Superpower #4: Snuggling

 You are the most physically affectionate of anyone in our family, and I adore it. This Sunday at church, I found myself between you and your brother Clay who is rocketing into manhood so quickly it is making our heads spin. He is a bit pimply and scruffy, his voice is becoming reliably deep, and we all sidle up to him regularly to see if he has, indeed, surpassed us all in height (not yet!) He used to be more cuddly, but he has reached that awkward age where physical affection, especially from his mom, is anything but welcome. I tried to put my arm around him and to stroke his back as we sat listening to the readings, but he visibly recoiled. I reminded myself of the words I taught myself back when Grace and Sam entered middle school–sometimes the kindest thing to do and the best way to show love is to walk away or, in this case, keep your hands to yourself. Almost simultaneously, you returned to the pew after having excused yourself to use the bathroom and unapologetically sidled right up next to me, hip to hip, and I gratefully threw my arm around you and pulled you close. Then I proceeded to struggle not to cry through the whole Mass.

You are a world class snuggler, Claire-a-belle. You have always joyfully leapt into hugs and onto laps, even as you grew way too big to fit comfortably.  (Not in hugs–you will always fit in those). Both of your sisters are notably reticent about physical touch in general and hugs specifically.  I used to tease Grace when I tried to hug her; I would squeeze and mumble “are you done yet?” as I felt her stiffen and brace herself to endure. You on the other hand, willingly hug. You willingly snuggle. You willingly lean in and onto me and I love it.

Later that day, your boyfriend came over and I watched you snuggle up to him the same way. You threw your legs over his, you leaned your head on his shoulder, you nuzzled into him just like you do to all of us. You are unapologetic in your tendency to be affectionate in this way, and it is a delightful superpower that endears you to so many.

When dad and I read (well, I read, he went to a lecture about it at church with me one date night) the book The Seven Love Languages, we both guessed that yours was physical touch. Of all our babies, you like to be held, and as all of you grow up and away from me, I deeply appreciate your willingness to keep me physically close.

As you head off into the world without us, you may find yourself a bit un-snuggled in your day-to-day life. Luckily, something about playing a team sport means you will find yourself in physical proximity with your friends and teammates regularly. College kids are also likely to pile together on dorm couches and pack into small cars together, possibly as a result of not having a lot of money to buy much extra space. If I know you, there will likely always be people around who will give you a hug when you really need it. And if not, you can always call me. I’m not saying I would get in the car and drive five hours just to give you a hug, but I’m not saying I WOULDN’T do that either.

Snuggling as a superpower might not be the most obvious thing but trust me when I say that it is. If there’s anything our deeply divisive, highly digitized, and disconnected world could use right now, it’s a big, exuberant, unapologetic CC super hug. You just might save the world with this one!

Superpower #3: Courage

 Dear Claire,

Your third leadership superpower is courage. You signed your letter of intent to play basketball at Maryville University this week, and I am overwhelmed at the emotions I have been feeling since you first picked up the pen.

In fact, the official signing day was Wednesday and because neither of us really knew what to expect, we did no advance planning. All over social media, I saw posts of your summer teammates signing their letters of intent surrounded by smiling family members. They were all wearing gear from their school of choice. They sat behind tables draped in their college colors with flags and signs draped behind them bearing logos and mascots. There were balloons. I'm pretty sure some of them had cake. You called me on your way home from practice and asked me how late I was staying up because you were heading to your boyfriend's house and wanted to take care of signing later. I envisioned you tiptoeing into my room well after my bedtime when I was already fast asleep, nudging me awake, and holding your phone as a flashlight as I groggily added my name to the paperwork. So much for ceremony and memories of the momentous event. Instead, you called me a short time later and told me you had figured out how to fill out the form electronically. You walked me through the process, I signed with my finger on my phone when you were at a whole different address, and you zipped your commitment to your future off through cyber space and hung up. I like to think of myself as an adaptable and easygoing individual, but the casual nonchalance with which you undertook this huge step left me a little bit breathless. 

