Parent Meeting

On Tuesday evening the head coach of the mighty mites football team called a parent meeting. He didn't say why, but I had a hunch it had something to do with the sideline parents who were yelling so disrespectfully during a game that security needed to be called to calm things down. Just a hunch.

If you're not familiar with the world of American-style youth tackle football (I wasn't), the mighty mites are ages five to seven. So, kindergarten, first and second graders. This is the level of play in which coaches must focus primarily on reminding kids which DIRECTION to run. The team has eight coaches - two played in the NFL, half-a-dozen played D1 college football, and a couple are police officers. They channel their vast football knowledge into a group of fidgety, excitable, attention-deficient - "squirrel!" - hyperactive little boys. But on Saturday several parents were frustrated with our passing game (OMG - how do six year olds even HAVE a passing game?) - so, yes, security was called.

The head coach is amazing. I'm overlooking the fact that he played for University of Kentucky because 1) his offensive line coach played for IU and 2) he is a man of integrity and character who desires nothing more than to instill integrity and character into the lives of each of the little boys that he coaches. And to respect each parent right where they are. Football is his mission field.

Most of the parents respect him right back, and are grateful for the structure, discipline, work ethic, character and fun these coaches are instilling into the lives of these baby ballers. Most of the parents entered the season the way Trent and I entered the season, I think, hoping the coaches would teach our kids some football fundamentals and also run them enough to take a bit of the edge off their energy. The "yes, sirs!" and touchdown thrills are bonus.

But there's fear and longing in the hearts of many of the parents, too. I hear it. I hear it in the group of dads sitting two rows over discussing when to apply for Trinity football season tickets in the event their (six-year-old) someday starts for Trinity. (Trinity has one of the top high school football teams in the nation.) I hear it in the parents screaming at the coaches about "favoritism!" and "play my kid 'cuz that kid sucks!" I hear it in the parents complaining about the plays being called and how the coaches are SO stupid.

I can only surmise that the dad with NO coaching experience and NO football experience beyond high school is so invested in his son's success that it has completely overridden his good sense.

Part of me gets so angry with those loudmouth parents, especially when they are screaming at the coaches in earshot of my son. I feel so judgmental because just SHUT UP ALREADY. But another part of me feels stabbed in the heart with HYPOCRITE ALERT because I've done my share of ranting and raving and complaining about coaches and playing time and all those other first-world sports problems. (I just tend, by nature, to be rather quiet, so security doesn't get called.) It's clear those dads love their kids. That counts for alot in today's world, when so many parents are emotionally or physically absent. Those dads are at EVERY game and EVERY practice. (I know. I hear them.)

I expected the mighty mites parents meeting to be a spectacle. (To be honest, I was halfway hoping it would be a spectacle. Better blog post.) But the head coach handled it with grace and vulnerability and authenticity. He met each question head on. He shared the great lengths the coaches take to avoid "daddy ball". He discussed the relative merits of offense versus defense. He outlined the depth chart and the coaches' strategies to develop each individual player. He discussed who's playing where and why and what a child needed to do if he wanted more playing time at an individual spot. He talked about the running game and the passing game, the offensive line and the defensive line. He congratulated us that each child on the team (almost) now knows which direction to go with the ball.

And he reminded parents to enjoy watching their kids play. Because this time goes so fast.

I remember this past spring, during softball senior night, the dad of our senior third baseman watching his little girl's last home game. She had decided not to play in college, not because she didn't have the ability (she does!), but because priorities change. Her softball career was winding down. "I just love watching her play," he said. "I'm gonna miss it. I just love to watch her play."

And I remembered an article written the year before in which college and professional athletes were asked the most helpful thing their parents said to them about their sport. The answer, "I just love to watch you play."

So this season I'm going to remember that I do. I love to watch Paul run - head up, shoulders back. I love to watch him take the ready stance, tensed for the "hut!" I love to watch him smacking his teammates' backs as they break the huddle. I love to watch him play. I love to watch Sam step into the batter's box, confident she can handle anything thrown her way. I love to watch her run, long legs quickly picking up steam on a stand-up triple. I love to watch the quick reaction time and teammwork on a short to first to third double play (against BALLARD!) I love to watch her play.

This year I'm making a promise to myself that THIS is what they're going to hear from me - not the plays they missed or then shots they whiffed or the complaints against coaches/umpires/opposition - but that I just really love to watch them play.