I became a coach the way—no doubt—many, many parents have before me. I checked the box on the soccer registration form that volunteered me to be an assistant coach for my son’s second grade soccer team. Then one evening in August 2002, I came home to a voice mail message asking me to be the Coach of my son’s soccer team. Apparently, not enough parents had volunteered to coach. After a few cajoling sessions on the telephone, I had made the commitment. And so began my first of many seasons coaching. And while the first year was a little tough, I do not have any regrets. I’ve now coached three seasons of boys’ soccer and two seasons of girls’ soccer. I was the assistant coach for my son’s first lacrosse team and am now the coach of my daughter’s first basketball team.
I am particularly looking forward to this coming basketball season. I’ve got seven eager third and fourth grade girls, including my daughter Chloe. At least half of the parents are willing to get involved. But it is more than that. The game of basketball is what really appeals to me as a kids’ recreational sports coach. Between rebounds and the small number of players on the court, basketball ensures every player touches the ball many times throughout the game. And while there is still the opportunity for a strong athlete to develop into a star player, a star player is unlikely to develop into a ball hog. The double dribble rule keeps even the star players passing the ball.
We’ve now had just two practices. It is the first basketball season for all but one player. Most of my players still need to look at the ball in order to dribble it. Everyone favors dribbling with their right hand over their left hand. About half the players cannot throw the ball high enough to reach the standard height net in the gymnasium where the first two practices have been held. Fortunately, they’ll have a 9-foot basket set up for actual games for at least the first part of the season. As I look at them, the team has all the trappings for the plot of a made-for-TV movie.
I’ve found that coaching puts me in an interesting place. Each season, I get to be there for a ten to twenty week window of life for a handful of kids who are not my own. I end up playing a role in their development unique from teachers, parents and other family. I remember my coaches and how they spoke. Somehow they could get away yelling in a way nobody else could. Words that have no business being funny somehow sound hilarious when the coach wants them to sound that way. Words that would sound clichéd in any other context somehow serve as the greatest source of inspiration.
I love watching kids’ sports much more than college or professional sports. There’s just more of a chance for a sudden breakthrough or an unexpected error. And if I know one or more of the players on the field then the game becomes personal to me. With kids’ recreational sports, players who had been on the same team one season end up being rivals playing for different teams in another season. And when I coach consecutive years, the players I once coached remember me and I remember them.
While I treasure each game, my favorite part of every season is the awards ceremony. Some coaches are satisfied to give their players the trophies or medals provided by the league. Not me. The awards ceremony gives me the unique opportunity to create a customized award certificate for each player. Each season I have a Most Valuable Player, Team Captain, Most Improved Player and however many other unique titles are needed to fill out the team. Each certificate contains a few words of unique praise - “for her unsinkable determination …” - to memorialize each player’s season. I dress the certificates in a frame with team colors, a team logo, a gold seal, my signature as head coach and at least one other official signature.
My hope is that the framed certificates will be something from childhood my former players will retain far into adulthood to fondly remember the ten to twenty week window we shared together during which they knew me as Coach.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Middle School Socials
Philip began sixth grade at Hermes Middle School in September of 2006. The following weekend on the sidelines of the soccer fields Saturday and after church Sunday, the parents were trading stories about the onset of Middle School life. Raul, one of Philip’s best friends had only the following to say to his father after his first day of Middle School, and it has stuck in my head ever since.
“Nobody DOES anything at lunch. Everybody just TALKS.”
Without realizing, Raul had observed a tectonic shift in the social dynamics of his peer group. They no longer wanted playmates. They wanted friends. And friends were going to mean everything—literally making or breaking one’s happiness—for the foreseeable future.
Philip went to his first Middle School Social in October 2006. It was held at Jocelyn’s house. I dropped Philip off to a scene of perhaps fifteen sixth through eighth graders mingling in the driveway and in the couch-filled garage. I could hear music playing in the garage, and I could see four adults chaperoning the scene. I watched Philip dissolve into the crowd and went home only to return less than two hours later to pick him up. He came to the car as I was parking and got in right away. “Are you done or do you want to stay longer?” I asked.
“It’s over. Everybody is leaving. I’m ready to go home.”
“So how was it?” I asked.
“It was great. We had a burping contest and they voted me the winner.”
And so it has continued: Burping contests, eating contests, scavenger hunts, etc. Last year their favorite activity was a game called Stupid Ninja. This October we found ourselves again dropping Philip off at Jocelyn’s house. Except this time there was no sign of Jocelyn. Jocelyn was now in High School and her younger sister Claire, a seventh-grader, had assumed the role of hostess. That evening I intentionally arrived early to get a glimpse of what to expect for the day when our home would be the Middle School frat house.
