A Clinic in Bad Parenting - How NOT to Coach Your Son!

I can't remember the exact moment I crossed the line and became one of "those" Dad's.

Maybe it was when he was 9 and I signed him up to train with 3 different teams for the month of August so he could be adequately prepared for the upcoming fall season.

Maybe it was a few months later when he scored using his right foot when I felt he should have used his left. I told him on the way home that if I had been the referee I wouldn't have counted the point. "You're lucky you didn't get thrown out of the game." I told him.

It could have been the time I got tired of watching him dodge balls that were coming to hard at him and demanded that he kick the ball at me from point blank range as hard as he could to prove that it doesn't hurt.

Then there countless instances when parents would tell him he played a nice game and I muttered something like "don't get carried away, you stunk up the joint on defense."

Or maybe it was tonight.

Make no mistake - my son is a good athlete (he's not a bad  hoops player either fwiw.) He's got gifts. Stuff you can't teach.  I could have worked my ass off as a boy and never would have been half the player he is - God didn't bless me with his speed, his coordination, his strength.

His potential.

He's a good player,  but that's not enough for me.  I expect him to be great. I've actually told him he has a "responsibility" to be great. Who the hell am I? Vince Lombardi reincarnated? I coach youth soccer for God's sake!

Yes, since I'm putting it all out there I might as well admit it: I think scholarship. I know it's wrong. I know the odd - better than most parents.  I know that this kind of thinking is what makes some parents so stupid they kill their child's love for their passion. .

And then there's the fact that makes my thinking just plain asinine: He's fucking 12.

The teammate he had the longest. I pulled him from that team - I'm still not sure if I made the decision for the right reasons. 

What the hell is wrong with me?

I'm not trying to relive past glory through my son. I had no glory  - I had no athletic ability.

I'm not much better when I coach him at hoops. 

I'm not trying to make myself famous through him. I know some doubt that - but honestly I don't feel that's my motivation. I know myself pretty well.

But what drives my lunacy?

I want him to be what he can be,  or more accurately what I think he can be. I want him to be a star.

He doesn't get mad at my rants for the most part. He laughs them off. His sister clued him in a long time ago. But it doesn't change the fact that I want to strangle him every time I feel  like he's loafing - which is basically all of the time. . When he's just relaxing and enjoying himself rather than pushing himself hard to be better - I want to commit hari kari.

Jojo is a good-natured, fun-loving, perspective-having kid. In so many ways I wish I was more like him. And yet those qualities I adore become liabilities in my eyes  once the whistle blows. I want intensity. I want focus. I want him to kill himself trying.

This is so hard to write.

Tonight's practice was especially bad. I had a bad day at work.  I was surprised to find out I was going to be running practice this evening. The kids were acting like kids - goofing off, needing to be told 4 times to even think about doing anything I instructed them too...Normally I enjoy the stupidity of prepubescent boys - tonight it drove me insane.

Of course I didn't take it out on all of the kids. Jojo was my target. I called him lazy. I had him do a lap every time he screwed something up or I felt he was loafing. (Jojo's done a LOT of laps over time). I was harsh. Normally I mix my harshness with humor - there wasn't much balance tonight.

Toward the end of practice as we scrimmaged, Jojo made what I thought was a lazy effort defending the teams  most skilled player. I stopped practice and called the team over.

"Listen up everybody!" I shouted "my son is going to explain why it's a good idea to stand around like a doof when you're playing defense. Go ahead Jojo, tell them why it's a good strategy."



The boys laughed - not at Jojo but at the ridiculousness of their mentor. One of the players even said "nobody scored coach, relax. Jojo's good."

Jojo seemed to laugh it off. But 30 seconds later I saw that he was crying.

"What's wrong?" I asked - as if I had no idea what could POSSIBLY be wrong!

"You're yelling at me!" he said through tears. "Can I sit out?" He's NEVER asked to sit out before.

I barked that no he couldn't - that it's time he starts playing like he gave a crap.

There's nothing right about what I did. Some of you may be ready to call DYFS at this point. I realized I was out of hand. I took a deep breath and  I was actually ready to pull him aside and apologize.

The boy I don't want to lose. 

Except before I could do so, all of a sudden he started playing.

For five fricking minutes he was the player I know he can be. He battled up and down the field, The aforementioned skilled player who was abusing him all night all of a sudden couldn't do anything against him.  Five  minutes - as darkness was descending on a meaningless practice. Five minutes - I saw what I wanted. I saw he can be great.

But at what cost?

 I don't know. I do know that I don't belong coaching my son .Circumstances have led me to be coaching more practices than I thought I would.

For the sake of argument  - and ONLY that reason - let's assume he IS the best player on the team.

So what?

He can be the best player on the team, in the Lehigh Valley - whatever - but it's a HUGE world out there. On one level I understand the odds - but in parts of me I hate to think about I feel like he can play with anybody.

I need to calm down. I need to pull back before I kill his love for the game. I need to stop my rants at practice before him, and his teammates lose respect for me as a coach and a Father. Tonight I needed Mary to rein me in. Or my friend Brian who helped me coach my prior team - he was good about shutting me up when I was about to strangle my son.

But it's not really up to Mary or Brian is it?

It's up to me. As was pointed out by a wise man earlier: He's fucking 12

Maybe he'll decide he wants to be a great player, maybe he won't. Maybe he has the skills to be a great player, maybe he doesn't.

I'm told I'm a good Father regularly. I wasn't today.

Our first game of the Spring season is tomorrow. Redemption is a beautiful thing.