Heavyweight - #11 Christina

Episode Date: November 2, 2017

When Christina was in 11th grade, her foster mother made her quit playing basketball. After that, she felt like her life never got back on course. And so, she’s always wanted to ask her foster mother: why’d you make me quit? Credits Heavyweight is hosted and produced by Jonathan Goldstein. This episode was also produced by Kalila Holt. The senior producer is Kaitlin Roberts. Editing by Jorge Just, Alex Blumberg, and Wendy Dorr. Special thanks to Emily Condon, Stevie Lane, and Jackie Cohen. The show was mixed by Kate Bilinski.  Music by Christine Fellows, John K Samson, and Edwin, with additional music by Blue Dot Sessions and Hew Time. Our theme song is by The Weakerthans courtesy of Epitaph Records, and our ad music is by Haley Shaw. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hello? Hey, do you have a copy of TV Guide? No. Oh. Why? I can't find my copy and I was wondering what was on TV. Don't you remember calling people up on the phone? I do remember that, yeah.

Just to see what was on? I remember calling up my Aunt Tilly because I was too lazy to get up off the couch to look for the TV guide, so I just called her up. A poor woman could hardly walk, and she had to search around for a TV guide. All right, I got to go. From Gimlet Media, I'm Jonathan Goldstein, and this is Heavyweight. Today's episode, Christina. This is the best of all possible worlds, my father was fond of saying. The words were spoken contentedly, often while reclining in a barca lounger,

belt buckle undone after a large meal of baked beans and lamb chops. But what did my father know of other worlds? He'd held down the same job and was married to the same woman for decades. Plus, he hardly left the house. But what he did know was that this world had one thing over all of those other worlds. It existed. For my father, that was enough to make it best. I, on the other hand, am not won over so easily. Sure, existence is a nice quality, a fine quality, but going so far as to call a world that contains both soul patches and puddles the best possible anything seems a little extreme. And so imagining other worlds, the same, only better, is just too irresistible, in spite of the pain such thinking inevitably invites. Why don't we start from the beginning?

Okay. This is Christina, and like me, she knows this world can use a few tweaks. Overall, she says, her life hasn't been a bad one. It's just not the one she was meant to live. She's worked as a waitress, a receptionist, as a home care worker. The kinds of jobs you do, but not necessarily the kind you dream about. Lately, she's been helping run her husband's company. It's a disc golfing backpack company.

Sorry, say that again. It's a what? Disc golf backpack company. What is disc golf? It's like ball golf, but instead of balls and clubs, you have frisbees. When you say ball golf, you're talking about golf golf. Like regular golf, yeah. Okay, I've never heard it referred to, distinguished as ball golf, but I like it. Yeah, only disc golfers call it ball golf. So how do you get a frisbee in a golf hole?

No, it's actually not a hole. It's a basket. Oh, my goodness. Before she started pining after better worlds, Christina was focused on just one, the world of small-town Western Canada. I lived with my mom. She was a single mom. My dad left when I was around one. And my mom was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Christina was just a kid, so a lot of it's now fuzzy. But she remembers bits of things. a lot of it's now fuzzy, but she remembers bits of things. Her mom going off her meds and beginning to hear voices. Her mom waking her in the middle of the night and saying they had to leave right away. She remembers running with her mom down dark streets. She started becoming violent and

she would just, you know, hit me with the phone handle or this one time she came after me with a high-heeled shoe. There's no food in the house. She wouldn't do laundry. Like the dirty clothes would pile up in the living room. Like I remember this massive mound of dirty clothes. And I remember this kid made fun of me for having dirty pants. And so I started stealing clothes just so I could have clean clothes to go to school. And so I started stealing clothes just so I could have clean clothes to go to school. When you're a kid trying to survive on your own, the unthinkable can start to seem normal. To escape her house, Christina took a job caring for two boys not much younger than herself. She became a 12-year-old live-in nanny.

So I ended up moving in with this family and looking after the boys. They paid me a little bit. And I quit school to be a nanny. When she stopped showing up at school, social services removed Christina from the nannying house. But instead of bringing her back to her mom, they took her to a foster home. She was sent to live with an older couple and their grandson.

