Scouting

Clare dressed up in her best junior scout uniform yesterday, appropriate Valpo windbreaker and cap in place of merit badges.  My daughter is in the enviable position of being forever carded at the age of 23.  Going to a high school playoff game, she in fact wanted to look her age.  Of course, I said, “You really do look seventeen.”  Thanks, Dad, and mumble more.

It was a sectional game pitting two teams we knew well from Clare’s high school days, Oak Park-River Forest and York in west suburban Elmhurst; I always hated playing either or both.  Clare was able to set aside any old grudges, e.g., losing to Oak Park in sectionals sophomore year in a game where she gave Morton a temporary lead with a resounding double to left, to keep her coach updated on how the Valpo prospect was doing.  Clare also made sure to show the colors, so to speak, let people in the stands know a D-I school was watching the kiddies play, never mind that two of them had already committed to Auburn and Northwestern.

The big test involved handling parents.  From what I can tell, there are maybe 1,000 rules dictating how a college coach can interact with high school players and their parents; apparently, Clare could wave to but not speak with players and talk to their parents, but not for long.  One father did come up to her, shake hands, and call my 23-going-on-17-year old “Coach.”

That little interaction made someone’s day.