For posterity, here is a screen shot of our text exchange:

You are so brave. You are so unafraid to take this next step. Honestly, I am shocked at the immensity of these feelings. I let Grace go, but I let her go into such a known quantity. She went to the same school I did, to play one of the same sports I did, and she left us in 2020 when the world was crazy and we were mostly home with our people all the time. I think we kind of knew that we would see a lot of her, and we did. 

And I let Sam go, but he was beyond ready to launch his life separate from us. He pushed us away so hard and so aggressively in his final year of high school that it was a bit of a relief to just let him go where he so desperately wanted to be (meaning: away from us). But he, too, was heading to a school we knew well, just a little over an hour away from us. His college was the alma mater of several aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends and he would be joined by many of his high school classmates.  It was an entirely known quantity and not very far away.

And now, you.  You are setting sail for a whole new life into a whole unknown world. You won't know anyone there--no one else from your high school class or large group of friends will attend Maryville University. I don't know anyone who lives in St. Louis. I have only the slimmest connections to anyone who knows anything about your college. I know no alums.  Of course, you don't need me to know any of this or leverage any foreknowledge or connections for you. You are so brave.  

Though you seem so unafraid, the second part of our text exchange told me to real story.  

If courage is the feeling the feel fear and doing the thing anyway, I know in the quiet of your heart, you are a little bit scared.  That doesn't diminish your third superpower even a little bit. If you weren't a little nervous, you wouldn't be paying very close attention. Your life will be big and full of adventure, but only if you have the courage to leap fully into it. And you do. You will.

And I do believe you are going to like your college.  You will love it. You will live such a wonderful amazing brave life.  Everything we've learned and experienced since that first visit has told us you made the right choice (your Starbucks habit not withstanding). 

Today's signing was just a symbol. And you were not afraid. You did not hesitate in the least as you picked up the pen and signed with a flourish. To be honest, you were more worried that I got my name in the right place on the form.

Yes, courage is most certainly one of your superpowers. It makes me reflect on whether I am as brave as you. Whether I had any piece in creating the very very courageous person that you are. I hope that I have. Isn’t that what they say, I’m supposed to give you roots and wings? 

A lot of people congratulated me today. I remember wondering why parents got congratulations when kids achieved great things. Now I know. Because all those early mornings? I was up, too. I was worrying about what you were going to eat, and whether you had what you needed to wear. I was worrying that we got the schedule right, and always always always I was straining, striving, pleading praying, and dreaming that you would succeed.  And you have beyond my wildest dreams. And on top of it all, you are so brave on this cusp of starting your life without me.

And now I have to find the courage to let you go. I hope you get it from me. I’m so proud of you CC. Go live that brave, beautiful next chapter.

 .  

You've only ever played for women coaches--first me, then AAU coach Stacy Frese Huber, then Wahlert head coach Kris Spiegler. No surprise that they both made time to be with you on this momentous day.

 

Your teammates stopped in to cheer you on. From Left to Right: Ruth Tauber, Kayla Wuebker, you, Lucy, Caroline Freed

 

The Claire Lueken Fan Club (Grandpa John, Grandma Ellen, me, you, dad, Clay, Lucy. Grace had to work and Sam was away at UNI.  Also not pictured: a LOT of other fans).

 

Definitely your biggest fan outside of our immediate family, your boyfriend Owen McCleary.

Sisters, teammates, besties.

Superpower #2: Leadership

When you were nearing 5 years old, your dad and I set up a meeting at school with the principal. You weren't in trouble; you rarely get in trouble. Though at this young age, we did sometimes get feedback that you were a bit lively for some of the classroom activities. You have always been a vivid and curious girl, cheerful and outgoing, with a significant challenge sitting still and minding your own business. You are chatty and active and have been pretty much since birth.  This is a photo of you on your first birthday and, like so many photos of you, exemplifies your sweetness and your inherently cheery nature.

When you were 4, we had a decision to make. You would turn five a month after your second year of preschool finished and there was no question that you were academically prepared for kindergarten. Socially, you were friendly and well liked. But there was that whole sitting still thing. We were cautious about sending you into the scary halls of kindergarten because the transition had been tough on your older sister, also a summer birthday. But while Grace was cautious and studious, you were anything but. We wanted another opinion.