They lived on the fancier side of town, in a house decorated with candle holders and decorative pistols. The foster mother was a woman named Isabel. Her grandson, David, was the golden boy who could do no wrong. From day one, Christina struggled for Isabel's approval. My foster mother and I kind of butted heads a little bit, or a lot. Although Isabel was only an inch taller, Christina was scared of her.

Her foster mother communicated through rules and punishments. She was very strict. If I was five minutes late for curfew, I would be grounded for a month. It felt like I was always grounded and afraid all the time and kind of walking on eggshells and, yeah, just feeling always really intimidated and scared. I was always scared. And when she got scared, Christina would go silent. As a result, she never once

stood up to Isabel. It was while living in Isabel's world that another, better world presented itself to Christina. A world with rules that were easy to understand. A world where someone was always keeping score and keeping things fair. This was the 84 by 50 foot world of a basketball court.

I can't explain how much I was obsessed with basketball. I would practice at like six in the morning at the school. I would practice on weekends. I'd watch the NBA games with Clyde the Glide and Charles Barkley. Then my name was in the paper a few times. I think I have some paper clippings of high scoring. I loved, loved, loved basketball. On the basketball court, Christina was never scared.

It was a place where for the first time in her life, she felt in control and confident. Her foster brother, David, a popular jock, spent hours helping her get better. She joined a team and quickly became a high scorer. Eventually, she was made team captain. They would always put me inside, like I would always have to guard the post.

When Christina talks about basketball, she lights up. And I want to encourage her to keep talking by asking questions. But my only real knowledge of basketball comes from watching the Harlem Globetrotters. I was in my 30s before I learned it was illegal to bring stilts onto the court. So my questions are limited. Were you tall? No, I'm only 5'6". But I guess I kind of had this unrealistic view of myself where I thought I was taller than

I was because off court I was like kind of meek and I just follow the crowd and I wouldn't like create any waves. I didn't really have an opinion. But on the court, I was a force to be reckoned with. It was like the only time where I felt powerful. It was around this time that a plan began to take shape. If she kept practicing and kept winning, she'd get a basketball scholarship. Christina knew that was her only hope of getting into college. Christina knew that was her only hope of getting into college. I wanted to get out of that circle of welfare and illness and living from paycheck to paycheck and just feeling, just being poor.

It sucked. Which brings us to the moment that 30 years later, Christina still can't stop thinking about. She'd just come home from school when Isabel called her into the kitchen, She said, you have to get your grades up. You have to work harder at school. And so in order for me to be able to play basketball the following year, which would have been 11th grade, I had to have an average of a B in every class.

But I was really bad at math and chemistry, and I didn't make it. I wasn't allowed to play basketball. What she remembers most about that time was watching a lot of TV and overeating, and the chores. After forcing Christina to quit the basketball team, Isabel handed her chores that felt like ironic punishments from the Judy Blume version of Dante's Inferno. She had to bake cookies for the family, but because of her weight gain, she wasn't allowed to eat any. And when she dusted the house, Isabel instructed her to pick up David's basketball trophies, dust each one, and dust the shelf underneath.

All the while, Christina felt her loss acutely of basketball and the better world it promised. She took something from me that I've not been able to get back. What is that thing? Yeah, and I don't even know. I don't, I don't, when I say that out loud, it sounds ridiculous. But it feels like that passion for something, it dashed this huge dream that I had for my life.

Christina still wonders why. Why did Isabel take away basketball, the only thing that really mattered to her, that would have given her a better life? But all these years, she's been too afraid to ask. She's going to be 95 in July. The thought of talking to her about it petrifies me a little bit. Like there's still a part of me that is scared of her, which is ridiculous. And what do you want? I think, yeah, I think I want to know like why she made my life so difficult. If it was just to break me down.

If she had some kind of thing against me. And what do you want to hear her say? I guess I want to just hear her say that she just genuinely wanted me to have better grades. But I know that that's just such BS. For whatever reason, I've let go of a lot of things that have happened. But for whatever reason, this one thing, the basketball thing, not letting me play basketball, I'm having such a hard time letting go of that and forgiving her. I want to let it go. So you want to go talk to her?

Yeah. And you want me to come? Yes. I get really mealy-mouthed when I'm in the same room as strong-willed, scary, older women. I'll tell you that right now. I'm not going to be much help. So we're doing it. It sounds like we're doing it.

