Day One of our Investment - Basketball

Back in the Glory Days, my dad was the dad who may or may not make it to the game. Let's cut him a break:
$400 roundtrip
$150 a night in a hotel because he said he didn't want to sleep in the dorm.
Wagering whether your daughter would even play, PRICELESS.

But the last two years, I played quite a bit. I even started. OOOOH! So, my dad would come to the games, and he was the guy who sat quietly up in a back corner. Oh, sure, he cheered. But that was it. He never once turned red in the face, screamed expletives to the refs, or painted his bare chest with our letters. Well, there was this one time on a dare...no, he didn't do it.

I had an underlying thought that he never really liked me playing volleyball. He was not too happy when I quit basketball. I think I slept in the garage that night. But in hindsight, he liked it, he just had to learn the game. And then learn that I was a benchwarmer. Then it all came to fruition. He was a quiet guy. Not shy, just taking it all in. I should probably learn from that, but I'm too busy talking.

Even when talking to my coach, I knew that she probably didn't enjoy conversations with my dad. Dad just had a look. He did the look when I'd go out on dates to the guy picking me up. There were LOTS. Or not. But the guys still to this day refer to my Dad as scaring them because he'd just look at them, not much to say. I suppose there's power in silence. I'm guessing I'll never really know. I think he was okay with the fact that I rode the pine for three years. He knew I sucked. Coach knew it. It's just that, well, no one sent me the memo. It turns out that being 6'3" on a college level team isn't all you need. You have to have other stuff like, drive, ambition, determination, maybe a bit of athleticism even. Blah blah blah.

I always wished my dad was more involved, more conversational with my coach and the boosters. You know - more of a suck up. Later, I was told by a coach, I'm not mentioning any names here, that she appreciated that my dad let me go to college and learn from my mistakes and take direction from the woman who gave me a scholarship. It turns out, those red faced, expletive shouting, painted chest parents (there were some moms - awkward) were just as loud and vocal off the court, in constant calls to Coach's office. My dad would never do that.

Fast forward to a couple of years out of college, and I was coaching a club team. The crapjob about coaching is the parents. Any coach on any level will tell you this. I actually had a mom call me at work and threaten to send her husband to my office to kick my ass. After I called the volleyball club's board director and quit, and called HR, asked for security (they were all retired military, and I think looking forward to a security breach), I called my Dad.

"Dad, thanks for being quiet." Is all I could say.

None the less, when on Saturday, we went to our kids' debut in basketball, I was prepared to be the quiet good little parent, which clearly is hard for me to do, because I'm vocal and obnoxious. Granted, we're pretty sure the kids will go pro, and that's our investment and retirement plan. We figure since Max is supposed to be 6'10", and he plays left-handed. (So what if I tied his right hand behind his back for 2 years when playing any sport.) Even if he rides the bench on a mediocre NBA team, he'll make a few million. And he's stunningly good looking. He'll be the poster child of wholesome goodness for marketing products. So, he's got that too. And as long as we treat him really nice, and remind him of all the things we did for him, I'm sure he'll share. He told me once, when I had the flu, that he'd take care of me. I made him write it down and sign it. So, it's all legal now.

I was prepared to be a good quiet bleachers parent because they are FIVE. What could possibly go awry at a YMCA co-ed 5 year-old game?

Well, I'll tell ya. We met the coach (because I know better than to coach, I'm willing to pay to have my kid play) and he's nice enough. Good with the kids. We're sitting there, it's the 4th quarter. Everyone's getting equal playing time. The other team has some good little shooters...potential point guards. Lucy, it turns out, who didn't even want to really do this, but I forced her to, because a) it's the only time she'll be able to play on a team with her brother and 2) I had to constantly explain to her that there's just not any 6'4" cheerleaders or gymnasts around. (I'm a dream crusher, I'm well aware.) It turns out that she is a defensive master. All is well.

There's a kid on our team, a little guy. (The little ones are always the feistiest.) And although our coach has explained zone defense to the kids, the kids are just basically going to the kid with the ball. This little kid is guarding the kid pretty good, when he decides to reach over his back and actually has this kid with the ball in like a heimlich maneuver type of hold. I'm waiting for our coach to tell our kid (not my kid) but our team's kid, to get off of him. I'm watching, I'm waiting....then finally he goes to say something...to the other coach,

"Can you get your kid to stop throwing his elbows?"

WTF? Oh, no. Which is exactly what the other coach said in his head, I'm sure. Out loud he said something like, "What? Get your kid off of him."

And then the verbal war began. The YMCA rep comes out, tells them to calm down. DAY ONE folks.

Okay a.) our coach was out of line, and missed an opportunity to tell our kids, that hey, it's not okay to bear hug your opponents. b.) no fighting boys. and c.) you want them to quit throwing elbows? THEY ARE FIVE they don't even know what that means, let alone that they are doing it on purpose? C'Mon!

We went home, the kids happy as can be. And I was devastated that indeed, we're stuck. I'm hoping this is a one time occurence, and that maybe our coach had a brain fart. It happens. Then I get a call from him, he needs my email because he wants to email all the parents about what happened and explain. Super. We get the email, and basically, it's him defending himself, and by the way, he's a high school basketball referree, and he knows the rules. DAMN.

I'm going to maintain my dad's stance here, and keep a quiet lip. When he called to get my email, I told the coach that indeed, our kid was holding the other kid. But I quickly realized that he wasn't hearing any of it. He was right, and that was that. I know people like that, and it's better to just hit your head on a brick wall than to argue with them. So, I gave him the email address and tried, for the sake of my kids to maintain a good fluffy and positive tone with this guy.

I will, like my father, log that little tidbit of information about him being a ref. It'll come in handy when my kids are playing in a game in 10 years, and I can scream at him, "YOU WANTED 5-YEAR OLDS TO STOP THROWING ELBOWS! YOU MO-RON!" It's gonna be great.

That's how I roll.