The principal had nothing but glowing things to say about you. You are beloved wherever you go, and 4-year preschool was no exception. She also agreed that intellectually there was no concern. You were up to the academic requirements of the next step. But then she said something that I have never forgotten. "Her teachers say that she is a bit of a follower right now, and they think with another year of maturity she could be a real leader for her class." I have to check my memories as I type this because you positively radiate good leadership, now. But then, you were more of a follower and our instincts at the time, confirmed by that wise principal, were right. You needed another year before starting kindergarten.

So, we made the difficult decision to have you wait. It was a little awkward for you at first when all your former classmates would pass you in the hall that next school year and ask why you were no longer with them. "Did she flunk?" one innocent boy asked me. (I refrained from slapping him, recognizing that this was, of course, a logical question. Though I'm sure they no longer use words like "flunk" or "fail".  They probably say something like academic advancement refinement or some other fluffy, kinder phrase. Regardless, it wasn't what had happened). The truth was, we wanted you to have time to grow into your full potential and to develop your leadership superpower (and maybe learn to sit still. Alas, 14 years later we are still working on that one).  And goodness, CC, if you haven't developed into quite the impressive young leader.

The first time I really remember watching you flex your leadership superpower was, not unexpectedly, on the basketball court. You emerged very early as an exceptional athlete (more on that in a future post--athleticism is one of your strongest superpowers). I think the first time you and I both realized how truly special you were on the basketball court was at our first "travel" tournament in Dyersville. After sweeping the competition all day, we found ourselves in the championship game against a more experienced (for fourth graders) and far more aggressive team. Not all of our players were up to their level of competition, but you and a few others consistently kept us in the game with your rebounding, your defense, and your scoring. Against all expectations, we held our own in that final game. We stayed with them, neck and neck, until the game ended in a tie. Towards the end of the first overtime, you were fouled going up for a layup. You stepped to the line and we all held our breath. You were our most likely player to make a free throw at that age, but you were also a 4th grader with a gym full of eyes on you.

You missed both. 

Now we found ourselves in double overtime and, as became the pattern of nearly every game you have played since, most of the pressure was on you. Even on that fraught and terrifying day, you were poised and confident. You shook off the missed free throws with barely a backward glance. Your team watched you for how to respond and you showed nothing but grace and courage. It will live on in my sports memories as one of my best, proudest moments. At the end of double overtime, you poked a pass away from their guards and headed in for an uncontested layup. I swear I heard an audible gasp from the other team's fans as they realized what was happening. An effortless bucket by you and the game was over. Little Eagles win in double sudden death overtime on a basket by Claire Lueken. It wouldn't be the last time you carried your team to dramatic victory.

Perhaps this is a story I should save for that future post on athleticism, or basketball, or even courage or joy, but for me, it's where I first started to see that principal's prediction starting to come to fruition. You almost effortlessly assumed the mantle of leadership for that team and nearly every team you've played for since.

But what has been so impressive to me in the last year is seeing your superpower blossom well beyond the athletic courts and fields where you find yourself the most at home. At parent teacher conferences this month, more than one of your teachers made a point of bringing up how well you lead in the classroom. Your Spanish teacher described some event that they had to prepare something for (a skit? a project? the details were a bit unclear). "We wouldn't have had anything if it weren't for Claire. She came up with idea, told me exactly what she needed to pull it together, assigned tasks to her classmates, and made sure we all stayed on track." This is a little different than encouraging teammates on the court, and it has been nothing short of thrilling to me to watch this superpower continue to emerge in you. We heard story after story like this. One teacher actually came right out and said, "She is such a leader in my class."

Leadership matters a lot in this world. It matters a lot to me as my children, maybe especially my daughters, head out into a world that is desperate for strong, smart, compassionate, ethical, wise voices in every realm. Sports have taught you a lot about leadership, and it is exceptional how much you are demonstrating this skill in the classroom and beyond.

The first time I remember talking to you about leadership was during your freshman basketball season. At the start of the year, we had set the goal for you to earn some playing time at the varsity level. As the season began, it became clear that not only would you earn a spot at that level, you would likely become a starter. After a few games it became apparent that not only would you be a starter, but you would be one of the key players for the team. By Christmas, we recalibrated our goals to hope for a spot on the all-conference team. All eyes were, again, on you. 

