I never anticipated that football would trigger a profound parenting dilemma, but last spring, that’s precisely what happened. My nearly 10-year-old son, Max, expressed interest in trying flag football for the first time. Since he hadn’t shown enthusiasm for team sports after quitting baseball a year prior, we eagerly embraced the idea. Although Max had enjoyed informal games with neighborhood friends and during school recess, he had never participated in a structured setting. Unfortunately, the start of the football season coincided with a hectic schedule for my husband, Jake, leaving me responsible for taking Max to every practice.
I must admit, my knowledge of football is minimal, so I wasn’t sure if I was accurately gauging the situation. However, it seemed to me that the coach was not effectively instructing the team. He would loudly call out plays to the players he recognized while relegating the new kids to the sidelines, where they would stand idle throughout practice. I watched as Max’s initial excitement dwindled, replaced by boredom and frustration. Is this how practices are typically run? I wondered, hoping that he would focus on offense one day and defense the next. Yet, as minutes turned into an hour, I saw Max and others on defense simply standing there, ignored. When practice concluded, the coach gathered everyone and exclaimed, “We really played as a team today, guys!” I felt an urge to confront him. How could he make such a statement when half of the players hadn’t participated at all?
On the drive home, Max expressed his concern that the coach didn’t seem interested in working with the new players, especially those he didn’t recognize. He felt that the coach didn’t like him, and I reassured him that perhaps the coach was still figuring things out. I promised him that the next practice would be different. I knew that if Max, who battles anxiety daily, believed this situation would remain negative, he would try to find a way to avoid it.
Navigating the complexities of anxiety in parenting is challenging. We aim to avoid making a big deal out of situations that could heighten Max’s anxiety, while also acknowledging the things that genuinely cause him distress. It’s a delicate balance—one we sometimes manage well, and other times, we fail spectacularly.
At the next practice, which was the final one before the first game, I anticipated that the coach would finally focus on his less experienced players. Instead, he called over a group of 12- and 13-year-olds from another field to scrimmage against our 9- and 10-year-olds! This meant that several of our players spent the entire practice on the sidelines, not playing, learning, or receiving any guidance—just watching their teammates get overwhelmed by older kids. How motivating! My frustration grew as I witnessed Max’s confidence fade, his body language reflecting defeat.
To my dismay, the coach eventually singled Max out, calling for him to run a play he had never learned. Max stumbled awkwardly down the field, ultimately dropping the ball when it was thrown to him. “Don’t you know the play?” the coach shouted. Max quietly admitted he didn’t, prompting a louder, more demanding response from the coach. The situation was a nightmare for any anxious child: unprepared, criticized, and made to feel foolish. I could see Max’s struggle to hold back tears.
I faced a tough decision: should I let him endure this humiliation, learning to handle difficult authority figures, or intervene, potentially embarrassing him further? My own mother was fiercely protective, often confronting authority figures who mistreated us, but this sometimes led to more anxiety for me in school. I never wanted to repeat that pattern as an adult.
As Max’s frustration boiled over and he burst into tears, I felt a surge of emotion. I knew he would despise this moment, and yet, there I was—again, I was that mother who confronted a coach in front of everyone. “CAN YOU PLEASE GIVE HIM A MOMENT TO COLLECT HIMSELF? INSTEAD OF HUMILIATING HIM, HOW ABOUT TEACHING THESE KIDS?” I shouted. Time seemed to pause as the crowd turned to stare. The coach tried to argue that he was teaching, but I countered, “When? You’ve barely spoken to these players! Sam deserves better!”
After I walked Max to the car, he was upset, fearful the coach would dislike him even more. I felt transported back to my own childhood moments of embarrassment.
Later that evening, after calming Max down and reflecting on the day, I found myself grappling with my own insecurities, drinking wine and revisiting past memories. I never intended to be the mom who fought her children’s battles, but in this case, I felt it was necessary. I needed to protect Max until he felt more confident tackling challenges on his own.
The following day, Jake and I decided to switch Max to a different football team within the same league. We wanted him to learn resilience without enduring emotional turmoil. Max was apprehensive about continuing football, feeling defeated by this experience. We understood the road ahead would be challenging, filled with encouragement and support as he navigated his anxiety.
At his new team’s second game, coached by two supportive high school players, Max thrived. He made impressive plays, celebrated with his teammates, and for the first time in a while, I saw joy in his eyes.
In summary, confronting the coach was a pivotal moment for our family. It taught me the importance of advocating for my child while helping him discover how to stand up for himself in the future. As we navigate the complexities of parenting, it’s essential to find a balance between protection and independence.
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Keyphrase: Confronting a Football Coach
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