The Road To 100

August 28, 2009

No Rhythm in Philly

I just couldn’t find my rhythm.

I recently had the opportunity to visit Philadelphia.  I love Philly, and not just for the cheese-steaks.  Old Philly is a beautiful blend of our nation’s history intermingled with the best modern society has to offer.  You can stroll along the same Market Street of which Benjamin Franklin wrote while stopping at the Hard Rock Cafe for a bite to eat. 

philly skyline 4While in Philly I decided to continue my own personal battle of the bulge with a quick jog over to the Museum of Art.  Why the Museum of Art?  It was the perfect distance from the hotel and, of course, that is where Rocky climbed all those stairs.  The view from the top of the stairs was spectacular, providing a cityscape at night of the amazing skyline which is made even better with buildings illuminated by patriotic lighting of red, white, and blue. 

It was an OK run except that I could never get in a rhythm.

The traffic certainly didn’t help.  Running in a city is never easy, but I quickly discovered that Philly drivers are even less courteous than the ones with which I routinely battle back in Massachusetts.  Clearly the most important part of a car in Philly is the horn, for I have never heard so many in such a short period of time.  Crosswalks are there to suggest drivers should slow down, if they wish.  Cars, trucks, buses, and as I personally learned, Federal Express Vans have the right of way on Philadelphia streets.

The people certainly didn’t help.  Don’t get me wrong, the sidewalk pedestrians were just going about their business.  There are just so many people on the sidewalks at almost any given time.  Add in the sidewalk eateries, and the steady thumping of jogging becomes an exercise in acceleration and deceleration.

The smoke certainly didn’t help.  One of the drawbacks of smoking prohibitions inside public buildings is that the smokers now congregate on sidewalks throughout the city.  If second-hand smoke is anywhere near as unhealthy as has been reported, then a jog through Philly cannot be completed for health reasons.  A regular jogger in Philadelphia would need help from a Nicotine Patch to kick this exercise habit.

It wasn’t the traffic, the people, nor the smoke, however, that kept me out of my rhythm.  Instead it was the heartbreaking view of the city’s homeless scattered along my course that kept throwing me off.  Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t anything they did that chased away my rhythmic pounding, it was just my thoughts of their plight that kept me from hitting my stride.  It would take the most callous of hearts to not be affected by the sight of human beings using lawn space and park benches as mattresses. 

More than once I was approached for money only to send the panhandler politely on his way.  I have never believed in giving to people on the street.  I once saw a report on a television news program that some people look at panhandling as a career, sometimes pulling in more than $60,000 per year.  While that sounds disturbing it is not why I don’t give to people on the street.  Instead, it is the smattering of opened alcohol containers found alongside many of the park dwellers.  I just never felt comfortable knowing that I may be contributing toward their next meal but also perhaps their next drink.  I have had friends who have criticized me for not caring, but that’s not true either.  I like to give to my church and other organizations that can find people a hot meal, a warm bed, and any other help that may be needed.

As is often the case, my mind then drifted to politics.  My jog allowed me the time to really reflect how politics, more specifically policy, can make a difference in people’s lives.  I know it is no secret that I am of a conservative mindset.  Many of my liberal friends call me just another heartless Republican, which isn’t true.  I am officially an unenrolled voter.  I was once told that the difference between Democrats and Republicans can be summed up very simply (translation: oversimplification);  Democrats believe they are successful when more people rely on the government in their daily lives and Republicans believe they are successful when fewer people rely on government help.  I don’t believe either of these ideologies are bad, but they are very different.

I sprinted up the stairs of the Museum of Art just as Rocky had so many years ago.  At the top, after a period of recovery, I met a police officer from Philadelphia.  He was standing at the top of the stairs, looking out over the city he helps protect, with two other men.  Since each had a Harley, a conversation was quickly initiated by yours truly.  Once I discovered the man was a local cop, I asked about the number of homeless people I had encountered.  He explained to me that due to the current economic meltdown, many of the programs put in place to help these people had been eliminated.  The result is, of course, these people get dumped out on the street with no place else to go.  After further conversation, picture taking, and an invitation to ride next time I am in the area, I started my trek back.  I couldn’t, however, get the simplified definitions of our political parties out of my head.