As is all too common in high school girls' sports, the team was struggling with some girl drama. I don't remember the specifics, but I know you wrestled with how to help address it. You were just a freshman, not just new to this team but brand new to the school. You had played at a high level during the summer with your travel team, but there you were still fighting to find your role on the team and were rarely called upon to lead. Your high school teammates needed you to step into that role, and you were just 14. 

I vividly recall lying in your bed one evening while you sobbed. "What do they want from me?" you wailed. "Why can't the seniors do it?" I'm sure I got choked up at how much you were suffering, but it was also so clear to me that this would become a defining moment for you.

"Because they don't have the talent or the experience that you do," I told you gently. "You have been given a tremendous amount of natural talent. But with that is going to come a lot of expectations. Your team needs you to show them how to get along and how to compete." 

"What if I don't WANT TO?" you demanded.

"I don't think you have any choice," I told you. "If you want to win, you have to lead."

And you did. You wrestled your uncertainty and self-consciousness into submission and led your team in nearly every statistical category and to one of their most winning records in recent history. You scheduled team meetings and gave pep talks to the whole team. You approached the coaches on the team's behalf. You accepted the pressure of tight, challenging games and led your team on and off the court. By the end of the season when you were selected to the first team all-conference team, you had become recognized as the go to player on the team and the undisputed leader on the court. You became close friends with the upperclassmen, many of whom you remain close with today. But you stepped up. And now I'm watching with awe and pride as you assume that mantle of leadership in every aspect of your life.

Last spring, you were nominated for the National Honor Society at school. After a couple of really dumb (fairly insignificant in the grand scheme of things) decisions on your part, I received a call from the guidance counselor that they were revoking your invitation to join NHS. For the first time in my life, I lost my temper with a school administrator. I yelled on that phone call. I demanded a follow up conversation with the principal. I told her on that call, and then later in the meeting, that leadership is a description we tend to grant to the well behaved and academically talented students (both of which you typically are), but that you had demonstrated authentic, tough leadership through your experiences in real time. I was called a "leader" in high school, but I was never tested like you were. No one ever held me while I sobbed and tried to find the courage and the understanding required to actually lead. I had done well in school, followed the rules, and rarely been challenged. Your leadership had been tested in fire, and I wasn't about to let them take that recognition from you.

At that meeting, the principal told me that she had spoken to most of your teachers in preparation for our discussion and that you were universally beloved (no surprise), but also universally praised as a standout leader in the classroom. You were inducted into NHS a week later.

You have just finished competing in your final year of high school volleyball. After a large tournament, your coach pulled me aside and told me that you had approached her with a request for guidance on how to help lead the team, again struggling through some personality and teamwork challenges. "I just don't know what to do because volleyball isn't even my sport," you told her. 

"Yes, it is," your coach corrected you. "When the game is on the line, I want YOU to have the ball because you never back down and you make things happen." You recounted this conversation to me almost word for word, asking for my input on the same question: how could you be the best possible leader for the team? "I love coaching your kids," your coach told me, remarking on how impressed she was at your willingness to recognize the need for leadership on the team, and then stepping up to try and provide it. You and your teammate called a team meeting later that month to encourage all your players to make the most of your senior season. It ended a few weeks later with a loss in the state championship semi-finals, but I can say with certainty that you provided the best possible leadership for your team in the best way you knew how--through your encouragement, through your confidence, through your athleticism, and through your courage.

As the year has progressed, examples of your leadership superpower just continue to add up.

This past fall, you were recognized as a top 100 youth leader in our community by an organization known as the Dubuque Area Youth Leadership Council. To achieve this honor, you submitted an essay and a resume to the selection committee and won! You are a leader, CC, and I hope you always step up and assume that role. You will belong at the head of the table someday, just like you sit at the head of the class and the top of the starting lineups today.

It's not a superpower slogan (in fact, it comes from the Bible), but it could easily be adopted as one. You've been given a lot of talent and charisma, and as a result you will often need to be willing to step out and lead. "To whom much is given, much will be required" is how Jesus put it. More than anything, I know this is a superpower you will continue to grow and use. From that little restless preschooler to poised and confident young woman, may your leadership superpower continue to blossom and bless us all.