Basketball Diary

This is Soren's second year playing on his elementary school basketball team. When he first joined up last year he didn't know much about the game beyond the fact that basketballs are round. I giggled quietly in the bleachers during practice as Soren stood, Ferdinand like, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on everything but the ball. I watched as he learned to dribble and assimilated the rules. Then, I emphatically leapt out of my seat and cheered his first basket during a game, embarrassing him no end. All the while I encouraged him to play smart, fair, and be kind (lessons that extend far beyond the court, of course). I was thrilled, and admittedly a bit smug, however, when "our team" proceeded to win nearly every game and likely would have won the district title had we had enough players. In the end, due to our player shortage, we had to forfeit a key game and ended up with third overall in the league. We celebrated with a pizza party and each kid received a trophy, medal, and tee. I was beaming, of course, and Soren couldn't stop staring at his trophy.

Since that stellar season I have noticed a change in Soren. He's more coordinated. A bit more focused. Soren learns differently than other kids, and so struggles with how things are taught in public school. He's a kid who can hear a cool fact once and remember it forever...but doesn't always interpret what he reads accurately, in the moment, and his retention is not as lasting when he sees something as opposed to hearing it. I am the opposite, so this has been hard for me to understand. Regardless, basketball helped my drifting son find a bit more solid ground beneath his feet. The result: more confidence and less difficulty with his schoolwork.

I have never really worried about Soren's compassion--he's a deeply empathetic, understanding child (though his sisters might beg to differ). Thus it was no surprise to me to watch Soren show his opponents genuine kindness before, during, and after a game. I can't take all the credit for this...he was hardwired to be compassionate from birth. But I do offer encouragement for understanding how others feel when perspective is lacking, and as Soren is maturing he's beginning to remind me here and there of my own philosophy when my chips are down.

We are now nearing the end of Soren's second season in basketball and it's been a bit more rough this go 'round. The kids have only won 2 games (out of 8, I believe) and I have been bummed right alongside them. But for every loss I remind Soren of the goal--to play well, be fair, and have fun. This is elementary school, after all.

So I was angered and frustrated when I overheard a petty verbal tussle between two audience members at the most recent game. There were kids huffing up and down the court, playing their young hearts out, while to my right a mother and grandmother were rooting against our team whenever they didn't feel they could root FOR theirs. "Miss it, miss it!" I heard them say as one of our more sensitive beginning players toed the free throw line and tried to sink the ball. He missed. He couldn't hear them, granted, but I could, and so could that boy's mother.

To my left, a vociferous father whose son towers over all the other players. This boy is playing for the first time, this year, and is determined and getting better at the game every day. I know this boy's father and, of course, the boy--they're on "our" team. But I was embarrassed by the dad's inappropriate and loud remarks encouraging our team to foul the other players. Of course, it was inevitable that the comments from both parties would be redirected at each other in the form of accusations and put downs...condescension from the dad on "our side" and ugly comments about our children being "dirty players" from "their side."

And I just shook my head, wishing the right words were available. But what can one really say in the face of such hurtful ignorance? I didn't know then and I barely know now. I just looked out at that court full of kids--my own amongst them--and hoped like hell the limitation of these parents didn't seep down to them.

The picture at the beginning of this post was taken last season. That's my boy, the smiling redhead, loving every minute of this game. Looking at him, I can stop worrying...just a bit. He knows what this is all about, and he's having a hell of a good time.