Democrats with their many programs or Republicans with their belief in self-reliance;  which better handles the homeless problem over the long term?  I have ideas but I want to hear yours.  Post your comments below or email me at coachbogey@aol.com.  I won’t ask you to jog with me, but I will ask you to exercise your mind.  After all, sometimes politics is like jogging in Philly…

I just can’t seem to find my rhythm.

August 20, 2009

Overcoming More Than Fear

I have a fear of heights.

Brady Sullivan BuildingI was recently asked by my friend Bill to join him on a rappelling adventure down the side of a 24 story building in Manchester, New Hampshire.  For someone like Bill, a man who has travelled the globe experiencing all that life has to offer, walking down the side of a high rise may be just the thing to do on a hot, lazy summer day.  For me, this just isn’t my idea of fun.  I get nervous standing on a chair to change a light bulb.  Besides, I always envisioned myself passing away quietly in the middle of the night at the ripe old age of 100, not being a 45 year-old blob being scraped off a sidewalk.  So naturally, I looked at Bill and said, “Absolutely!”

When you drive into Manchester, there is no way not to see the steel mountain I was asked to descend.  The Brady Sullivan Building reaches 24 stories into the sky and is clearly the tallest building in this city of 110,000 inhabitants.  The adventure was set up by the Daniel Webster Council of The Boy Scouts of America as a fund raiser and could not have been a more professional event.  Rappellers began by getting fitted for a harness, helmet, and gloves.  Next came a walk to the training area where professionals took us through what to expect during the descent and then allowed us to practice with a three story walk down the side of a parking garage.  From there, it was an elevator trip to the top of the building from which our spider man adventure would take place. 

Brady Sullivan PlazaIt was while waiting on top of the roof when I discovered the real reason why I was here, and it had nothing to do with conquering my fear of heights.

I happened to look down at the roof top and in the direction of a fellow rappeller waiting his turn.  I saw that the man had an artificial leg that was brilliantly painted.  Not wanting him to think I was staring, I asked his permission to look at his colorful prosthetic device.  He introduced himself as Frank, granted me his permission to look, and began to explain the significance of the art.  The leg was painted by an artist who is best known for painting some of those crazy masks donned by NHL goaltenders.  He explained how the eagle represented the country for which he had served and that the purple heart being held in one of its talons was painted from a picture of his actual purple heart.  Under the majestic bird was a copy of the bars signifying service during the Vietnam War just above a date from 1970, the day he lost his leg in action.  To the side was a copy of his son’s first tattoo, a vertical expression of the word PORT.  Port was his son’s nickname that had stuck with him until his death in January as a result of a car accident. 

Frank was preparing to make the same descent as me, but his drop would mean so much more.  His voice spoke with tremendous pride.  His eyes portrayed the same pride detected in his voice, but I could sense fear, excitement, and sadness as well.  I felt an understanding of the sacrifice his body had made on my behalf, but also recognized Frank would have given much more if the need had arisen.  My heart ached as he spoke of his son, yet Frank seemed to genuinely appreciate the opportunity to share his story.  I later learned that as Frank went over the edge of the building he carried with him a swatch of clothing his son had been wearing at the time of his death.

When my friend Bill asked me to join him he had no idea Frank would be on that roof with us, there is no way he could have known.  Yet, I believe that meeting Frank is exactly why I was there.  Frank, through his words and his actions, reminded me that it is not life’s events that dictate the people we become, but rather how we react to those events.  His voice and eyes directed me to recall that everyone encounters adversity and misfortune in life, and these trials are part of who we become, but we decide how they affect our mind-set.  Mixed in with the other elements I detected in Frank’s voice and eyes was the most prevalent quality of all:  His joy of life.

To think, I thought I was there to overcome my fear of heights.

