I never anticipated that football could lead to a parenting crisis, but last spring, that’s precisely what happened. My nearly 10-year-old son, Jack, expressed a newfound interest in playing flag football for the first time. After his disinterest in team sports since quitting baseball the previous year, we seized the opportunity. Jack had enjoyed casual games with friends in the neighborhood and during school recess, but he had never participated in a formal setting. Unfortunately, my husband, Mark, was swamped with work, which meant I was responsible for taking Jack to every practice.
Let me be clear: I know very little about football. As I observed, it seemed to me that the coach was not effectively teaching the team. He shouted plays at the players he recognized and relegated the newer boys to defense, leaving them standing idle while he focused solely on the offense. I watched Jack’s excitement diminish, replaced by boredom and frustration. Was this the norm? I questioned. Perhaps he would focus on offense one practice and defense the next. But as time passed, I watched Jack endure yet another session where he stood motionless, ignored, while the coach called the end of practice, claiming, “We really played like a team today!” I felt an overwhelming urge to confront him. How could he call it teamwork when half the kids had no interaction with him or each other?
On the ride home, Jack voiced his concerns, feeling the coach showed little interest in working with the new kids. I tried to reassure him, suggesting that maybe the coach just needed time to adjust. I knew that if Jack, who struggles with anxiety, believed this experience would be negative, he would do everything in his power to avoid it.
Navigating this situation with a child who has anxiety is delicate. We strive not to exaggerate issues that might heighten Jack’s worries while also recognizing his valid concerns. It’s a challenging balance—a dance we sometimes perform gracefully and at other times stumble through.
The next practice occurred right before the first game, and I had hoped the coach would focus on the defensive players. Instead, he summoned a team of older kids to scrimmage against our 9- and 10-year-olds, which meant several of our players spent the entire session on the sidelines—unengaged and without instruction. I watched as Jack’s confidence plummeted, his shoulders slumping further with each passing minute. My own frustration grew. What was this coach thinking? Didn’t he care about developing the less experienced players?
Then, out of nowhere, the coach pointed at Jack, calling him to run a play—without any prior communication. Jack, unprepared, stumbled down the field, dropping the ball when it was thrown. “Don’t you know the play?” the coach yelled. Jack meekly admitted he didn’t, leading the coach to bark at another player to show him how it was done. I could see Jack struggling with anxiety in that moment—exposed, criticized, and feeling inadequate.
I faced a tough choice: Should I step in to protect him from this humiliating experience, or let him figure it out on his own? My own mother was fiercely protective, often confronting authority figures when they treated us unfairly. While I appreciated her defense, it also left me feeling embarrassed and anxious about facing the consequences of her actions.
As I watched Jack tear up in front of his peers, I felt the weight of my own insecurities. My heart raced as I approached the coach without thinking. “Could you give him a minute to collect himself? Why not teach him the plays instead of humiliating him? Do your job!” I shouted. Time seemed to slow as I saw the shock on the kids’ faces, Jack’s tear-streaked expression, and the awkwardness of the surrounding parents.
“Why did you do that?” Jack exclaimed afterward, fearing the coach would dislike him even more. In that moment, history felt like it was repeating itself; now I was the one perceived as the overprotective mom, and my son was left to navigate the fallout.
That evening, after calming Jack down and tucking him in, I reflected on my actions. I indulged in a bit of wine while wrestling with feelings of embarrassment and doubt. I had never envisioned myself as the type of parent who fought battles for their children, but here I was. Until Jack learns to manage his anxiety and advocate for himself, I will continue to protect him.
The next day, Mark and I decided to transition Jack to a different football team within the same league. We didn’t want him to think quitting was the answer, but we also didn’t want him to suffer through a detrimental experience that could leave emotional scars.
Initially reluctant, Jack carried negative feelings about football from his prior experience. However, at his second game with the new team, coached by supportive high school boys, I witnessed a transformation. Jack not only played actively—taking flags, blocking, and catching passes—but also celebrated his successes with exuberance. In that moment, I saw my son’s spirit lift, and for that hour, he was no longer the anxious child but a confident and engaged player.
In summary, it was a journey of understanding the balance between protection and allowing Jack to face challenges. While I grappled with my instincts as a mother, ultimately, I recognized the importance of supporting my son as he navigates his own path in overcoming his fears.
Keyphrase: football coaching and parental intervention
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