favorite aspects of teaching the course is no only learning more about Our Lord, but a figure so central to His life that he is mentioned in all four Gospels—John the Baptist.

Through Matthew's Gospels, we learn that  JTB is a fiery prophet calling people to repentance and preparing the way for Jesus. But in the Gospel of John, he is presented as a witness. He points others toward Christ. 

I could hardly believe I caught this image inside of
Holy Name of Jesus Church as I was writing this post.

Religious art only affirms this attribute of John. To me, it seems that nine out of ten paintings show him with his hand raised, extending his index finger. He is not asking us to pause. He is not trying to make his own point. Rather, his point is to redirect our line of sight, calling us to pay attention to who and what matters: Jesus.

This is what saints and religious heroes do. They never point to themselves. They do not say, “Look at me!” or boast about what they have achieved. Instead, they help us discover where Christ can be found.

I was reminded of this disposition when I heard Tim Shriver’s speech at the commencement exercises at University of Notre Dame. Shriver, the chairman of Special Olympics, received the Laetare Medal—the highest honor conferred upon an American Catholic.

From what scripture tells us, I don't get the sense that JTB a storyteller. Tim Shriver however has that great gift. I appreciate the way he remembers the names and recognizes the gifts of others—their talents, their insights, their wisdom, their dignity. They become the very subject of his stories, not for his own glory, but to reveal the sacred worth already present in them. In telling their stories, he points beyond himself, much like John the Baptist pointed beyond himself. For example he recalls a lesson he learned from his time teaching in New Haven, Connecticut. He said, 

One student of mine, Jenny, was 14 years old when I first met her. She heard every day, and she echoed this to me. "I hear every day, I'm a nobody." She couldn't imagine being a person who mattered. So, I decided to pay her a visit at her home and meet with her mom and figure out what I could do. And she later told me, she said, "You know, that day you visited my house, you poured just a little self-worth into me, and that's all it took to change my life." Actually, as you all know, it was God who poured the self-worth into Jenny. I just saw it and I did my best to honor it. And she did the same for me.

In Ireland, he was a witness. In 2003, the Special Olympics World Games took place on the Emerald Isle; these were the first games that featured athletes with the most severe disabilities. Like a prophet, Shriver knows the lay of the land. He tells the crowd the story of one athlete Donal Page.

Donal suffered from an illness just after birth. It left him unable to speak, unable to walk. He was wheeled onto the stage in his wheelchair and positioned near a table like this with a bean bag on it. His challenge, his competition was to lift the bean bag and move it from one side of the table to the other.  

Now, I know you all have been in sporting events where there was bedlam, but I promise you, you have never seen an athlete as great as Donal Paige.

I thought later, you know, the madness in that hall, we were on the home field of the Fighting Irish. And on that field, all of us were fighting for one of us. There was no foe. There was no enemy. We were a mass of humanity rooting for humanity.And humanity won because humanity in that moment was one.

I could easily unpack each nugget, every anecdote and recall at minimum three more lessons from this story and this talk, but instead, I invite you to watch. Listen. Share it. Then listen again. You may want a box of Kleenex nearby. It is one of the more meaningful, memorable, polished, and hopeful talks I have ever heard in a long while. And God knows, we need that right now.

Shriver is no fool. He knows this great university stands under the guidance of Our Lady, Notre Dame. He points to her and her great "yes"—her fiat. He shares how in times of tragedy, which his family knows all too well (Shriver's mother is Eunice Kennedy, one of JFK's sisters), they have turned to Mary and pray the rosary.

He challenges the graduates of the Class of 2026 to be mystics. I couldn't help but wonder if those who work with athletes with intellectual and physical disabilities see that in a way the rest of us ought to...and need to. Shriver points to many things, but he testifies to this truth. We must see see that each and every individual is made in the image and likeness of God. And that when we do, there is no us and them. Humanity is one. We all win. A wonderful lesson for all of us, sports fans or not. 

Thank you to University of Notre Dame for honoring Tim Shriver. And thank you, Tim for your profound message. It has been thirty years since my own graduation, and I am still learning. 

Photo Credits
Tim Shriver
Special Olympics Logo