CLAY MOYLE AND SON CALEB
Sometimes I wonder if my kids haven’t figured it out long before I ever will. My daughter Grace just turned 16 this month and she’s informed us that after giving school basketball another shot this year as a sophomore she is officially done with the game. She doesn’t have any interest in playing basketball, or any other sport any longer. She’s a more artistic sort and loves to draw, write and play both the baritone and piano.
She is also very passive by nature and just a very sweet girl.
For many years I tried to get her to play basketball more aggressively to no avail. She’s has some very good basketball skills and handled the ball as well or better than any girl on the JV’s this season, but rarely drove toward the basket, and whenever she did it was never in any real attacking mode.
And defensively, where I always envisioned her as someone with the tools to become a lockdown defender, she just never exhibited any real fire. Inevitably, she shied away from any form of contact.
At the season-ending banquet her coach described her as being too nice, someone who would stop and reach down to help an opponent to their feet should they accidentally knock them to the ground. His preference, he said, was a ballplayer that would “accidentally” step on the opponents face on the way toward the hoop and then apologize for doing so after the game.
I had hoped the fiery JV coach might be able to light a fire under her when the season began, but that never materialized. By season end, I concluded that I probably got more out of her when I was hollering at her while coaching her during a number of youth recreational league seasons than anyone else ever had.
So, I spent the bulk of the season agonizingly watching her sit on the bench and cursing to myself as I watched other more aggressive girls that I felt possessed lesser skills receive the bulk of the playing time.
I don’t know who was more relieved by season end, her that it was over and she wouldn’t have to play any longer or me with the knowledge that I wouldn’t have to go watch any more of those games.
So, now my poor 10-year-old son will have to bear the brunt of the athletic ambitions I have for my children.
Caleb tried out for the local 4th/5th grade select basketball team recently. I was a little worried about him turning out because their practices include a lot more running for conditioning purposes than the local youth recreational league, and he suffers from asthma. So, while he typically does fine in short bursts running multiple sets of lines, one after another can be a struggle. I was afraid his chances of surviving the cut might be slim.
But, he was dead set on turning out. And while he struggled with the running during the first day of tryouts, always finishing dead last in the sprints, I thought he showed some promise, making some nice no-look passes and generally looked like he belonged out there.
So, when the second day of tryout began I thought he might have a shot at making the team after all. Things started out pretty well, but they did a lot more running early on and at one point I could tell he was really struggling. Of course, at that time the coach hollered at him to get it in gear and that appeared to be the last straw. He was hurting and he stopped and walked over to the wall and I could see that he was starting to tear up.
I grabbed his inhaler and walked across the gym and encouraged him to use it. But he refused, telling me it wouldn’t help. I tried to talk him into giving it a try and told him he was going to need to get back out there or the coach wasn’t going to need to cut him, he was going to cut himself. I found myself becoming angry with him for refusing to use the inhaler.
After another minute or two had passed, and he hadn’t budged, I told him if he wasn’t going to get back out there we might as well leave.
“If you can’t run, you can’t play basketball,” I said. I told him we were leaving and essentially forced him to walk out in the middle of the tryout.
He was crying as we exited the building and cried even harder as we began to drive home. At that point Mr. Compassionate lost it and ripped into the poor kid for not getting back there when I told him to. By the time we reached home he was sobbing as I angrily told his mother he’d quit running in the middle of the tryout. I grabbed my basketball and headed to the local park to shoot some baskets by myself and cool down.
By the time I returned home, my son was upstairs, showered and lying in our bed. My wife asked me to go talk to him. Right after I’d left she said he started hyperventilating and it had taken her a while to calm him down.
He’d told her that I’d screamed at him in the car and he was very upset because he felt he’d really let me down. But he also told her that he’d planned on going back out on the court and was still trying to catch his breath when I’d embarrassed him by forcing him to leave in front of the other boys and a number of parents.
So, I went upstairs to talk to him. I felt about a foot tall as I looked down upon my son and realized what I’d put him through that evening. I recalled a time when I was about his age and I’d come home from a football practice and how crushed I was when my father accused me of not being tough enough. That was nothing compared to the treatment my son had received from me.
