What it means to be a coach

The day of tryouts I did what every mother does, I kissed my daughters head and told her whether you make the team or not doesn t matter. What matters is that you tried your best. This is one moment in time and it does not define you. You are already an amazing person. I said these words and meant every one of them. But, of course, I was holding my breath that she'd make the team. Because regardless of how strong a person my daughter is, she's a teenager and teenagers are fragile. Their self-worth is tied to whether or not they are accepted. What we, as parents tell them, will serve them well in the future (that I am certain of because to this day, I draw my strength from my father's words of wisdom. When I hear myself using his words to raise my kids I smile towards the heavens and give him credit). But that's the future. This is now. Right now what matters most to my daughter and every teenager is what others think of them — their friends, their teachers and their coaches. All we can do as parents is hold our breath and hope that we ve given them the tools to weather these years and cross our fingers that they make the team.

So when my daughter called me after try-outs to tell me she made them team, it was as if I had just won the lottery. Actually it was better than that.

For days, she walked around on air, showing up 15 minutes early for every practice, giving her all. One day, she looked at me and said "Mom, you and dad are going to love coming to my games." I had to fight back tears. This to me was a sign of confidence, a sign of pride, something she struggled with.

We went to her first game, proud parents of our JV player. She smiled, beamed actually when she saw us. This was a first for her. Ever since she was a toddler on stage doing ballet, she cringed at the thought of us watching her.

We watched, we waited, and she never played.

It's OK, she said to us on the way home. Still smiling, still feeling pride. I'm on the team, that's all that matters. It's been five games now and she's still on the bench with four other girls, and in their place are varsity players. We stopped going only because she asked us to. The smiles are replaced with a look of defeat after each game and I want to shout at the coach. "Why won't you give her a chance? Why did you pick her if you don't believe in her? But I can't. I have to bite my tongue, because hey, this is high school sports right?

So this letter goes out as a reminder to those coaches who picked our children to be on their teams only to bench them.

In your role as coach you have the unique opportunity to touch lives, fragile teenage lives, in ways that no one else does. You can squander that opportunity by yelling at them, dismissing them and benching them so that you can win at all costs. Or you can do what you signed up to do, Coach them, believe in them, give them a chance. That's what great coaches do. If you choose the former you will end up with players who will hold back, afraid to make mistakes and never reach their potential. Ultimately you will be remembered with disdain, if you are remembered at all. If you choose the latter, you will not only develop a team of loyal players will move mountains for you, you will be remembered in graduation acceptance speeches, and set in motion a pay it forward affect reflected for years to come in the way they treat others and manage their future employees. (You may actually win some games).

Because at this moment, like it or not, all that matters to that fragile teen sitting on the bench is what you think of them.

Josephine Pascale
Vernon