I was driving my son home from his Beauty and the Beast rehearsal when his friend called him for advice. I could tell by the look in Zavier’s eyes that he felt ill-qualified to give the requested advice, so his friend was now on speaker phone, interrupting my classical music jam on NPR. Yes, I’m now old enough to make the rock sign for a well-played movement. Now back to the young man in need now on speaker phone.
Zavier’s friend needed advice on how to approach his crush. I listened as the boys were plotting an elaborate if “this person tells that person, then they will tell that person who might know so and so” and on and on, until after 50 degrees of separation, the young lady would know she is being crushed on hard. Dear God.
“Boys, boys, boys…stop,” I said. “If you want the girl, you have to go big or go home.”
My son gave me the look he gives me before he says “Okay, Boomer,” but he knew better than to say that today (a story for another day).
I continued, “Life is too short to send a message through 50 other people. Go up to the girl, tell her she looks fine, and ask for her digits, with a please at the end, of course.”
Silence greeted me, followed with a nervous giggle from the other side of the phone. I explained that “going big or going home” was about not being afraid of what might happen if you did what you felt in your heart. I wished I had learned this earlier in life. I was so awkward and geeky that I let myself stay on the sidelines behind the bench, behind the bleachers, and at least 20 safe feet away from the playing field.
“Put your big boy pants on and tell this girl you like her.”
Zavier’s friend asked, “What if she doesn’t like me?”
I answered, “Then nothing is any different than it is right now. Go big or go home.”
The boys repeated the phrase after me like love disciples.
I shared the advice I gave the boys with my husband later that night. He laughed and told me it was the wrong advice, with my son quipping that he thought that it didn’t sound right. Zavier then inquired how I fell for his dad.
“He walked up to me and asked if I wanted to watch Pink Floyd’s The Wall. Right then, I knew it was forever. It was your dad’s go big or go home moment, and I went home with him.”
“Wow, that’s all?” laughed Zavier.
That’s all. It was my guy’s moment. What if I had never watched The Wall six times prior, analyzing every minute, longing for a significant other to stay up all night with having deep conversations about the film? Yet, I did. And, we did.
Go big or go home. You have nothing to lose other than the potential that it truly was your moment, your love, or your time to win.