Coaches told me I had a quick first step. If a defender played me tight, I could take a dribble back step, cross over from right to left and create some space with my feet. Although I’m right handed, I could go to my left but not my right. This was before the three point line was painted in gyms around the country, and my job wasn’t to score as much as it was to find the open teammate when the defense collapsed.

Keep my dribble alive. Keep my head up. Deliver the pass.

So when I showed up for the Dick Motta basketball camp I was surprised to find a player from a rival school I could not beat off the dribble. Not only was he quicker than I was, but he could go to his right and left.

It bothered me all summer. But as basketball camps turned to baseball clinics I didn’t give it much thought. Until I met him at a football game. I told him I was looking forward to a summer full of baseball, basketball and football.

He played basketball. Only basketball. All summer long.

And then it started to make sense. While I was becoming an average player at three sports, he was becoming a very good player (he went on to play in college) in one sport.

I’ve thought back to this memory often when I’ve felt our children are being pulled in different directions. Part of me would like them to immerse themselves in many different activities. Luca enjoys playing the piano. We feel she has a talent for music. But should we focus her limited time and attention in that direction at the sacrifice of dance or soccer?

Kim and I talk about how much time our kids should spend in activities outside of school. Currently it feels like a gut decision. And it could vary from child to child. We change our minds a lot. What feels like the right amount one month may feel like too much the next. Nothing is written in stone.

Our approach has been to encourage our children to try various activities within reason. We don’t believe it’s in their best interest (or ours) to be running ourselves ragged toting the kids from one activity to another. That might mean this summer is for soccer while swimming waits till the fall.

Would we better off finding one activity per child like my friend who only played basketball?

Maybe.

But for now, they still have a lot to experience. If they decide to focus their efforts on a single activity at some point, we’ll address it at that time. No rush.

I think back to how much fun I had and how much I learned by playing baseball and football. The friendships and experiences, at least for me, outweigh whatever chance I might have had to improve my skills as a basketball player.

And had I only played basketball I wouldn’t have known how satisfying it feels to patiently wait on a curve ball and then pound that sucker into right field.

A few sunny days daisy chained together means the kids have begged and dragged me to spend time with them in the front yard. They like to ride bikes around the little island at the end of our street, run through the sprinklers and play basketball.

 
Anna Lynn before she wore down chasing my errant shots

Well, they can’t really shoot baskets but they think they can. The island is home to a regulation size basketball hoop and the kids are mesmerized by it. Luca is strong enough to granny toss the ball through the hoop maybe 5% of the time. Lincoln and Anna can’t get it close but that doesn’t stop them from trying. Most of their shots ricochet off the curb and smack into the neighbors Lexus (it’s Canadian) van. Serves them right for parking it on the curb in front of our house!

 
Lincoln’s helmet speaks volumes to my shot making ability

I like to shoot baskets as well and I’ve devised a plan whereby I can shoot nonstop for while: I agree to go into the front yard if the kids will act as rebounders. I shoot the ball and the kids go running after it. I see how quickly they can return the ball to me. They love it. I love it. It’s a win/win.

Some days I’m draining threes and I get a lot of shots off because they kids don’t have to run as much. But today I was tossing bricks which means the kids got a workout. I knew I was having an off day when Lincoln went to the garage to retrieve a helmet.

When I played soccer as a kid we were lucky if a parent remembered to bring along a bag of oranges cut into fourths for our halftime and after game snack.

Times have sure changed.

If I were to cut up some oranges for my son’s game, he’d be kicked off the team. Good old fashioned, healthy oranges no longer make the grade. At the end of my son’s game last week, another parent brought bags full of snacks so large I thought he was going away to summer camp because it was enough food to last him for a week.

Who SUPERSIZED the soccer snack?

The typical soccer snack today includes a full size Gatorade, bag of chips, bag  of cookies, and a granola bar. My wife brought hot chocolate on an unseasonably cold morning in addition to the snack. She didn’t think anything of it because the bar had been set earlier in the season.

The problem stems from the overzealous parents who bring the snack to the first game. They set the tone for the rest of the season because each subsequent game becomes an exercise in trying to one-up the previous week’s snack.

The season starts out with bottled water and celery sticks but ends with enough junk food to make my kids pull their shirts over their heads and do the “ Great Cornholio” for the next seven hours.

At the end of my 7-year old’s soccer game this afternoon, her team (the YELLOW LIGHTNING) gathered together to perform a cheer for the other team. It went went as follows:

Two, four, six, eight…who do we do we appreciate…PURPLE CHEETAH PRINCESSES!!!