June 25, 2009

Farrah Fawcett’s Passing

A great individual has passed away.

farrah-fawcettFarrah Fawcett, the 1970′s icon, passed away this morning.  Farrah rose to fame in the 1970s during her one year stint as Jill Munroe on the TV show “Charlie’s Angels.”  After “Charlie’s Angels” Farrah stayed in public view with one of the best selling posters of all time, selling over 12 million copies.  Her flowing blond hair, perfect smile, and bathing suit clad body found their way to the walls of many teenagers’ rooms, including yours truly.  She then embarked on a film career that led to many Emmy and Golden Globe nominations.  Farrah also managed to keep herself in full public view by posing in Playboy Magazine in 1995 at the age of 50.  Farrah’s cover installment of Playboy is the magazine’s top selling issue of the 1990s.

None of the previously stated work, in my opinion, makes her a great individual.

Instead, that for which I will best remember Farrah Fawcett is a television special that aired on May 15th of this year called “Farrah’s Story.”  “Farrah’s Story” was filmed using a home video recorder and narrated by the actress herself.  Unlike other films featuring the blond bombshell from Texas, this production is Farrah’s video diary as she undergoes treatments in her battle against anal cancer.  The film follows her back-and-forth to Germany as she endures various agonizing procedures, exposing herself as no pictorial ever could.  Some critics pointed out that the film showed how the wealthy have the advantage to aggressively seek out the most cutting edge treatments available anywhere in the world.  They used her film to expose problems with health care and felt no sympathy for a rich starlet grasping at one last shot of limelight.  One comment after a review of the two hour show in the New York Times said, “A cancer patient’s ‘reality show’ struck me as demeaning and – I’m sorry – ego-ridden.”  I think some may have missed a deeper message, whether that message was intentional or not.

Farrah said she filmed “Farrah’s Story” to bring to light a lesser known cancer and the struggles to fight it.  She does accomplish this somewhat, but then she does so much more. 

First, cancer will touch almost everyone in some way.  Many will actually have their own personal battle with the dreaded ailment.  Others will have a family member, friend, or an acquaintance who will face a cancer diagnosis.  For many in the latter group, we will hear of the fight but never actually get to be with the patient on the front line of the war.  Farrah brought us to the fight.  Her reporting included footage of the atrocities of the disease, not just statistics or pictures of cancer victims.  I remember watching my closest friend as he slowly succumbed to pancreatic cancer.  I sat in the hospital, feeding this once proud, robust man spoonfuls of jello.  I witnessed my friend wasting away as the cancer and the treatments attacked his body and soul.  Even with this experience, “Farrah’s Story” was able to provide me with a deeper understanding of the struggles cancer patients endure each day.

Second, the film tore away the image of the beauty queen and reminded us Farrah was so much more than a photograph on a wall or a character on the screen.  For many, the attributes of the characters portrayed by the stars become the attributes of the stars themselves.  Farrah opened herself up and reminded all of us that Hollywood is not Mount Olympus and that fame and fortune does not make anyone immortal.  Make no mistake, it is certainly understandable that many was the star who hid in seclusion at the onset of illness rather than allow themselves to be seen as anyone less than the characters they once brought to life.  Farrah did not do this, instead our final images of the beauty queen will be of her bald head and vomiting from a reaction to medication.

Finally, and for me as a girls’ basketball coach most importantly, Farrah displayed an inner strength of which few knew.  Throughout the film we are shown a woman who was once on top of the world now taking her lumps like anyone else.  I watched in horror as Farrah faced numerous painful procedures, dealt with sickness as well as the side effects, and rode a roller coaster of positive and negative prognosis.  Through it all, Farrah never lost her dignity nor her zest for life.  She remained determined to chronicle her struggles and reminded us that even a one time pinup girl can muster quite a fight.  More than once I found myself questioning my own ability to find the strength and courage Farrah displayed if God forbid I was ever put in her position.

I will always remember the Farrah Fawcett that appeared on that great poster back in the 70s.  The beautiful crime fighter in “Charlie’s Angels” will always be a part of my memory.  But it is the Farrah Fawcett I watched in “Farrah’s Story” that I will always most admire.

That is why I say, a great individual has passed away.

 

If you wish to see “Farrah’s Story,” click here.

June 10, 2009

Frightening Moment

The odds are obviously slim.

