Sports Cornered

A cup of hot Tulsi tea has made its way down the gullet in an effort to relax and fight off this developing head cold that I evidently inherited from my son.  Sigh.  Bummer.  My mission is to heal myself -- shake it off before heading out to Colorado on Thanksgiving Day.  Our old home state where I'll spend nine days bouncing between two families, my side and the hubby's side, with two intense court days regarding my younger sister sandwiched in between.  I'm still searching for a partner to help absorb the particular burden of that experience.  But that's another story.  So is the fact that on "Dancing With The Stars" (am I really subjecting myself to this?) Sarah Palin's daughter, who has improved but is NOT an entertaining dancer to watch at all, remains as a finalist for next week's showdown, but Brandy, who is graceful, elegant, and a pleasure to view in motion, was voted off.  Popularity is a fickle fancy which requires something less than talent.

Let's talk sports coaches for a moment.  My opinion of sports has always been a bit unfairly colored by the glut of attention which historically seems to be focused on professional athletes and their games to the exclusion of other worthy pursuits which have the potential to actually build a stronger foundation for our presently wobbly nation.  Teaching comes to mind. 

But in the past two years, I've come to realize what my husband has tried to tell me for awhile: time spent participating in organized athletics during childhood can have a positive effect on the future of the child.  The lessons of teamwork and pushing oneself, not to mention learning to balance studies with extracurricular activities, all while keeping fit and taking instruction from a superior, are useful later in life.  And it isn't necessary to continue an active role in sports to reap those benefits.

It's been the coaches who have swayed my opinion on the matter.  And not just the coaches who are willing to work with the parents to do what is best for the student.  Though I definitely prefer their ilk to the more contrary and sullen instructors who feel the best place for a parent is not the inbox or the telephone, especially if that parent happens to be a woman.  Both types have managed to push my son to challenge himself and decide where sensitivity ends and responsibility begins.  Both types have caused me to question what I held to be true and nudged me to accept other possibilities besides those of my own contrivance.

In one particular instance, 7th grade baseball, I thought that both me and my boy might not make it to the end of the aggravating season.  I'd met Brillo pads less abrasive than the guy in charge!  But we endured sometimes quite major rough patches.  And we adapted without compromising character.  By the beginning of the following season, the two of us felt like old pros, and the words and attitude which once vexed us so, slid right off our backs.  Unfortunately, we didn't see the end, much less the official beginning, of that season, but the blame was all on the attention-seeking head-butting 8th grade STUDENT as opposed to the gifted and hard-working ATHLETE.  The only role the coach played was the appropriate rule-following role.

Now in 9th grade, the high school arena, organized sports exist in an entirely new plane.  I attended the football meeting in May with trepidation, only to experience immediate relief the moment the coaches opened their mouth!  Shocker.  Especially where football was concerned . . . brutish game that it is.  They expected big things of these boys, and not just on the field but in the classroom.  And they also expected more than just fundraising from the parents.  They wanted our INPUT.  The freshman boys went on to win every single game in their season and clinched their championship game: a first ever.  Under the tutelage of the same coach, my son has decided to try his hand, both hands and legs, arms, feet, etc., at wrestling.  He comes home quoting practical advice from the coach.  Plus, he's working harder than I've ever seen him work on his fitness.

I recently had to e-mail over a grade issue, finding myself in a pickle because I'd rashly promised my son he'd not continue in sports if he went below a 'C' on his report card.  Without a hiccup of judgment, this man, who is a teacher first, winner of championships second, worked out a system whereby my son sat and studied during practice and ran afterward for not attending practice.  In this way, Zachary could see what he was missing by slacking off in the classroom.  The coach realizes that most of these boys will need to pursue money for college via grades as opposed to sports talent, especially in wresting.  This move endeared the coach to both me and my husband; it also ticked my son off, but he's found a way to put the entire episode in my shopping cart at the checkout stand, if you know what I mean!  Coach is blameless and yet is giving a major assist in character building for a kid who will surely one day become an outstanding young man; mom shoulders the well-aimed angst, patiently awaiting the faraway day when that selfsame outstanding young man will thank her effusively and earnestly for being so impossible back in high school.

And where will I place my gratitude on that well-deserved day?  Right up there with thanking the Lord for the endurance, grace, and restraint required in the waiting, I'll be thanking not only my son's teachers, adult relatives, and youth leaders, but his coaches, too.  It really does take a village, folks . . . and a shiny metal whistle to boot!