I parked down the street, walked up and stood behind a parked minivan in the driveway. One of the adults approached and asked me who I was picking up. I told her I was Philip’s dad but that I was in no hurry to pick him up. We chatted while the kids ran about tossing bean bags, or hanging out in small circles. An occasional exclamation or burst of laughter would force one of us to repeat something.
Another minivan pulled up and the automatic door opened. A girl who was probably in sixth grade ran past and leapt into the car. “Jamie, where are your shoes?”
With an “Oh - I forgot” to her mother, Jamie bounced back out of the minivan to get her shoes. Soon we heard her enlisting friends to help her find her shoes and that eventually grew into a flurry of activity to find Jamie’s shoes. But there was no success. Eventually her mother called. “Don’t worry about your shoes, Jamie. I’ll get them from Claire’s mother tomorrow.” Jamie returned to her mother’s minivan with a giddiness and elation that reminded me just a bit of Philip two years prior.
We hosted our first Middle School social earlier this month. We kept it a little tamer than Jocelyn and Claire’s parents did. We had just nine Middle School kids: six boys and three girls. I had two of the dads with me to chaperone. We had plenty of snack food and soda. We cooked them hamburgers, cheeseburgers and hot dogs for dinner and gave them chocolate chip cookies for dessert. We had an ice-breaker at the beginning to ensure all the kids met and then we showed them a movie.
But they effectively didn’t see the movie. One boy after another began heckling the movie for whatever reason popped into his head. Each boy was trying to outdo the other with a greater level of boldness and wit. The girls would selectively reward the boys with laughter which ensured the boys would continue their heckling. In the end, all they remembered of the movie were the scenes that were best heckled, along with the exact words and name of the boy who’d delivered the superlatively humorous comment.
Today, if you asked one of the kids about the evening at our home, the kid would probably say the movie stunk and his or her burger or hot dog was overcooked but otherwise the evening was a blast … even if they didn’t play Stupid Ninja.
“Nobody DOES anything at lunch. Everybody just TALKS.”
Without realizing, Raul had observed a tectonic shift in the social dynamics of his peer group. They no longer wanted playmates. They wanted friends. And friends were going to mean everything—literally making or breaking one’s happiness—for the foreseeable future.
Philip went to his first Middle School Social in October 2006. It was held at Jocelyn’s house. I dropped Philip off to a scene of perhaps fifteen sixth through eighth graders mingling in the driveway and in the couch-filled garage. I could hear music playing in the garage, and I could see four adults chaperoning the scene. I watched Philip dissolve into the crowd and went home only to return less than two hours later to pick him up. He came to the car as I was parking and got in right away. “Are you done or do you want to stay longer?” I asked.
“It’s over. Everybody is leaving. I’m ready to go home.”
“So how was it?” I asked.
“It was great. We had a burping contest and they voted me the winner.”
And so it has continued: Burping contests, eating contests, scavenger hunts, etc. Last year their favorite activity was a game called Stupid Ninja. This October we found ourselves again dropping Philip off at Jocelyn’s house. Except this time there was no sign of Jocelyn. Jocelyn was now in High School and her younger sister Claire, a seventh-grader, had assumed the role of hostess. That evening I intentionally arrived early to get a glimpse of what to expect for the day when our home would be the Middle School frat house.
I parked down the street, walked up and stood behind a parked minivan in the driveway. One of the adults approached and asked me who I was picking up. I told her I was Philip’s dad but that I was in no hurry to pick him up. We chatted while the kids ran about tossing bean bags, or hanging out in small circles. An occasional exclamation or burst of laughter would force one of us to repeat something.
Another minivan pulled up and the automatic door opened. A girl who was probably in sixth grade ran past and leapt into the car. “Jamie, where are your shoes?”
With an “Oh - I forgot” to her mother, Jamie bounced back out of the minivan to get her shoes. Soon we heard her enlisting friends to help her find her shoes and that eventually grew into a flurry of activity to find Jamie’s shoes. But there was no success. Eventually her mother called. “Don’t worry about your shoes, Jamie. I’ll get them from Claire’s mother tomorrow.” Jamie returned to her mother’s minivan with a giddiness and elation that reminded me just a bit of Philip two years prior.
We hosted our first Middle School social earlier this month. We kept it a little tamer than Jocelyn and Claire’s parents did. We had just nine Middle School kids: six boys and three girls. I had two of the dads with me to chaperone. We had plenty of snack food and soda. We cooked them hamburgers, cheeseburgers and hot dogs for dinner and gave them chocolate chip cookies for dessert. We had an ice-breaker at the beginning to ensure all the kids met and then we showed them a movie.