Moments ago I was enjoying a sandwich and a Sam Adams when I happened to catch a glimpse at the TV over the bar.  There was a headline flashed on the screen about a shooting at the Holocaust Museum in Washington.  The report went on the mention that there were conflicting reports about how many people were injured.

My youngest son, Sam, is on a four day field trip to Washington D.C.

I quickly put down my sandwich and called the school.  The secretary at the school told me that they were unaware of the shooting that had just taken place.  She reassured me that the group was not going to be going to the Holocaust Museum and that the students should be fine.  She told me she would get confirmation from the principal.

Shortly after my call to the school, a recorded automated message was sent out via telephone (reverse 911) that the students were not at the location of the shooting and all students are fine.

Just want to give a quick shout out to the school for their quick action in informing parents that the students were not in the area.  When it comes to technology in the schools, the ability to have a reverse 911 message go out to all parents almost instantaneously may be the most important.

Now I am waiting to speak to Sam.

May 7, 2009

The Stereotypical Stereotypers

Filed under: Observation,Reflections — coachbogey @ 11:52 AM
Tags: , , , , ,

What’s the difference between a Harley Davidson and a Hoover vacuum cleaner?

A couple of weeks ago members of the basketball team for which I play were sitting in the bleachers reflecting on the game we had just played.  We had beaten a team that was a rival of ours in a game that had ended with an unfortunate altercation.  With emotions still running strong, we started to pick apart the players from the other team. 

harleyYelled by one of my teammates, “Look at that dude with his stupid moustache, he looks like a typical Harley rider!”

Isn’t it amazing how easy it is for us to generalize about groups of people?  I ride a Harley.  As a matter of fact, I am on my second one having just purchased a 2009 Fat Boy.  I have had the opportunity to get to know many others who ride Harleys.  Some of the Harley riders I have met are among the nicest people I have ever come across.  Some of the Harley riders I have met I wouldn’t give the time of day to for fear of repercussions.  Most of the Harley riders I have met fall somewhere between the two extremes, much like society in general.

This isn’t about Harley riders but is actually about stereotyping in general.  On our team we have a cop, a minister, an ER doctor, and I have been a teacher.  I can assure you, none of us would fit the typical stereotype of those professions.  I know of a former stripper who worked the clubs to pay for medical school.  One of the toughest hockey players with whom I ever played later revealed he was gay.  I know of a man who drove a dodge pickup and wore jeans and boots who couldn’t get a salesman to help him at a Mercedes dealership because of what he drove and how he dressed, despite the fact he could pay cash for any car on the lot.  These people are not your stereotypical med school student, hockey player, or mercedes buyer!  Are they?

Stereotyping is something all of us do, myself included.  But yet when I think about meeting new people with an open mind , not trying to classify people I meet, I almost always come away with a positive experience and new found friends.  I guess it is time to stop the stereotyping, we can all be better than the stereotypical stereotyper.  I hope that sentence made sense to you, after all, I am just another dumb Harley rider. 

By the way, what is the difference between a Harley Davidson and a Hoover vacuum cleaner?

The Harley has room for two dirtbags on board.

May 1, 2009

The Curious Case of Coachbogey

Is it possible I am getting younger as time goes by?

This question may seem ridiculous, but after yesterday, I am not so sure.  Just like the main character in the movie The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, I just may be getting younger as I age.  Yesterday, after a meeting at our corporate headquarters in Brockton, MA, I stopped by a local restaurant for a quick lunch.  I sat down at the bar and ordered a Sam Adams.  The bartender, a young woman I figure to be about 25 years old, begins to take a frosted mug from the freezer, and as she does so, asks me for my I.D.  My I.D.?  I’m 45 years old!  I replied, “Are you serious?”

Miss Bartender said I looked young, and said she needed to see the I.D. if I wanted to be served.  I let her know I don’t carry it and that I would need to go outside to my car to get it.  She begins to put the mug back in the freezer.  She is serious!  I run out to my car, produce my I.D., and all is right with the world again as I enjoy my beer.  I’m thinking, I haven’t been carded since I was actually too young to drink.  Feeling pretty good, I post the following on my Facebook page via Twitter:

coachbogeyBy the way, i got carded today. Bartender said she never would have guessed my age!

