spynotes ::
  January 14, 2007
Field Goal

Watching AJ play basketball has been educational. For one thing, I had no idea that a bunch of kindergartners could pull together and play like a team, but they do. They play as if their lives depend on it. It�s inspiring.

But some of the lessons I learn from parents.

There is a boy on AJ�s team, Q., who is the tallest kid not only on his team, but in the whole league. He�s a really nice kid. He plays hard and physically, but he always apologizes if he knocks someone over or takes the ball. His parents seem like nice people. His dad coached AJ�s team yesterday when his regular coach couldn�t make it and he did a fantastic job, making sure to give each kid as much praise on specific skills as correction. You could see the way his words buoyed them. He told AJ, �Good hustle!� and AJ tried to run even faster.

The parents are, though, not so good at staying on the sidelines. In particular, the mother does more shouting during the game than she needs to. I�m not saying I sit there closed-mouthed, but I�m usually cheering or saying �good try� or something along those lines. Q.�s mother, though, seems to be more focused on what her child is doing than on him. She tells him what to do, often distracting Q. from the game or from what his coach is saying. You can tell she means well and she wants her son to do his best, but sometimes she gets carried away and then what comes out of her mouth sounds, well, mean. Q. is a good player � one of the best on AJ�s team. He�s particularly good at catching rebounds, in part because he pays attention and in part because he has a big height advantage. He got a rebound and started running down the court and tried to shoot a little too soon. Air ball. �Oh, Q!� his mother yelled. The sound of disappointment, even exasperation, in her voice was clear. Above all the din of the crowded gym, Q. heard it too. But she didn�t stop there. She badgered him to stand under the basket to catch a rebound and rolled her eyes when he missed it. At one point, Q. fell, his foot caught on another shoe as the crowd of kids raced from one basket to the other. He banged his knee. It clearly hurt. He was limping. He looked to his mother for sympathy. Instead he got, �You�re fine. Shake it off! Shake it off!� Meanwhile, one look at Q. from me, a virtual stranger, showed that he was hurt and it wasn�t just his knee. He was barely holding it together. Everything his mother said cut like a knife, because it was her opinion that mattered most. At half-time, Q. stood up to her and told her to stop being mad at him. He was crying by this point, bordering on a tantrum. Her words said she wasn�t mad, but her actions and the tone of her voice belied them. I had to turn away.

By the second half, they seemed to have worked it out. Q. was calmer. His mother was quieter. I�m fairly certain his mother meant well. I don�t think she had any idea what she sounded like. Still, I�ve seen the look on Q�s face at the end of the first half of the game before. I�ve seen it on AJ�s face when I�ve corrected him for something he�s done incorrectly. I wonder how I sound to him. I think I�m telling him something to help him learn how to do things better. But sometimes it�s clear that he�s hearing that what he does isn�t good enough.

How do you walk that line? How do you make it clear? AJ is particularly sensitive, I think. Pretty much any adjustment of his actions, no matter how small, results in a �You hurt my feelings.� I�m not prepared to stop correcting him. Helping him learn from his mistakes is part of my job. But I don�t want him to think I�m not happy with him, because he�s the best there is. More praise than correction is the key. And also the correction needs to take place in an appropriate place and time, i.e. not in front of everybody. I don�t ever want to see that look directed at me. That is not the kind of parent I want to be.

* * * * *

I am curled up in my favorite red chair in the corner of my bedroom. The bed is made. The Sunday crossword is waiting on my nightstand. The curtains � a burgundy silk extravagance � are drawn against the dropping temperatures. I can hear the sleet drumming on the skylight in the adjacent bathroom. On my dresser, a candle is burning. It smells of cloves and rosemary. Mrs. Stein is curled up in a puddle on the carpet underneath the lamp. Downstairs I hear the quiet sounds Mr. Spy makes as he moves from room to room, working on his latest book. Winter has returned at last. All is quiet and cozy. Energy is at a dull hum. I am trying to turn a 250 word proposal into a 500 word proposal and am really not enjoying the task, but the surroundings are making it easier to stick with it. Sometimes a night of work in is not a bad place to be.

5 people said it like they meant it

 
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