But they effectively didn’t see the movie. One boy after another began heckling the movie for whatever reason popped into his head. Each boy was trying to outdo the other with a greater level of boldness and wit. The girls would selectively reward the boys with laughter which ensured the boys would continue their heckling. In the end, all they remembered of the movie were the scenes that were best heckled, along with the exact words and name of the boy who’d delivered the superlatively humorous comment.
Today, if you asked one of the kids about the evening at our home, the kid would probably say the movie stunk and his or her burger or hot dog was overcooked but otherwise the evening was a blast … even if they didn’t play Stupid Ninja.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
His First Date Ever
Two months before his first formal dance, my son Philip was disappointed but not demoralized after his girl-peer Charlotte declined his invitation for her to join him. The awkward exchange between Charlotte and Philip had tested the boundaries of his social confidence and had failed to yield the desired result. But not long after, Philip was happy to extend the same invitation to another girl-peer: Ashley.
As was the case with the previous invitation, the parents spoke first. I had spoken with Charlotte’s dad. This time my wife spoke with Ashley’s mom, Emily. Unlike Charlotte’s dad, Emily had no interest in having Philip call her daughter on the telephone with an unexpected proposal at a time that was bound to be inconvenient. So after collecting all the details from my wife, Emily waited for a convenient and unhurried time to present the idea to Ashley. With all her questions answered and with full knowledge of her parents’ support, Ashley decided to accept.
Pause and think for a moment because this is a big first in one’s life. What was your first “date” like? What do you wish it had been like? What are your hopes and dreams when it comes to your son or daughter’s first “date” experience? What do you wish your parents had done for you? What do you wish your parents had not done?
Proactive parents do their job well when they provide both aid and input, but not so much that their kids are too insolated from the risk of hurt, disappointment and failure that is a normal part of life. Among my parent-peers, those who are proactive typically do a very good job providing just the right amount of aid and input when it comes to sports and academics. But when it comes to their kids’ developing interest in romance the vast majority of parents appear to fall into one of two dominant camps.
The first dominant camp provides little to no aid or input, except to ensure their kids’ safety. Charlotte’s dad fell into this camp. While he appreciated my call, he was not going to take any steps to prepare his daughter for Philip’s invitation.
The second dominant camp puts significant effort into preventing anything resembling romance from happening in their kids’ lives—usually until a certain age. But once their kids hit that particular age, parents in this second camp usually take the same passive approach as the parents in the first camp.
A minority of parents fall into what I’ll call the Hollywood camp. These parents actively encourage their kids (or at least their boys) to pursue their developing interest in romance as if young adolescent romance were either a competitive sport or something purely recreational. One man I know summed up this attitude by saying to me, “There’s never a reason a boy would need to be able to say ‘no’ to a girl.” My response as you might imagine was to tell him that his statement would work well in stand-up comedy, but was otherwise absolutely foolish.
There is one final camp into which parents fall. It is where I, my wife and Ashley’s parents fall. We want to provide an appropriate level of aid and input in all aspects of our kids’ lives, including their developing interest in romance.
In many ways, the preparation for Philip and Ashley’s “date” to be successful was years in the making. The two had met when Philip was in Kindergarten and Ashley was still in preschool. Amelia and Emily had “clicked” and rapidly became best friends. The two women got together frequently, usually with kids in tow and often with spouses in tow. Our two families had even vacationed together. Over several years Philip and Ashley found ways to enjoy playing with one another and—consistent with their upbringing—always respected one another. By the summer of 2008 there was a firm foundation of trust between them.
While Philip had been to a few dances before, this was going to be Ashley’s first dance ever. She was understandably nervous. But it was a nervousness Philip as well as both sets of parents were prepared to address. We had checked out a youth ballroom dancing class in Santa Carla ahead of time. Philip was comfortable with the class and the instructor as were we. When Amelia and Emily spoke about Ashley’s nervousness, Amelia suggested the ballroom dancing class and Emily liked the idea. Again, she waited for a convenient time and presented the idea to Ashley, who immediately liked the idea as well.
And so we took the pair to two ballroom dancing classes ahead of the actual dance. Each time, our families went out to dinner afterward. Being in downtown Santa Carla after the second dance class and dinner, our families explored the various shops and made an important pause at a dress shop Amelia and Emily had discussed earlier that day. As the women expected, Ashley was interested in several of the dresses for the formal dance. Philip proved to be the perfect young gentleman sitting in a large wing chair on one side of the store while Ashley was in the dressing room with her mom trying on several different dresses. Whenever Ashley emerged, Philip would stand up to admire her latest attire. That evening Ashley selected her dress from among the dozen or so she had tried.
