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.
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