All right. We're going to're doing it. All right. We're going to go talk to that scary lady. After the break, how much mincing can a mealy mouth mince when a mealy mouth meets a menacing miss? Who writes this stuff? I guess I do. Once I gave Christina my word that I'd help, I approached CEO and Gimlet founder Alex Bloomberg

to ask if he could fly me to the British Columbian interior to confront a 95-year-old woman about something she may or may not have said some 30 years ago, to which Alex asked, Why are you always standing just outside the door whenever I get out of the bathroom? And I said it was a coincidence, although I might have pronounced it coinky-dink, to be playful. And he asked how long this trip would take me out of the office,

and I said a week. And he said to take longer if I needed it. So I was off to Canada. Terre de nos ailleurs, une histoire épopée des plus brillants exploits. How are you? Good, how are you? Nice to meet you.

My husband, Levi. Nice to meet you, I'm Jonathan. Nice to meet you too. I meet Christina and her husband Levi at the Kelowna Airport in British Columbia. They'd just flown in from Portland, and the look of trust on their faces is daunting. When meeting new people, especially people I'm about to help, I'm more comfortable with looks of skepticism or anticipatory disappointment. Trust was disconcerting.

Yes, I have a reservation. It was an hour and a half drive to Isabelle's, so we made our way to the airport rental desk to get a car. What's your last name? Goldstein, G-O-L-D. Can I just ask what that is there? Oh, it's just, we're doing a radio story, so I'm just... Do you mind turning that off and putting that away for me? Yeah. If I couldn't even stand up to the car rental clerk, what hope did I have of helping Christina stand up to Isabel? It's hot in here.

All of a sudden. It's been well over two years since Christina's seen Isabel. She's feeling anxious, so I try to keep the mood positive. I bet the thrift stores are really good around here. I point out foreign license plates, and because we're in a foreign country, there are many. Pretty. Have you guys been watching this show called, um, Little Big Lies?

Or Big Little Lies? Or Little Big Lies? All set? I think so. Isabel lives on the ground floor of a squat apartment block, mostly inhabited by seniors. We wait. When no one answers, we ring the bell. The door opens.

First time. I heard you the first time, Isabel says. Christina smiles. In spite of herself, she can't help but get a kick out of Isabel. Isabel peers up at us from behind her walker. Christina's husband Levi makes introductions. This is Jonathan, Isabel. Hi.

Hi, Jonathan. How are you doing? Good. That oh is me reacting to Isabel's handshake, a surprisingly powerful thing that yanks me through the doorframe. Although a diminutive woman with white puffy hair and wire-rimmed glasses, Isabel's just established herself as the alpha. Come on in.

Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you, too. Thanks for having me. You're welcome. Okay. You seem to be doing great. I'm doing not bad for, you know, my age, I guess. Yeah.

Isabel's apartment is tidy and dim, decorated with candles that haven't been lit in years. We slowly follow her down a narrow hallway to her living room, where she seats herself in a faded blue mechanized armchair. On the drive over, Christina mentioned that Isabel is legally blind, but I misremember this as Isabel being legally deaf, so I compliment her on how well she's following along. Well, I'm not talking very loud,

and you've been able to hear everything, so... I did see if there was anything wrong with my ears. Right. And you did not. To recover from this faux pas, I offer Isabel a chance to feel my face, run her hands through my beard, which is something I think I saw done in The Miracle Worker.

If ever you want to feel my stubble or... I don't go running around feeling beards. I decide that now's as good a time as any to offer around the airport treats I bought during my layover. I brought some refreshments. Since I don't want to put Isabel out by asking for a party tray, I scoot my travel socks and underwear to the side of my backpack and proffer them straight from the bag. Some chocolate-covered nuts and such. Not right now, thank you. No?

I'm good. Okay. I'll leave them in the bag. If I've learned anything from my work in the business of forcing people to ask terrifying questions, it was that it's always best to just get it over with. Ask the question, why did you ruin my life? Get the answer, and head back to the hotel bar

to eat the juiciest, fattiest T-bone steak that Gimlet Media's $14 per diem allows. But staging is everything. I need to be offhand. Subtle. Christina, do you have anything that you, that you want to ask about, or? Um. Christina looks down at her hands and tightens her lips.

