Parents Say the Darndest Things

 Ah, midseason for spring sports, a time for high school and college coaches to check the standings.  If they’re lucky enough to be in first place, life is good, and hope springs eternal with playoffs approaching.  But if they’re .500 or below, look out, the parents are coming to give them an earful.  It’s the nature of the beast.

A good parent has to be an advocate.  We all want our kids to succeed, and there are times they need our help when dealing with other grownups to do so.  In Clare’s case, we were more likely to go toe-to-toe with a teacher than a coach.  What that says about me, I don’t know.

Sports-wise, we were lucky; there was no gnashing of teeth from ninth grade through college because Clare was stuck on the bench.  One of Clare’s high school coaches likes to tell of the time the team was at the hitting cages the same time as this eighth grader; she was in one of the faster speeds.  “You could hear her bat going Whack! Whack! Whack! and I’m thinking, ‘Please, oh please, let her go to our school.’”  She did and started from her first game of freshman year.

Then came college, and it was the same thing.  Clare made the starting lineup as a freshman and stayed there for four years.  I wasn’t always happy where she batted, and let my wife know the child she bore should always hit in the three-hole.  But that was it.  I never went up to the coach to complain or talk loud enough from the stands for the coach to hear, maybe.  Nor did I ever start rumors about a coach.  Watch a sport long enough, and you’ll see all three.

Whatever complaining I witnessed—and took part in, below—involved playing time.  In high school, a parent sent an anonymous letter to the coach.  In college, there were confrontations; you’d be surprised how often mothers get into it with coaches.  I preferred to save my complaining for travel ball.

The first time came in freshman year after a tournament in Toledo, very hot and not very many at-bats.  Clare went six for fifteen over three days, for an average we both thought should have meant more playing time.  I told one of the coaches his second baseman wanted to talk to him, and they did.  That was it on my part.  I was pretty sure the conversation would be civil and there’d be no repercussions because Coach Harry was a very decent guy.  The two clowns who followed, not so much.

They didn’t like Clare at second base, and I told them she was the best player they had there.  Again, that was it; no curses crossed my lips, although given how Clare was treated later, I should’ve sworn up a storm.  Long story short, one of the coaches told Clare she’d never hit in college, and this after she clubbed five homeruns in a weekend.

So, I may be as bad as the anonymous letter-writer and the rumormonger.  There are some things you do as a parent without caring what other people think.  Given that there are consequences in life, you just better be right.