The coach said, “man you’re in the running for dad of the year” I gave a sad smile, which did little to mask my disappointment–not in the kid but in myself. After all, I was the guy who brought tears to my kid’s eyes in the first place.
Maybe I should start at the beginning.
The practice was already going when I arrived. Traffic to the suburb meant an hour on the road to go less than 30 miles. I tend to bide my time with audiobooks and today was no different. I selected something easily digestible by Brett Battles and locked into the much traveled road home. Ten minutes late, I was already frustrated at myself. It didn’t take long for that frustration to extend to the kids. They were playing scared and acting up between plays. Few seemed to have a sense of the plays we were calling and fewer executed them properly. I looked for the silver lining and found my kid and a few other captains also sucking.
I let it be. I try not to be the negative coach to my own kid, because he’s one of the youngest on the squad and not entirely mature for his age. Still, he is expected to be a leader–a big strong boy with the thoughts of a seven year old who has been babied for much of his life. When I watched him he was playing like he no longer cared and offered that kind of effort. I let it be.
Then I didn’t. I yelled, ‘catch the damn ball!’ and he broke. It was a quiet break–something another coach noticed first–as if his personal levee found the first crack. When we got in the car it all came out. He cried and shut down and then cried again. We got to his mom’s house and he said, ‘you cursed at me’ but would offer nothing else. He cried in her arms and then, reluctantly, let me hug him. I apologized and held him for a while.
We will see how it turns out. I’m definitely out of the running for any good poppa awards thus far.