Throughout the process we took no shortage of photographs. We have pictures of the dance classes, the shopping experience and we arrived with camera ready at Ashley’s home just before the dance. Philip had selected a black tuxedo with a rust-colored vest and tie. Ashley’s dress was a shade somewhere between sky blue and aquamarine that was an excellent complement to her carrot red hair. The parents wanted a lot of pre-dance photographs. Philip and Ashley were reasonably cooperative for the cameras but were much more interested in playing with Ashley’s new puppy.
After about forty-five minutes at the house, we caravanned to the dance. Philip rode with Ashley and her parents in their minivan while Amelia and I rode over in my sedan. Both sets of parents had signed up to chaperone/observe/participate. The evening began with dinner, a short ballroom dancing performance and promotional words from the college who had sponsored the dance.
Eventually the dancing began. Ashley was still a little nervous. She danced mainly with Philip but also enjoyed several dances with her father while Philip either rested or asked someone else to dance. Amelia and I got several great pictures of the kids on the dance floor. Both sets of parents shared a few dances. At the half-way point, Philip and Ashley each got a slice of carrot cake from the dessert table and settled down in chairs along the wall to recharge. Over the course of the evening, Philip shed his jacket, then later his tie and then finally his vest. Ashley shed her high-healed shoes when Philip shed his jacket. At one point an older teen boy stepped back onto Ashley’s shoeless foot. We got Ashley an ice pack for her foot and Philip stayed with her and chatted until she was ready to dance again.
The pair tired out roughly an hour before the end of the dance. Ashley sat in her father’s lap while Philip went to get them some cookies from the dessert table. A nervous but well dressed boy within Ashley’s age window approached and asked her to dance. She was surprised and taken aback for just a moment. It had been the first time that evening she wasn’t either dancing or hovering close to Philip. Ashley recovered quickly. “Thank you for asking,” she said, “but I’m done dancing for the evening.” And she was. Philip and Ashley each enjoyed two cookies and one last plastic cup of punch, and then told us they were ready to go home. The six of us caravanned back to Ashley’s house. Again Philip rode with Ashley and her parents. Back in front of Ashley's house, the parents gave Philip and Ashley the semi-privacy to say goodnight to one another out of earshot, but not out of eyeshot. Ashley went inside and Philip slid into the back seat of my sedan, quickly kicked off his shoes and wrapped himself in the blanket I had prepared for him. Philip's first date ever, enjoyed with a girl-peer he trusted and respected, was over.
Some day, I will know whether the aid and input we gave to Philip was something he will appreciate over time. For now, I am content to know we gave him the aid and input I wish I had been given when I was Philip's age.
As was the case with the previous invitation, the parents spoke first. I had spoken with Charlotte’s dad. This time my wife spoke with Ashley’s mom, Emily. Unlike Charlotte’s dad, Emily had no interest in having Philip call her daughter on the telephone with an unexpected proposal at a time that was bound to be inconvenient. So after collecting all the details from my wife, Emily waited for a convenient and unhurried time to present the idea to Ashley. With all her questions answered and with full knowledge of her parents’ support, Ashley decided to accept.
Pause and think for a moment because this is a big first in one’s life. What was your first “date” like? What do you wish it had been like? What are your hopes and dreams when it comes to your son or daughter’s first “date” experience? What do you wish your parents had done for you? What do you wish your parents had not done?
Proactive parents do their job well when they provide both aid and input, but not so much that their kids are too insolated from the risk of hurt, disappointment and failure that is a normal part of life. Among my parent-peers, those who are proactive typically do a very good job providing just the right amount of aid and input when it comes to sports and academics. But when it comes to their kids’ developing interest in romance the vast majority of parents appear to fall into one of two dominant camps.
The first dominant camp provides little to no aid or input, except to ensure their kids’ safety. Charlotte’s dad fell into this camp. While he appreciated my call, he was not going to take any steps to prepare his daughter for Philip’s invitation.
The second dominant camp puts significant effort into preventing anything resembling romance from happening in their kids’ lives—usually until a certain age. But once their kids hit that particular age, parents in this second camp usually take the same passive approach as the parents in the first camp.
A minority of parents fall into what I’ll call the Hollywood camp. These parents actively encourage their kids (or at least their boys) to pursue their developing interest in romance as if young adolescent romance were either a competitive sport or something purely recreational. One man I know summed up this attitude by saying to me, “There’s never a reason a boy would need to be able to say ‘no’ to a girl.” My response as you might imagine was to tell him that his statement would work well in stand-up comedy, but was otherwise absolutely foolish.