Of course I understand her hesitation. Isabel is even more intimidating in person than Christina made her out. And nothing about being here can possibly feel much like coming home. The walls and shelves are loaded with photos of Isabel's children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. But there isn't a single photo anywhere of her only foster child, Christina. To break the silence, I ask Isabel why she originally took Christina into her home in the first place. One of my children left a child for me to raise, my grandson.

This was David. Yeah. So I thought life was just my husband and I. We were both older. It would be kind of very dull for him. So I thought that having someone else around the house would make it a little more homey for him. But I hadn't chosen Christina. Christina was brought to me and she was just there,

this wild-looking thing. She needed a little bit of training to live in a home. Obviously, she hadn't been brought up with anything. I just thought any child living under my roof had to be taught something. Meaning, like, what kind of things? Like, you mean normal, like, rules and... Well, rules, yeah. I don't think that our rules were terribly strict, were they?

I mean, I felt like they were strict. Well, maybe you thought so, but most kids do. But they were the same rules my kids had. Christina hesitates. You can see it's hard for her to talk back to Isabel even now. But then she says, But David didn't have rules. No, he didn't need any. He is the most perfect

person I've ever raised. Christina, another person she happened to have raised, is seated a couple feet away from her. Christina stares ahead blankly, not saying anything. So I press Isabel. Well, he must have done something wrong. I mean, he's only human.

Very little. Oh, you'd be surprised how perfect he was. Was that hard, though, being, like, side by side with someone who was just so... No, I think it was good for her. Christina, is that how you feel? It was hard. Yeah. It was really hard.

Something else that's been hard is finding the courage to ask the question that brought her here. Christina gives it a shot. Um... Christina gives it a shot. But after some throat clearing, again, she goes silent. Go ahead, ask. I think the one thing that I have kind of always wondered is, do you remember, I think it was in 10th grade, and I had been playing basketball, and you told me that I had to get my grades up or I couldn't play basketball anymore. Do you remember that? No.

No. Okay, so I didn't get my grades up. And I had to quit the team. I don't remember that at all. You don't? No. I still... It was devastating for me.

Well, why didn't you get your grade out then? Yeah. I asked Christina if she could explain to Isabel why losing basketball hurt so much. Not without crying. I felt like it was like the one thing that I was really good at. Are you surprised to hear Christina talk about how much she loved basketball? Like, was that something that you knew back then?

I didn't know it, no. Christina, did you ever express it? I don't think she did. I don't think so. No, I don't think she did. I don't think so. No, I don't think you did. I think the reason why, like, it still affects me now is because I didn't fight for it. And how could she have?

She never felt like she had the right to stomp her feet, to slam the bedroom door, in so many words, to act like someone's kid. I thought that maybe if I could get Isabel to put herself in Christina's shoes, it might help her understand. Was there anything that you can think of that's comparable from your own life, Isabel? Like something that you really felt very passionate about? Like the thing that you really, that was your great love? Not really. I always wanted to go to school more than I did. I really wanted a good education,

which in the country you weren't able to get. Her father was a rancher, Isabel says, and her mom died when she was little, so her dad raised the kids by himself, and Isabel, being the eldest, had a lot of responsibility. I used to miss school every year when I got to be a certain age and had to herd cattle. to be a certain age and had to herd cattle. So I'd miss about two months or a month of school every year when I was old enough to do this. But I was first in my class from the day I started till the day I finished.

I was never anything but first in my class. Was that typical? Did a lot of kids in the class have to miss? No, just me. Oh. And my... Well, we were brought up by our dad. Men bring up children differently than women.

Yeah. In what ways? How do you mean? I mean, my dad didn't teach me to ride horseback. He just threw me on a horse and told me to go. You know, a woman wouldn't do that, I don't think. Not likely. My father was quite fond of me, actually.

Yeah. How far did you go in school? Just grade nine. I took grade nine by correspondence. So you never ended up getting the high school degree? No. Yeah, school was an important thing to me because I felt that's how you'd make your living.

Yeah. But I remember when I was through school, my stepmother looking in the paper, and she found a dishwashing job for me. She thought that all I was capable of was washing dishes in some restaurant. I felt very insulted. It always surprised me when kids didn't want to get all the education they possibly could. Isabel motions towards Christina.

