Parenting. Coaching. Coaching. Parenting.
These are tough things by themselves. And then, you put them together and it becomes exponentially tougher.
I've coached sports since, well, it feels like forever. I was a high school 3 sport athlete. I was a college basketball player. And then I started teaching and still wanted to be a part of the athletics that helped to shape my life and that I loved so much.
So, I started coaching. That journey is another post, but suffice it to say that before I became a parent in 2003, I coached (and parented) many student athletes from 1996 to the present. I've coached 3 sports - cross country, basketball, and track and field. My husband has coached 4 sports - soccer, football, basketball, and track and field.
Becoming a parent is a game changer in more ways than one when you are also a coach.
It started when the kids played Tball, then Little League. At batting practice with Gabe one day when he was about 8, I said to him, "Okay honey, I'm going to talk to you like your coach now and not as your mom. Suck it up, get in the batters box, and act like you want to be here. Your dad loves playing baseball with you and this pouting is NOT going to go over well with him." Dad's dreams of a left handed pitcher in the majors supporting his parents were just that, Dad's, and not Gabe's.
Next comes the time last year in the gym when Matt and I were working with Gabe on basketball moves in the post. I decided to work with Ben when my time with Gabe was over. Ben just wanted to play with the dust bunnies and the broom handle he found in the supply closet and adamantly refused to work with me on basketball. This did not go over well and I said one of those ridiculous things parents sometimes can't resist saying, "Fine, well, I guess I'll never work with you on basketball again. Too bad, I was really looking forward to it. Good luck learning on your own." He obviously didn't care because as I walked away, I heard him making light saber sounds as he sashayed his way across the gym with the broom handle.
Now, we have a 7th grader, a 5th grader, and a 4th grader all playing basketball at various levels. Gabe is learning that his mom and dad may actually know a thing or two about the game, now that Matt is not his traveling BB coach. He has worked with me on Sunday afternoons throughout this winter, getting comfortable playing with contact while I play defense on him and hack all over him, just like my dad did with me.
Ben will come with us to the gym, but whether or not he wants to be coached is hit or miss. One time when Gabe and his friend and Ben and I were playing 2-2, he decided to say out loud that he thought he was better than me. Big mistake. Huge. I proceeded to block his shot multiple times and blow by his defense. I'm pretty proud that I can still beat an 11 year old. My 13 year old? Not so much. That same day I lost 10-3 to Gabe.
Lyndee's playing 4th grade this year and myself and two other moms are coaching them. It's been really fun to see their progress. It is still evident to me how many more skills boys come into the gym with as opposed to girls. We started with information such as how many people are on the court at a time and how you know when you're on defense or offense. My bias is all toward teaching fundamentals and worrying about the other things (like plays, how to sub in, and take the ball out) later. Our first game we lost something like 22-4. We won our most recent game 28-5, but all the other games in between were losses. The girls know improvement is the name of our game right now, and on that level, we've been successful. At one of our games last weekend (a loss), Lyndee came out of the game frustrated. I was giving high fives to all the girls coming off the court and when I got to her, she dramatically turned her body away from me, refused my high five, and flounced to the bench, where she sat down glaring at me. In no uncertain terms, I informed her that that would never happen again. Then I asked the other two coaches to communicate with her about what she needed to do differently from then on so that she would be open to listening. I told Matt about all this and he chuckled and said, "Yep, she's your daughter." Truth is hard sometimes.
While it's hard coaching your own kids, this year has proven that it's even harder to sit in the stands. We are cursed with too much knowledge of the game and more than once have had to check and balance each other on what we say during the game, who we say it to, and how we say it. We have had to learn that we are G's parents first, and coaches second. It's been a hard lesson to learn for us. Where other parents say to their kids, easily and naturally, "I love to watch you play," we want to coach him and say, "We love to watch you play, but...." After the first few games and a few arguments between the two of us, I am encouraged that we seem to be learning how to talk with our kids after games.
Poor Gabe is our learning curve. The other two will benefit from the path he has forged and will continue to forge with his parents as coaches. This spring, we'll get to experience that in a new way, since G has decided to give Track and Field a try.
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