There is one final camp into which parents fall. It is where I, my wife and Ashley’s parents fall. We want to provide an appropriate level of aid and input in all aspects of our kids’ lives, including their developing interest in romance.
In many ways, the preparation for Philip and Ashley’s “date” to be successful was years in the making. The two had met when Philip was in Kindergarten and Ashley was still in preschool. Amelia and Emily had “clicked” and rapidly became best friends. The two women got together frequently, usually with kids in tow and often with spouses in tow. Our two families had even vacationed together. Over several years Philip and Ashley found ways to enjoy playing with one another and—consistent with their upbringing—always respected one another. By the summer of 2008 there was a firm foundation of trust between them.
While Philip had been to a few dances before, this was going to be Ashley’s first dance ever. She was understandably nervous. But it was a nervousness Philip as well as both sets of parents were prepared to address. We had checked out a youth ballroom dancing class in Santa Carla ahead of time. Philip was comfortable with the class and the instructor as were we. When Amelia and Emily spoke about Ashley’s nervousness, Amelia suggested the ballroom dancing class and Emily liked the idea. Again, she waited for a convenient time and presented the idea to Ashley, who immediately liked the idea as well.
And so we took the pair to two ballroom dancing classes ahead of the actual dance. Each time, our families went out to dinner afterward. Being in downtown Santa Carla after the second dance class and dinner, our families explored the various shops and made an important pause at a dress shop Amelia and Emily had discussed earlier that day. As the women expected, Ashley was interested in several of the dresses for the formal dance. Philip proved to be the perfect young gentleman sitting in a large wing chair on one side of the store while Ashley was in the dressing room with her mom trying on several different dresses. Whenever Ashley emerged, Philip would stand up to admire her latest attire. That evening Ashley selected her dress from among the dozen or so she had tried.
Throughout the process we took no shortage of photographs. We have pictures of the dance classes, the shopping experience and we arrived with camera ready at Ashley’s home just before the dance. Philip had selected a black tuxedo with a rust-colored vest and tie. Ashley’s dress was a shade somewhere between sky blue and aquamarine that was an excellent complement to her carrot red hair. The parents wanted a lot of pre-dance photographs. Philip and Ashley were reasonably cooperative for the cameras but were much more interested in playing with Ashley’s new puppy.
After about forty-five minutes at the house, we caravanned to the dance. Philip rode with Ashley and her parents in their minivan while Amelia and I rode over in my sedan. Both sets of parents had signed up to chaperone/observe/participate. The evening began with dinner, a short ballroom dancing performance and promotional words from the college who had sponsored the dance.
Eventually the dancing began. Ashley was still a little nervous. She danced mainly with Philip but also enjoyed several dances with her father while Philip either rested or asked someone else to dance. Amelia and I got several great pictures of the kids on the dance floor. Both sets of parents shared a few dances. At the half-way point, Philip and Ashley each got a slice of carrot cake from the dessert table and settled down in chairs along the wall to recharge. Over the course of the evening, Philip shed his jacket, then later his tie and then finally his vest. Ashley shed her high-healed shoes when Philip shed his jacket. At one point an older teen boy stepped back onto Ashley’s shoeless foot. We got Ashley an ice pack for her foot and Philip stayed with her and chatted until she was ready to dance again.
The pair tired out roughly an hour before the end of the dance. Ashley sat in her father’s lap while Philip went to get them some cookies from the dessert table. A nervous but well dressed boy within Ashley’s age window approached and asked her to dance. She was surprised and taken aback for just a moment. It had been the first time that evening she wasn’t either dancing or hovering close to Philip. Ashley recovered quickly. “Thank you for asking,” she said, “but I’m done dancing for the evening.” And she was. Philip and Ashley each enjoyed two cookies and one last plastic cup of punch, and then told us they were ready to go home. The six of us caravanned back to Ashley’s house. Again Philip rode with Ashley and her parents. Back in front of Ashley's house, the parents gave Philip and Ashley the semi-privacy to say goodnight to one another out of earshot, but not out of eyeshot. Ashley went inside and Philip slid into the back seat of my sedan, quickly kicked off his shoes and wrapped himself in the blanket I had prepared for him. Philip's first date ever, enjoyed with a girl-peer he trusted and respected, was over.
Some day, I will know whether the aid and input we gave to Philip was something he will appreciate over time. For now, I am content to know we gave him the aid and input I wish I had been given when I was Philip's age.
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