So much for feeling pretty good about myself.  I have been blessed with many friends, and here is a sampling of how my friends replied to me on Facebook and by email:

old20man1“Too funny-just another plug for your ego!!  LOL”

“I bet you left her a nice big tip…oldest trick in the book!”

“Like your ego needed that…”

“PB!!  Too darn funny!  I hoped you tipped her well.”

“A place that dark…were you able to see your food?”

“I think it is wonderful that this restaurant is reaching out and hiring blind Americans…”

“…and they say that today’s youth doesn’t care about seniors.”

“Maybe she was just checking to see if you were eligible for a senior discount.”

“This is another example of why bartenders shouldn’t drink while working!”

Then last night while playing basketball, after a friendly exchange of insults, another friend threw this at me, “Just keep playing the game, old man!”

Hey, I am up for some friendly ribbing from friends.  I know they are just kidding me, having some fun.  This young bartender thought I looked young and this made me feel great.  I think I’ll just hang onto this great feeling a little longer. 

By the way friends, you are just kidding, right?

April 27, 2009

Back to School

Ever toss a small stone into a smooth pond and watch what happens?

Saturday morning I had the pleasure of attending an event in Framingham, Massachusetts that reminded me of a quote by America’s greatest president, Abraham Lincoln.  President Lincoln ended his speech at Gettysburg, his most famous speech, with the following words, “and that government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth.”  I have heard from many citizens who believe that Mr. Lincoln’s words are no longer relevant, that government exists not by, of, and for the people but instead a reversal of roles has taken place.

maflagOn a beautiful, warm Saturday morning, 150 ordinary citizens gathered in a crowded room to learn how to become candidates for political office.  Conservative talk show host Michael Graham hosted the nonpartisan “Candidate’s School” for people who may be interested in running for municipal or state office in the future.  The event featured speakers that are political campaign advisors from both the Democratic and Republican parties.  Another speaker gave an interesting talk about how to manage campaign finances properly, in other words, how to keep yourself out of jail.  Finally, one young woman who looked like she was seventeen, taught us the ins-and-outs of social networking, a necessary nugget of knowledge one must have if a candidate hopes to be successful in today’s online world.  There was no political ideology, just important “how to” lessons.

President Lincoln would have been proud.  This is exactly the kind of event, and these are the “ordinary” people, that can help bring government back to working for the people, not vice-versa.  I hear many concerned citizens complain that politicians are out of touch with “ordinary people,” that all they care about is themselves.  Well, Saturday I was honored with the company of a young republican selling truck bed liners for a living and a democrat who is the first child born in this country of his “legal” immigrant parents, both just ordinary people who were excited about the opportunity to learn how they can become more involved in their communities.  Making a difference in one’s community is exactly what the founding fathers of our great nation had in mind when they established our form of government.  A government that is of the people and by the people must be governing a people who believe in getting and remaining involved, not just citizens blindly following career politicians.

usa-flagSaturday’s event , which drew 50% more people than anticipated, will go ignored by the press and largely unnoticed by people not present and therefore it will not make a big splash.  This little gathering, however, may some day have a ripple effect that could help bring about real change.  I remind you, the Sons of Liberty was a group of citizens that numbered in the thousands throughout the American colonies who helped jump start what eventually became the American Revolution, and they grew from a gathering of just nine ordinary individuals from Boston. 

It is time to return our government to the one spoken of by Mr. Lincoln, and it is events such as the one on Saturday in Massachusetts that can help begin to make it happen.  What is needed may not be a big splash heard throughout the country, but the ripples created by active and concerned citizens gathered in a small restaurant dining room.  After all, ever toss a small stone into a smooth pond and watch what happens? 

The ripples eventually change the entire lake.

