My son played basketball for 4 years. He has so many wonderful talents, but let’s just say basketball wasn’t one of them 😬 I am SO PROUD of him for sticking with it for so long even though he knew he wasn’t the best.

The first year he played was ok, but it was obvious that the coach relied heavily on his best players. My son saw all the other kids getting more playing time, but he continued on and they ultimately won the championship.

I assumed that’s just the way it had to be; you put your best players in all the time in order to get the win.

The next year, his coach had left and I was praying he wouldn’t get one of the mean ones that screamed and berated the kids on the court. I didn’t want him to hate the game, and I knew that would surely do it.

My prayers were answered when he got one of the kindest, most encouraging coaches in the league. The team was co-ed, and he was there for his daughter.

He was so soft-spoken that I could barely hear him talking, much less imagine him coaching. Sure enough, his demeanor didn’t change when they took to the court.

During practices, all you could hear was this one big bully coach that PJ and I dubbed “BFL” (I’m not going to tell you what that stands for because it’s mean – but trust me, he deserved it.)

On the other hand, the only way you knew that my son’s coach was there was by his signals, and yet he still had the respect and complete control of his team.

The kids on some of the other teams, like BFL’s, looked miserable and wouldn’t pay attention. Imagine that! Screaming at a bunch of kids when they came there to have fun wasn’t soliciting teamwork?? I would’ve never guessed 🤷🏻‍♀️ (Oh and btw, this was a league that was supposed to be following the teachings of Jesus 🙄😂)

My son’s coach and the assistant coach were so kind to these kids, joked with them, and lifted their spirits. They gave my son equal playing time with the rest of the team even though, in reality, there was one sweetheart superstar kid who could’ve carried them all. They repaid their coaches by winning the championship 🏆

The next year my son was lucky enough to get the same coach, this time with a different assistant coach who was just as kind and supportive.

Despite having to hear BFL screaming at his team again every week, it was another good year of learning about basketball, sportsmanship, and Jesus, while having fun.

And they won the Championship again 😊🏆

At this point you’re probably thinking my son was a pro at basketball. Mmmm not so much 😬 But bless him, he did not give up. I attribute it to the teams he’d been on and the fact that even though he wasn’t great, no one ever made him feel bad about it.

The superstar sweetheart I’d mentioned before was his teammate again and I’d see him pat my son on the back and give him hi-fives all the time. This was the year he made his one and only basket 🏀 ❤️ The way the crowd cheered was reminiscent of the ending of Teen Wolf. I was half-expecting them to carry him off the court after kissing Boof 😂

The following year, there were no more co-ed teams, so our beloved coach followed his daughter to coach an all-girls team. (How dare him be such a good dad 😤)

My son still loved the game so we signed him up anyway. I had high expectations because at least his coach wasn’t BFL.

It started out good, but I saw little by little that the better players were getting the most playing time. I’d see my son sitting on the bench looking defeated. Before, I’d sit in the stands fighting back tears of joy seeing my son so happy and trying so hard; now I was fighting back tears of sadness and rage.

It came to a head at one of the last few games of the season. The pitiful coaching they had that year led to them losing almost every game, but finally, they were about to win one.

His current coach (who ended up being worse than BFL really) sat my son out for the entire last quarter.

I refrained from ripping his head off after the game, but I wrote him an email afterward asking if he had done something to warrant being sat out for the entire quarter (ie. belligerence, breaking a rule, etc.)

He wrote back giving me so many contradictory reasons and cliches, it was actually confusing; but the bottom line was that he wanted to win and thought that if he put my son in they would lose.

Guess what … they lost anyway.

Armed with the information that this gigantic piece of shit just gave me, I found utter joy in writing back a scathing email that ended with, “Well at least you can’t blame your loss on my son.”

After that awful year, my son decided he didn’t want to play anymore; maybe he just wasn’t interested, but I think if he had gotten a good coach instead, things would have be different.

*Side note: The coach we love so much is black. I only mention this because in the 2 years of knowing him and seeing how his kindness and quiet demeanor got so much good out of those kids, it taught me so much about where I was going wrong with my own parenting. He also gave my son the gift of confidence in the game, something I don’t think I could ever repay him for.

Not that I owe anyone an explanation, but he is ONE of the people in my life that I feel like I’d be betraying if I kept quiet instead of speaking out in support of the black lives matter movement.