Yes, it’s that time again. March Madness has gripped the nation. Grown-ups are seen cursing and throwing things…..and no, I’m not talking about the players. I mean the fans with brackets that have been blown to bits by the likes of Mercer, Dayton, and Tennessee.

And while I am a little bitter because my bracket was decimated by the demise of Creighton and Wichita State, I am also a person fascinated by the stories of the players and coaches who are at center stage.

I love stories. I don’t know if it’s my Southern upbringing or my love of books, but stories grab me every time. I know that each person you see on the screen has a story of how he got where he is now, a story subtitled “son of a coach,” “child of a single parent,” “the youngest of five children,” “father of two.”

Between 1999 and 2002 I worked with the NC State men’s basketball team, and thus I got to witness a small part of Dayton Coach Archie Miller’s story. I met Archie during his third year. He was definitely a leader and the most energetic person in the room. One day, he walked into the study center and saw one of the freshmen asleep on the sofa. Archie pounced. “What are you doing sleeping? Every time I see you, you’re sleeping! You’re sleeping in the locker room, you’re sleeping here. You need to get up! You can’t sleep through your freshman year!” The freshman, who was 10 inches taller and outweighed Archie by at least 60 pounds, jumped to his feet instantly. “Sorry, man.” I knew then that Archie would be a coach.

Archie’s story wasn’t without detours. He had season-ending back surgery during the 1998-99 season and ended up taking a medical redshirt. He suffered a stress fracture in his fibula during the 2000-2001 season. I admired his tenacity and his willingness to keep a good attitude in the face of setback after setback. He contributed to the team, even without playing. If you were within earshot of practice, you could hear his distinctive bark.

In the 2001-2002 Wolfpack Basketball media guide, there is a profile of each player. In it, you can read the answers to such profound questions as “If you had to cook all your meals, what would you survive on?” (For Archie, that was Al’s Pizza and the Hot Dog Shoppe.) The last question? “Who on the team is most likely to become a head coach one day?” His answer: Myself.

Good luck in the Sweet Sixteen, Archie. I’m glad I witnessed a little bit of your story.

The other day I was at Starbucks and a small boy about two years old was standing in the middle of the floor crying and saying “no, no.” He was so obviously distressed that his mother came over, scooped him up, and held him close, soothing him.

I envied that little boy.

Have you ever wished you could stand in the middle of wherever you were and cry? Let everyone know how distressed you really were?

I felt like that the past two weeks. Because of the terrible winter weather, several projects and meetings converged with a program I had been working on for months. Delayed deadlines and rescheduled appointments meant I was scrambling to get everything done in a compressed period of time.

It was grueling. By the day of my program, I was so mentally exhausted I could barely think straight. That also meant I had to work very, very hard to not let it show….which was even more exhausting. Inside, I was a two-year-old child crying and saying “No! Enough!”

As an adult, we can’t stand in the middle of wherever we are and cry out. But we do have one way to handle it. We can stop pretending that we are living effortless lives, and we can stop telling the people close to us, “everything is fine. Don’t worry about me.” We can tell the truth to the people who care about us. We can say, “hey, this has been a really, really hard week. It honestly has been brutal. I need your understanding.”

So while we probably won’t stand in the middle of Starbucks and sob loudly, we must find a way to talk to the people who love us and care about us. We must allow ourselves to be two years old again in our honest expression of what our life is really like. There are people who can pick us and soothe us. But we have to say the words.