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.
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.
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