April 21, 2009

Return of the Dead

Sunday night I saw the Grateful Dead.  Well, actually I saw the Dead, they haven’t been Grateful since Jerry Garcia died in 1995.  The concert in Worcester was pretty good, as the Dead followed the same concert template used back in the eighties.  The show featured many of the old Grateful Dead standards with a couple of covers mixed in, including Satisfaction originally recorded by the Rolling Stones.  What really made the show special for me was that I got to share the experience with my oldest son.  One of the things that keeps my son and I connected is our mutual love of music.  His tastes range from music I enjoyed while in Junior High School to the most recent releases by the Chiodos, so it wasn’t unusual for both of us to look forward to seeing the Dead in concert.   Anyway, seeing the Dead transported me back about 25 years to my days in high school and college, when seeing the Grateful Dead was a regular occurrence.

the-grateful-dead-photo-41When I was in high school, going to a Grateful Dead concert was an incredible experience.  First, you got to see things we rarely were exposed to in the little towns where I grew up.  The closest thing to a hippie in our town of twenty-five hundred people was a music teacher we had for a couple of years who had long hair and taught us to sing Bennie and the Jets.  What a shock it was for this small town boy to see the true Deadheads for the first time.  Drugged out dirty people, wearing rags, thumbing from city-to-city to see the same band perform night-after-night.  Sleeping in a tent and scrounging for food everyday, what a great life!  I was so jealous of how good these people had it.

The concerts themselves had such a relaxed easy feeling to them.  The band would be jamming on stage, turning each familiar four minute tune into a twenty minute odyssey.  Legions of Jerry fans would be dancing in the aisles, allowing the music to move their bodies for them.  The scent of marijuana often filled the air as mellow individuals bumped together, resulting not in a fight but rather a new friendship.  It was a great time for a young man looking to experience more of “the world.”

Fast forward to Sunday night.

Walking toward the arena, I saw a familiar site.  Off to the side was a group of people playing various instruments as young people danced in a circle while holding hands.  I thought to myself that these could be the same people I first witnessed as a young man attending these shows except that…well…except that these kids weren’t even born yet when I was a young man!  These kids are trying to emulate a lifestyle that was first made popular more than forty years ago.  Scary thought, their parents are probably too young to truly remember the Haight-Ashbury residents who started it all. 

Once inside and the concert under way, the memories came roaring back.  There it was all again, people dressed in tie-dye shirts dancing in the aisles.  The smell of hemp filling the air as the Dead extended the five minute Here Comes Sunshine to a twenty-two minute jam.  2009 almost became 1982 all over again!  Almost.

First, the smoke in the arena became almost unbearable.  I remember smoke in the arenas when I was a kid, but not his thick.  I suppose it could be just that smoke was more common back then, before all the smoking bans, but I don’t think so.  I got the impression there were people smoking pot at the show who would not normally be pot smokers.  Joints being passed back-and-forth among uncomfortable tokers who arrived in their BMW, not in a bus produced by VW.  But we are at a Dead show, and this is what one does when seeing the Dead.

The people dancing in the aisles were, well, a site to behold.  Most of the tie-dye shirts were displaying concert dates of years gone by, worn by original purchasers.  Middle aged men showing off their dancing skills, or in most cases, lack thereof.  The concert goers who shared the experiences of my youth had more growth on top and less around the midsection than those with me now.  Even the band members themselves, all old enough to be my son’s grandfather, were showing the effects of time.  The young radicals of the sixties had transformed into early-bird special diners.

The aging Dead had brought together an arena full of people trying to hold onto something from a period gone by, a piece of their youth from which they are unwilling to let go.  That ever present need to feel the flame of youth that has only flickered dimly since becoming thirty-something.

And there is nothing wrong with that.  Eighteen thousand people, young and old, brought together for a night of music and dancing just like twenty-five years ago.  Everyone getting along sharing an experience very rarely found any more.  Sure the dancing is bad, flesh now shows where hair once grew, and the stairs seem steeper now than they did twenty-five years ago, but none of that matters for just one night. 

And even though I didn’t dance, I bought the t-shirt.

April 17, 2009

The Maturing Young Man

Today I joined my son, a sophomore in high school, for breakfast.  While we were eating I noticed he was wearing a sticker on his shirt.  When I asked him why, he informed me it was to let people know he was participating in a day of silence at school.  It seems that one of the groups at school, the Gay/Straight Alliance, was supporting this day of silence to demonstrate how homosexual young people feel when they have something they want to say, but don’t feel they can.

