My Mini Athlete

Last night we finally relented and let W play in his first league basketball game. I know, I know, he's too young. Four-years-old (although he's less than a month from turning five) is just a bit early for gymnasium organized team games complete with bleachers for fans (immediate family) to yell out encouragement (one would hope) to miniature basketball players. Believe me, I'm all about no pressure for mini athletes. I don't over coach my kid. I don't agree with emphasizing winning over just playing to have fun. And really, what matters besides having fun?

Playing minutes. Points. And aggressive defense. That's what matters. Or so I was surprised to find myself feeling as I sat in those stands and prepared to see my son's first ever organized sports game begin...with him on the bench.


My blood pressure went up when I saw the starting five did not include my son. What the ? I talked myself out of the tree and reminded myself that no one in the whole gymnasium knew how skilled or unskilled W was. No one had ever seen him play. He was not being "benched" as a sub (and even if he had been, who the F should care? HE'S FOUR!). Anyway, this time he was simply the new kid on the team. Deep breath. I could tell he was unfazed to be sitting out. He clapped at each basket or steal. But talk about my own personal parental "stage mom" red flag! I told myself (I'm still telling myself) that this anxiety on my part was due much less to being incensed that my son wasn't a starter than to the fact that I was just plain as excited as a five-year-old on Christmas morning to watch W's first athletic endeavor, and waiting the extra four minutes until he went in was like being told I'd need to wait until after lunch to open gifts.



And of course, that IS why I was so anxious. I wanted to watch this little guy who had spent all day talking about how fun his first basketball game would be, to HAVE FUN. I didn't want him to say "I didn't get to play much" or feel like he couldn't keep up. Let's be clear: I don't care if he plays basketball or the flute throughout his life. I just want him to feel good at something. And I wanted his first something to be a good experience. Okay. So he went in eventually. As you can see, this was like his own personal heaven. He was intent on the ball, he smiled even as offenders came at him on defense, and he listened to the coach as shouts of "hands up!" came from the sidelines.


He looked at his best basketball buddy (who will be the next Michael Jordan (I'm not kidding - this four-year-old kid actually did a reverse split leg-MJ style-layup intentionally) and whom I call "T-Dogg") whenever he did anything impressive and his face was pure joy when T scored or they were both in the mix together. It was precious. I was so very, very proud that he was enjoying himself so much. Okay. So I had to work hard to stay seated whenever he got the ball. Okay. So I nearly cried when the ball didn't go in after numerous of his well-intentioned shots (Again, I don't care that he didn't score any points. I simply didn't want him to be disappointed that he hadn't). Okay. I need to work on some emotional athletic distance. I was at least pleased to realize that I never once had the inclination to yell out corrective instructions or orders to my little competitor. This was my first lesson in letting him excel or not, on his own without my advice. It was a workout of its own.

I'm telling you, I'm against overbearing parents when it comes to their kids' sports. But last night I learned how hard it is not to jump up and down and scream "THAT'S MY KID!!!!!" or "YOU DID IT!!!" when your offspring does you and him or herself proud on the playing field. Look out parents of Menlo Park. I might become an unbearable braggart.