I played t-ball when I was six and seven and eight.  It was always in the summer and games were always in the evenings.  Sixteen-year-old kids from the local high school would coach us.  They were so cool.   The games were scheduled in the evening most likely to accommodate parent working hours and possibly to allow the heat of the day to burn off.  But, since I don’t remember drinking water as a pastime until I was well into my 20s, I doubt hydration played a role in the decision-making. 

The scene was basically the same in every game.  Moms would be sitting on blankets or grass along the first and third baselines, casually leaning up against nearby trees and calling after younger siblings or chatting together.  Dads were lined up behind home plate, hanging onto the backstop fence, like they were scouts at an MLB tryout.  My own dad would shout instructions to me that might as well have been in Mandarin, but I knew from his tone that he wanted me to hit the ball further than everyone else.  After the game, I’d get the same foreign language lesson until my mom would give him a look and he’d speak faster, but for less time.  He wasn’t yelling, but it did seem really important to him that I know how to choke a bat and steal a base.  Things I’d not only never considered while on the field, but that sounded completely contrary to my upbringing to that point.  Share a bat and give a base?  Now we’re talking.  Now that I’m a parent I understand the feeling of wanting your offspring to have a killer instinct and “live up to their potential” but back then it all seemed a little overwhelming and confusing.  I mean, we won 2-1, didn’t we?  Let’s get out of here and get some Dairy Queen already.

Over a decade ago, Bruce E Brown and Rob Miller of Proactive Coaching released 10 years of research from college athletes that all formed around one question.  What was your least favorite part of youth sports?  Their answer was “the ride home from the game”.  The research they released was called “What Makes a Nightmare Sports Parent and What Makes a Great One.”  Talk about a catchy title. 

“Hey Bruce, what should we call this research so that we not only share the important findings but totally shame everyone we reach?”

“Tough one, Rob.  But I have an idea.” 

I don’t know about you, but if I’m a “sports parent” and someone sends me this article and says, “hey, want to read this brand-new article about sports parents?” I’m not exactly psyched.  I don’t want to read anything that might end up pitting me as a nightmare against my dreamy contemporaries.  It’s like picking up “How to Tell a Nightmare Cereal Eater From a Great One.”  Was I supposed to be doing it a certain way?

The outcome of the article was what ultimately stuck.  When asked what their parents said that made them feel joy during and after a game, the college athletes overwhelmingly replied, “I love to watch you play.”  I played competitive sports from the age of 5 to 21.  I can assure you this is wholeheartedly true.  “I love to watch you play” sticks with you forever.  On the other hand, I’ve been a parent for over 13 years.  My daughters have been playing competitive sports for 8 of them.  I can also assure you that with every intention of saying “I love to watch you play” and nothing else, I have the same batting average as my t-ball days.

Saying “I love to watch you play” is a worthy endeavor.  It’s a forced slowness that, if nothing else, helps you see immediately how little the details of a game impact your kid.  They leave it on the field.  Or mine do.  And I did.  Often the phrase “I love to watch you play” doesn’t even seem to register.  They are onto the next.  Which is totally annoying when you’re going for “Great One” Sports Parent status.  But we’ve tried, my husband and I, for 8 years to love watching them play.  And nothing else.  Many times, we’ve succeeded.  Many other times we’ve nearly succeeded.  I love to watch you play and don’t forget your water bottle.  I love to watch you play but you sat in the front seat on the way to the game so get in the back.  I love to watch you play so can you please put your laundry away when we get home?  Sometimes you have to say it but then also do something else with words so that you don’t accidentally tell them that they are the slowest ones on the field, which is really really hard.

Other times you’re human and you break.  For four years, my husband and I coached our daughters’ basketball team together.  I was the head coach; in case anyone asks.  Even though no one ever asks and I mention it more often than I should.  Maybe I’d behave differently if someone would tell me they love to watch me coach.  Do you know how hard it is to coordinate practice in your home, plan for games in your home, live down the hall from your players in your home and then say “I love to watch you play” and nothing else?  It’s harder than trying not to picture a hippopotamus right now.

My husband and I have considered it an important enough parenting goal and have stuck to the script many times over the years.  But other times, I swear it was like I was lifted by helicopter out of my body and over the 6-minute soliloquy I was delivering about boxing out before I realized how far down Nightmare Alley I had gone. 

And then, inevitably, there’s the quicksand-inducing question from our kids, “how do you think I played?” which Bruce and Rob did not cover in the research.  Should I show them the video I took of them walking around the field, standing completely still, and watching their teammates chase the ball?  Should I tell them that looking at the basketball hoop in our backyard doesn’t count as practicing in the off-season?  Should I learn Mandarin for real?

I had my turn to play.  I had 16 years of competition and teamwork.  Sixteen years of pre-game warm-up music and post-game locker room celebrations.  Sixteen years of last-second victories and collapsing on the sideline after the end of practice conditioning.  Sixteen years of fighting for playing time and chasing championships.  Sixteen years of working harder than I ever have since and building lifelong friendships.  I had my turn to play and now it’s their turn to play.  I know this and I remind myself of this every time I walk into a gym.  But if you see me in the stands physically moving out of my seat trying to will them to do something on the court, then just know that I’m trying as hard as I can to keep myself in check and I promise I’m repeating “I love to watch you play” under my breath.