I am the coach’s daughter. My father coached baseball for 37 years. He had a team of 13, 14 and 15 year old boys for almost his entire adult life. His first baseball team draft, was the day after I was born. He was 23 years old.
At the start of each season, once I turned around 12 years old, until the time that I was about 16, my father’s “first day of practice speech” always concluded with…"and if you want to do well on this team, then stay away from my daughter." Let’s just say there were a few courageous boys who ventured into that dangerous ‘territory’, but not without serious reservations and a baseball sized lump in their throat.
“Wild Bill” is what they called my Dad. He was, for lack of a better word, extremely ‘passionate’ about the sport. So passionate in fact, that at times he was ejected from the game for an overtly negative reaction aimed at an umpire’s call that he was sure was incredibly unjust. After finally leaving the playing field and entrusting the team in the care of his assistant coaches, he would still try to coach from the parking lot, and he would be thrown out of the game for a second time, if there is such a thing.
My Dad was a great coach. He loved the sport and the kids who played for him. To this day, he may not recognize their now adult and aging faces right away, but he could tell each and every one of them their most memorable moment, their stats, or the play(s) that defined them as if they were playing on a field right before his very eyes. He is a true lover of the sport of baseball and those who are involved with the game.
My father taught me and the rest of my siblings to be versatile when playing baseball/softball, any sport, really. He had the philosophy that we should know the sport we were playing inside and out. We should also be able to raise our hand if any of our coaches was looking for a replacement or substitute, should a team member be sick, out for injury or for any other unforeseen reason.
When I got engaged to my husband, 17 years ago, after my father congratulated me, he then asked “When’s the wedding…not during baseball season, right?” We will never find out if my father would have been there or not, because I planned my wedding in the fall, for obvious reasons. Way ahead of you, Dad.
Now, I have two kids of my own who are involved in team sports: Football, Field Hockey, Basketball. I have witnessed what I will refer to as “adults behaving badly” on numerous occasions. I have seen parents who yell at the coaches, or question their skills, or worse, parents who yell at their kids to the point of embarrassment while they are playing their sport. I have seen parents writing letters to heads of organizations threatening to pull their child from a team because their child did not play enough in that day's game. Ridiculous. There is more than likely a good reason for the lack of time on the field and that is the coach’s decision. This did not happen to my Dad often. He was respected. People had faith in him. I learned from my Dad that, for that time of the year, when any kid is on a team, it is best for parents to hand their kids over to their coaches.
I recently attended an Athletic Department meeting at my son’s High School. One of the things touched on was the value of the “one instructional voice.” Kids benefit best when they have one voice instructing them on a sport. It doesn’t mean that you can’t play catch with your kid in the back yard or give them pointers. It means trust and let the coach make the decisions for what is best for them. As long as my child is not in danger, I will always let the coach decide what is best. I will not question his or her decisions when it comes to the sport. Another lesson learned was that kids generally don’t like when we parents rehash the events of the game, after the game is over. Going over plays, what went wrong, what went right, etc…let your kid lead you down that path. If they want to talk about it, then great. If not, zip it.
Something that really resonated with me was when we were told about one player who commented on how much he liked it when his grandparents came to watch him play. He appreciated it so much because, quite simply, his grandparents would say to him “We love to watch you play”…and that’s it. Nothing else. He mentioned that as far as his parents were concerned, he would rather that they NOT come to his games. Ouch.
One young lady revealed that she chose a college on the other side of the country that offered her a basketball scholarship, so that she would no longer feel the pressure of having her parents attend her basketball games. They had been very vocal on her instruction of the sport in the past and she was happy to be free.
I really don't want my kids to feel that way about me. I have decided to take the advice of these wise teenagers. Yes, I said it...wise teenagers.
As parents, wanting what is best for our children is instinctual. Protecting their safety is present on a very cellular level. As long as a child will not be harmed by another adult, we must give them over to the care of their coaches and teachers. Step in when the instinct tells you, but stay back when it’s your pride or ego talking. Kids will do their absolute best when they are able to feel free to make mistakes, take risks and learn what they love.