My wife had followed me into the room and I told her I wanted to talk with him alone. Apparently, I didn’t do that very well because the first words out of my son’s mouth after she exited the room were to tell me that I needed to apologize to her because I hadn’t said it very nicely.
He then proceeded to explain that he’d lost his breath during the running and had trouble breathing. He’d still been trying to recover, he said, when I was urging him to get back out there and forced him to leave the gym. Only later did I do more research on asthma and learn that when someone suffers an attack it’s normally at a peak about the time when I was talking to him. Sometimes it amazes me what a moron I am at my age.
I told him that I loved him and apologized for embarrassing him. But, I reiterated the fact that if he was going to want to continue playing basketball he was going to have to improve his stamina because there was going to be much more running of that nature required.
At the same time, I invested some more time learning about asthma and what we could do to minimize that problem. Essentially, he needs to use the inhaler 10-15 minutes prior to practice and if he suffers an attack during practice he needs to stop, put his arms up over his head and breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, and wait until he gets his breathing under control before resuming.
I explained the situation to the coach and he agreed to let him return for the third day of tryouts. Ultimately, he was one of the last boys cut. He had the choice of participating with the team as a practice player, but against my advice he decided he didn’t want to play if there wasn’t any opportunity to play in the games.
I tried to convince him he’d receive the greatest benefit from the practices anyway and that it would provide him with a great opportunity to improve upon his game. But, I guess there aren’t too many kids his age that are willing to go that route.
He’s going to be a big kid, projected to end up in the range of 6’2” – 6’5” and I imagine he may also weight at least 220-230 pounds by the time he’s a junior or senior.
He’s still young enough that it’s too soon to know what the next few years will bring. My father suspects he’ll be a late bloomer and I think he has some very good instincts on the court. I’ve seen him attempt a lot of passes that not many boys his age even think of. He seems to really enjoy the game and he’s willing to work on his skills with his grandfather and myself so maybe he’ll end up surprising a lot of folks in a few years.
After the basketball tryout, it was on to the little league baseball season. The good thing about baseball is that it doesn’t require much in the way of running so it’s probably a sport he’s better suited for. He’s had an opportunity to pitch for the first time and with the build that he has and a strong arm that’s something I could envision him having some success with down the road.
But, I am frustrated by the fact it’s difficult for me to get him to practice pitching, fielding, or batting with me on an individual basis. Last week, an opposing player hit a line drive to him in centerfield and he fielded the ball cleanly, but then held the ball for a few seconds while a runner on second raced home. He’d been unsure who he was supposed to throw it to and after it remained in his hand for a couple of seconds I screamed “THROW IT” from the sideline.
When the inning concluded, he looked over at me and said, “Don’t say anything,” as he continued toward the dugout.
I didn’t, but I wondered why he wouldn’t know what to do when the ball was hit to him after three years of baseball. Not that he’s an exception in that regard on his team, but I expected more of him.
On the drive home, I brought up the subject and told him that every time an opponent comes to the plate he needs to be thinking about what he’s going to do if the ball is hit to him. He didn’t say anything in response for about 15-20 seconds. But, then he spoke up from the back seat and said simply, “It’s just a game dad.”
Yeah, well that’s true, and I struggle with that a bit. On one hand, I think that maybe they’re right and I shouldn’t take it so seriously, that I should just leave my kids alone and not put any pressure on them.
But, on the other hand, I’m a very driven individual and have a difficult time with the idea of playing a game and not doing everything in your power to become the best you can at it. I’ve never enjoyed playing for the sake of playing, I want to win and I want to excel at the game, whatever it is.
And I can’t help thinking that kind of attitude carries over in other parts of life and that they’ll be more successful if I can instill that kind of attitude in them as well.
But, it’s a battle and I have to admit it’s one I sometimes wonder if its worth waging. My wife often reminds me they are not me and I know she thinks I’m too hard on them at times.
Maybe, I don’t know, and I suspect I never will. I just want them to work to be the best they can be at whatever it is they’re interested in. For the time being, I guess I’ll just try and find the right balance as my parenting education continues.