There's only so far you can go in basketball. I always felt your education was more important. But as a kid, sometimes, you know, you don't see that. I knew I tried to teach her to be self-sufficient because I knew that she'd only have herself to depend upon. Isabel wanted to give Christina something she never got herself, a good education. But by depriving Christina of basketball, Isabel took away just that. At the time, though, she didn't know it. What Isabel did know was that when Christina showed up at her door 30 years ago,

she was already in her 60s. Isabel was old, and if she were to die, Christina would be left all alone. She'd only become a foster child because no one in her extended family had stepped up to take her in. She had no one else. What did you know about Christina's childhood before she met you?

Not much of anything that I can remember. Like, her mother was mentally ill. I guess she knows that, doesn't she? Mm-hmm, yeah. And I lost my mother when I was five, and my father eventually had a nervous breakdown, so I knew what it was like to live with a mentally challenged person. What was it like?

Terrible. What was it like? Terrible. It was horrible. You didn't know if someone was going to kill you today or tomorrow or what the heck was going to happen. That's not an exaggeration? You really worried for your... No, it's not an exaggeration. I remember taking my little brother and sister outside and

trying to hide them. He was left with five little children. Yeah. And he was terrified that they were going to take the kids away from him. I used to sit by his bed and hold his hand, and one day he said to me, Isabel, why do you keep holding my hand? And in my own way, I was trying to let him know that we all loved him.

And in my own way, I was trying to let him know that we all loved him. Isabel eventually placed her father in a mental hospital. I admitted him. Wow. And you were how old? At that time, I was about 14. Wow, that's a big burden. Yeah, it was. And I thought, here I am, 14, what the hell am I doing here? All the while, as Isabel talks, Christina, seated in an armchair beside her, listens quietly,

her hands gripping the armrests. Without looking at Isabel, she makes her presence known. I have many memories of visiting my mom in the mental hospital when I was young, like 7, 8, 9, kind of age 10. It's weird. It's a really weird experience to go. Knowing that the other people are mentally unstable and could... You can't predict what they're going to do. Yeah, and my mom was, you know, kind of a zombie because of all the medication. And obviously was, like, sad and upset that she had to be there and wasn't with me. Yeah, it was an awful place.

It makes you grow up way too fast. Yeah, that's right. I mean, I was never a kid until I got married and had my own kids. And then I had a lot of fun raising my own children. Yeah, I think that's why I was a nanny. Because I could be around kids and have a childhood with all these other children. Yeah, that's what I did. I grew up with my own children.

That was my childhood. Yeah. You know, I'd play with my children just like I was one of them. Yeah. Yeah, I did the same thing. One day one of the neighbors looked at me, one of the little girls, and she says, how old are you? These were stories that neither Christina nor Isabel had ever told each other.

Watching them connect like this, it feels like a good time to bring the subject back to basketball. How much, over the past 30 years, Christine has fretted over Isabel's decision. Knowing this now, I ask Isabel, would you have done things differently? Oh, I wish I had known more about it at the time, but I mean, I still have no regrets about it.

It's as though Isabel just doesn't understand what the word regret means. So I offer a working definition. If we were to set off in a time machine where we could return to that time and Christina were to say, you know... I know what you're saying, but frankly, I don't know what I'd do. You know, I really don't. It would depend on what kind of a mood I'm in. If you were in the mood that you're in right now...

I really have no idea. I could give you a lot of BS and tell you how good I would have been, but it wouldn't be the truth. I think like a lot of people would just give Christina the BS. Yeah, I don't do that. I usually tell the truth. that, I usually tell the truth. Like most, I can lie upwards of 10,000 times a day. It helps ease the friction of getting through life. People ask how I am and I say fine. Does this jumpsuit make my ass look fat? And I say no. And so on, lying all the day long until bedtime, at which point I'm not sure the lying stops. I can probably lie in my dreams. In other words, I hold lying to be the greatest gift God gave to man.

But even with all of our lies and best intentions, we still can't escape hurting one another. I don't think Isabel is a cruel woman, but I do think she knows that hurting people and being hurt is the price one pays for being human. There is nothing out of the ordinary in our lives, but just, you know, even ordinary lives are quite upsetting sometimes. The decision that was made when she was younger, it wasn't the right one. But how many wrong decisions are made as we go along. Regretting something is a waste of time. You move on. Find something else to be passionate about.