I love when the coaches let the players choose the team name.

At my daughter’s soccer game today, Luca took a pass near mid field, dribbled the ball towards the goal with several opposing players running alongside. She neared the goal and gave the ball one last kick which launched it into the goal.

She jumped up and down and ran towards her fellow players and they all hugged and jumped and then jumped some more. Her coach cheered. The parents on our side of the field cheered.

And then I noticed something inspiring. The parents from the other team who were sitting on the opposite side of the field were cheering just as enthusiastically for Luca. So was the other coach. He wasn’t yelling at his team for allowing a score or pacing the sidelines. And it wasn’t just this one instance. When one of the opposing players made a nice kick or score, the parents on Luca’s team cheered as did her coach.

 
Luca in yellow and her friend, Halley

I believe this is how it should be at this age. I’ve heard the horror stories of parents bulling coaches, opposing players and even their own children when they don’t perform well. At this point it becomes more about the parents than the kids and that’s wrong.

I can’t help but believe Luca’s confidence is boosted higher when she notices everyone cheering her on. It doesn’t take any of the competitive fun away to acknowledge a good play even when it’s a player from the other team. I wish all youth team sports could show this level of sportsmanship.

I should have known that watching my 5-year old son play in his second soccer game was going to be interesting when, on the way to game, he told me “The best part of the game is getting MY OWN water bottle”. About 5 minutes later he revised that statement by proclaiming “The best part of the game is getting to wear MY OWN uniform”. And I’m certain, had the ride taken any longer, this would have continued.

Coaching a group of 5-year olds must feel comparable to trying to capture three dozen superballs that just dropped off your kitchen counter.  Their bounce is unpredictable, they’re elusive, and their sheer numbers wear you down.

Lincoln’s team is made up of three boys and one girl. The girl was the only player who seemed to realize that a soccer game was taking place. One boy wandered over to the sideline of the opposing team and struck up a conversation with anyone who would listen. Another boy was kicking the ball towards the goal when a ladybug landed on his jersey which suddenly became  a lot more interesting than the game. When his hat wasn’t pulled over his eyes, my son got in a few good kicks, some of which, were booted in the right direction. During halftime, one of boys excitedly ran up to his dad and said, “I think I’m sweating!!”

The coach spends most of his time getting the kids moving in the right direction. Good things happen when everyone is moving in the right direction. Kicking the ball into the goal is almost an afterthought with this group. The kids are most excited about the pre-game jumping jacks, the orange slices at half time and the water bottle at game’s end. Oh, and I can’t forget how “cool” it looks if one ends up with a little mud on the uniform. Nothing tells your sister how hard you played like mud on the uniform.

I loaded Lincoln and Anna in the car after stopping for lunch. As we drove home Lincoln said, “Dad, do you know what’s the best part of the game?” I replied that I wasn’t sure so maybe he should tell me. “The best part is when you take us to McDonalds and I get my OWN ROOTBEER”.

The pretty much puts today’s game in perspective.

The field was sopping wet and mud was getting tossed all over the shorts, socks and faces of the kids. Occasionally a soccer ball was kicked towards the goal, yet most of the time, the coach would yell, “Kick it this way!” as the ball headed out of bounce for the 20th time. I watched the coach gently turn several kids around to get them going down the field in the right direction. All in a days work when coaching a group of five year olds.

My five year old son, Lincoln, started playing soccer this year and we are surprised to see a side of him that we’d not seen before. He’s much more confident and aggressive than we expected running right into the mix after the ball.

 
Lincoln spending the afternoon at a muddy soccer practice

Yet as the coach separated the kids into two teams for a scrimmage, Lincoln couldn’t keep from his hands off a large pole in a pool of mud. He’d quietly drift behind the goal till he reached the spot.  Maybe it was the pole. Maybe the mud. Either way, it was more interesting than soccer so he continued going back to it even after the coach called him back to the field several times.

Kim and I smiled at each other as we watched this struggle between player and coach from the sidelines. I supposed one of us could have gone down on the field and taken care of the issue, but we didn’t. It was a good learning experience for Lincoln in taking direction from an adult other than his parents.

As I watched Lincoln wander off I couldn’t help but think he’s a curious kid and with a short attention span. I can relate to that well as I get bored very easily and will find alternate activities to keep busy.

If Lincoln does have a little day dreamer in him, he can blame his parents.