I heard his whole explanation, but there was one thing that stuck out.  Gay/Straight Alliance?  What do you mean Gay/Straight Alliance?  How can you wear that sticker?  Aren’t you afraid what the other kids will think or say?  Son, there isn’t anything you want to tell me, is there?

My son went on to explain that a friend of his had asked some friends to participate in this event.  My son said he wanted to do this to show support for his gay friend.  I was shocked and proud of my son.162448-114651-squeaky-voiced-teen_large

First, keep in mind, when I went to high school nobody was gay.  Well, obviously this isn’t true, it is just nobody had expressed the fact that they were gay.  I feel pretty confident that students in my day, myself included if I’m going to be honest, would not have been very accepting.  Society in general was not as accepting as it is today, and a high school is usually just a microcosm of the world around it.  (That’s called a rationalization.)  The fact that there are students who can feel comfortable with being honest about who they are in a big high school like Wachusett is a good thing.  Growing up is hard enough without having to pretend you are someone you are not.

Second, I was, and am, very proud of my son.  He is displaying a level of maturity far greater than my own when I was his age.  I was very self-conscious as a young teen, very aware of what other people thought about me.  Quite frankly, I wasn’t always very comfortable in my own skin.  My son, however, has a self-confidence that allows him to do what he believes is best.  He thinks it only natural to support his friend by wearing a sticker distributed by the Gay/Straight Alliance.  He never gave a second thought to what other people might think.  Wow, right before my eyes I am watching my son start to develop into a man.

Now, if I could only get him to clean his room.

April 16, 2009

Dr. Father and Mr. Coach

It is time to rethink youth sports.

I am an assistant coach for a girls’ U15 AAU basketball team.  At a recent practice the head coach conveyed to me a story about a parent who went absolutely nuts at his daughter’s high school basketball game last winter.  During the game, crazy dad started yelling at his daughter about her performance in that evening’s game.  He told her that she was playing awful and was hurting her team.  He yelled to her, as she ran by him, that she should be embarrassed by her play and should just walk off the court.  She yelled back to him that maybe she would.  Finally, apparently in disgust, crazy dad walked out of the gym before the game had ended.a8947i0_coachyells185

This reminded me of an incident I witnessed at an AAU basketball tournament three years ago.  We were watching the game that was being played on the court where we would be playing next.  The game was being played by two teams of girls that were no older than twelve.  One of the teams was “coached” by a father who was yelling and screaming as if he were Bobby Knight coaching in the NCAA tournament.  When the game ended, we continued to watch as this “coach” blasted his players off to the side of the gym because they had lost to an “inferior team.”  The rant ended with crazy coach breaking his clipboard over his own head.

Finally, there is the disturbing story of a father who was arrested after being ejected from his 10 year-old daughter’s basketball game because he was making comments to referees about some of their calls during the game.  According to police reports, he started yelling and swearing and refused to leave the gym. 

Youth sports have gotten way out of hand.  While at an AAU tournament in Pennsylvania, after witnessing another embarrassing display by an out-of-control parent, I offered this suggestion to the referees;  To fix youth sports all we have to do is get rid of the coaches, referees, and parents and just let the kids play.

Without adults around to run the games children would have the opportunity to learn organizational skills, conflict mediation, and fair play while having fun.  Children would have the opportunity to learn how to organize groups of people to accomplish a common goal.  They would have to make the calls to their friends and schedule a time when they could get together and play.  They would learn how to resolve conflicts.  When a disagreement arises, either they learn how to compromise or the game would be over.  Finally, they would have to figure out how to play fair on their own and would value it more because they would have ownership rather than having it dictated to them.

I am a youth coach.  I have coached high school basketball for 23 years and AAU basketball for 20 years.  This is in no way meant to be an indictment against all the fine adults who work really well with young people.  Adult role models are important to the development of children and I am not advocating totally eliminating adult organized youth sports.  Little League Baseball and Pop Warner Football are just two examples of well organized, positive youth activities that, though not immune to problems, have withstood the test of time.  Activities such as these are nice complements to the sandlot games that should be part of growing up.

Well, I’m off to another AAU practice tonight.  What are your thoughts?

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