The Helicopter Has Landed

May 27, 2010

I don't consider myself a helicopter parent (does anyone actually?) but I have been known to hover a little too long on occasion. There are some areas where, as a parent, I've learned that my children actually do need an extra push, a bit more help, or even a personal cheerleader. But there are many areas where they do not need to be handled with such care. On their own, without Mommy, Daddy or even the security of a friend, they can be just fine. Actually, they thrive. This is something I have known about in theory for years but a lesson I recently learned from experience at, of all places, the baseball field (yes, the same one I moan and bitch about all the time).

Because my son is not a natural athlete, I am guilty of attempting to micromanage his sporting experiences. I worry that if he gets a coach he doesn't know or a team without a familiar face, he'll...well, I do not know what I think might happen but I definitely fear for him to have to step out of his comfort box. Now, I suppose, I also consider my own comfort box.

This season, my son's previous coach (a good family friend) and I broke a little league rule. My son is age-wise on the cusp of two divisions. The coach and I discussed my son, his abilities, his confidence level, etc... and decided it would be great if he could stay one more season in the lower age range. The coach suggested this to the baseball powers-that-be and, well, that's when the trouble started. Apparently, those powers really like their power and don't appreciate being told anything. To make a long story short, they eventually granted our wish but made it clear they would NOT be putting my son with any of his friends or on a team with a previous coach. We were clearly being punished--banished, if you will, to the much-whispered about "mean" coach who used to be in the military. Any time someone mentions this coach (someone who doesn't know him), it's as if his last name is "used to be in the military."

The first team meeting was, in fact, a bit intimidating. We are used to the friendly, neighborhood dads who admittedly coddle the boys and cancel practice if, say, Laker tickets happen to appear. Coach Jack* was different. He was serious about baseball and the boys' commitment to the team, serious about punctuality, preparedness and practice. He wanted the boys to be better. He wanted to win (okay, so we're not supposed to keep score but still...). And, he wanted the boys to work hard and feel proud of their personal and collective achievements.

I left the meeting a little nervous. I didn't really know any one on the team and I wasn't used to such discipline. But, I did not say a word to my son. Instead, I suited him up per my instructions and got him to practice with time to spare. Within the first hour, I saw my little guy working harder AND having more fun than I ever have in any sport. He was listening, learning and laughing with his newfound friends. I also learned in that first hour that Coach Jack was a stay-at-home-dad who devoted his life to his four sons, coaching everything for each one. He was a cancer survivor with a zest for life and tons of heart and passion. He wasn't mean, but he was different from the dads in my crowd.

The season was truly special for my son. He got hits, even two home runs and attempted to run to the ball, rather than away from it. He learned the value of practice. He truly improved. And his team became a force to be reckoned with on the field. There was definitely a little too much yelling for my liking and a bit too much intensity, but there was plenty of encouragement for all the boys, no matter what level. There was comraderie and pride. Most of all, there was a lot of good times.

Yesterday, one of those powers-that-need-to-be came up to me and asked with a wink, "How did your season go with Coach Jack? I smiled and surpised myself when I said and meant, "Fantastic. Thanks for putting us with such a great coach."

These days, win or lose, every kid gets a trophy. My son has a shelf full of them. But now, he has one that he truly earned.

I might even have to fight for Coach Jack next year. Then again, maybe I'll just stay out of it! This helicopter has landed...for now.