In spite of their similar childhoods, Isabel and Christina see the world so differently. Christina is a dreamer, and for her, the best possible world is the one that's always just out of reach. But for Isabel, it's not about pursuing the best possible world at all. It's about making the best of this world, the one you're stuck in, and, evidently, with the one you're stuck in, and evidently, with the people you're stuck with. I wouldn't look after her if, you know, if I

didn't care about her, it would have been different, I think. You know, but I was interested in what she did and how she progressed. I wanted her to do well at school and do well at everything, and I was very proud of her when she did. She was with us a long time. Couldn't get rid of her. I'm just kidding. Isabel pauses, and then she says appraisingly, She deserves a good life. I do have one. Good.

I do have one. Good. And I think it's better because she had some stability in it, which I feel she got at my house. I'll get on that side. We say our goodbyes and head to the car. Outside Isabel's, the parking lot has grown dark. Thank you. Yeah. As we get into the rental car, Christina lets out a sigh.

Well, so how did you feel about that? It was just really intense, and there's a lot of things that she said that were very hurtful to me. It's like she affected me tonight, but not in the way that she used to. I didn't get the fuzzy, teddy bear, cuddly thing, and that's okay that I didn't get that. But what I got was her,

and it wasn't everything I needed, but I feel like that's how she shows love. And it's not with hugs and it's not with I love you's and it's not with praise necessarily either. It's in a way that I understand now, whereas before I just felt like she just didn't even like me. But now I can see that she loves me in her way and in the best way that she knows how. In the end,

it seems like this is why Christina came here. Not to find out why Isabel made her stop playing basketball, but to find out whether Isabel loved her. And in her tough, straight-shooting, slightly scary way, it's pretty clear she does. Do you know why I want to go to Scott Haught Park? No. It's a surprise.

Uh-oh. It's not a big surprise. The next morning, before heading home, I take Christina and her husband Levi out to a nearby park. I don't know. I'm nervous. What kind of pants? I don't know.

I have a paper bag I've been carrying with me since Brooklyn. It's a good thing you're wearing running shoes. When the anticipation reaches its zenith, I reveal to Christina and Levi what's in the bag. A basketball, which I think they'd sort of guessed since we were now standing by a basketball court and I was dribbling a spherical paper bag. I turn to Levi.

Have you ever seen Christina play basketball before? Maybe not. Yeah, I don't think we've ever played. Christina says she hasn't played in over ten years. She doesn't even watch basketball on TV anymore. I hold out the ball, and Christina looks at it. Then she looks at Levi, and then she takes it from my hands. Check. Check. I'm a little rusty. But when she gets going, it seems to come back to her. Oh, behind the back.

A little behind the back. A little spin move. Oh, behind the back again. Oh, shoot. Oh, there it goes. What do you got? What do you got? Trash talking, calling her own shots, driving hard to the basket. There was a different side to Christina that was coming out on the court.

It happened suddenly and easily. Okay, I think you're winning. You're going to get burned. I think it's 2-0 at this point. Okay, I think you're winning. It was fun. You're gonna get fun. I think it's 2-0 at this point. I don't think I've scored yet, have I? The best basketball players are said to have an almost supernatural ability to see a little ahead, to anticipate what will happen next.

But Christina and Levi aren't that good, and so they play like a couple of kids for whom the future doesn't matter or the past. And in that space between, it seems like a pretty good life. Oh, that was close. For the win! Five and one, yes!

Okay. I love you. I love you. I love you too. Now that the furniture's returning to its goodwill home Now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damage deposit Take this moment to decide. If we meant it, if we tried. Or felt around for far too much. From things that accidentally touched.

Heavyweight is hosted and produced by me, Jonathan Goldstein, along with Kalila Holt. I'm running into you Music by Christine Fellows, John K. Sampson, and Edwin. Additional music credits for this episode can be found on our website, gimletmedia.com slash heavyweight. Our theme song is by The Weaker Thans, courtesy of Epitaph Records. And our ad music is by Haley Shaw. Follow us on Twitter at heavyweight or email us at heavyweight at gimletmedia.com. We'll have a new hot puppy of an episode next week. So, Jonathan, you have a wife, I hear you say. Yes.

Can't keep looking you over, can I? I'm just kidding. I think I probably look best from your perspective. I think it's a good look for me. It's kind of blurry.