My son is just finishing his freshman year of HS ball. Despite having been a “stud” all of his prior travel years, the coach sat him defensively for most of the first half of the season. My son DH’d fairly regularly, but it was evident the coach was concerned about his arm as a catcher. So he sat. And sat. And sat. After realizing he wasn’t going to see the field as a catcher, my son approached the coach and asked if he could work at 1B. The coach agreed and my son worked with the other first basemen in practice. He still sat during games. And sat. And sat. However, he always hustled, stayed after practice every day to learn the new position and work on his arm, and never complained.
My son was very discouraged but I encouraged him to stop worrying about the coach and continue working on making himself a better and more versatile player. He had no control over the coach’s perceptions of his ability, but had complete control over what he did to try to make himself a better player. I also told my son that I believed in him and his abilities.
The team had a horrible record and many of the parents were grumbling about the coach’s ability. I had a million conversations with the coach . . . in my head . . . during which I expressed to him every thought I had about his ability (or lack thereof) and the damage he was doing to my son’s psyche. In actuality, I kept my mouth shut, showed up at each game, and tried to keep to myself as much as possible so as not to show my anger and disappointment. I can’t express how difficult it is to keep quiet when you see the hurt in your son’s eyes after every game.
With over half the season gone and the team having no chance for the playoffs, the coach finally put my son at 1B for a game. He was outstanding. He hustled his butt off, made every routine play, made some awesome picks, and made several outstanding catches of pop ups over his head and down the line. He never gave up on a ball or a play. After the post-game handshake, the opposing coach even called my son over and told him that he would be welcome to play on his team any time.
Lo and behold, my son started the next game, and the next, and the next. The team started winning regularly, and now the parents of the other first basemen are complaining to the coach. I truly feel bad for them and their sons. I feel their hurt and disappointment. But in the end, what I feel the most is pride that my son earned the coach’s respect and a starting position by hard work, a positive attitude, hustle, and perseverance. And I smile when I think what might have happened had I not kept all those horrible, nasty confrontations with the coach in my own head.
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