I never imagined that a youth football experience could lead to an existential crisis in parenting, but that’s precisely what happened last spring. My nearly 10-year-old son, Max, expressed a desire to play flag football for the first time, and since he hadn’t shown interest in team sports since he quit baseball a year earlier, I eagerly embraced the idea. Max had participated in casual football games with friends in the neighborhood and during school recess, but this was his first formal venture into the sport. Unfortunately, the timing of football practice clashed with my husband, Mike’s busy schedule, leaving me to handle all the practices myself.
Now, let me be honest—I know next to nothing about football. As I watched from the sidelines, it struck me that the coach wasn’t really instructing the team. He focused on a select few players, barking orders at them while the newcomers stood idly on the sidelines for the entire practice. I was baffled. Is this how it’s supposed to work? I thought, as I observed Max’s initial enthusiasm fade into boredom and frustration. Surely, the coach would alternate practices between offense and defense, but hours passed, and Max continued to stand there, ignored and uninvolved. The coach concluded practice by declaring, “We played like a team today, everyone!” My jaw nearly dropped. How could they have played as a team when half of them hadn’t participated at all?
On the drive home, Max expressed his disappointment, stating that he felt the coach didn’t care about the new kids like him. I reassured him that perhaps the coach was still figuring things out and promised that the next practice would be different. Given Max’s struggles with anxiety, I knew it was crucial to keep his spirits up and not allow him to think that the situation would remain negative.
Navigating parenting a child with anxiety is a delicate balancing act. We try not to dramatize events that might trigger Max’s worries, yet we also need to acknowledge his feelings. It’s an intricate dance that we’ve perfected at times, while other moments end in chaos.
The next practice was the last before the first game, and I had hoped the coach would finally focus on the defensive players. Instead, he called over a group of older kids for a scrimmage, forcing several of our players to stand around doing nothing while watching their teammates get outmatched. My frustration grew as I watched Max’s confidence sink further. He appeared disengaged and disheartened, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the coach was failing to teach the kids anything meaningful.
Then the moment came when the coach called Max over—not by name, but by pointing. He barked instructions for a play Max had never learned. I watched in horror as my son awkwardly ran down the field, only to drop the ball when it was thrown to him. “Don’t you know the play?” the coach shouted. “No,” Max mumbled. The coach continued, seemingly oblivious to Max’s growing distress. The situation escalated to the point where Max burst into tears, overwhelmed with humiliation.
In that instant, I was flooded with memories of my own childhood, where my mother often confronted authority figures on my behalf. While I appreciated her protection, it also embarrassed me. I found myself at a crossroads: Should I intervene to protect my son from this humiliation, or let him navigate the situation on his own?
Suddenly, without thinking, I stood beside the coach. “Could you maybe just give him one minute to collect himself? Why don’t you teach him the plays instead of humiliating him?” I exclaimed. The words poured out of me like steam from a boiling kettle. I looked around at the startled expressions of the kids, parents, and the coach himself, who seemed taken aback.
“I’m teaching them!” he shot back. “When? The first 15 minutes of the first practice? Since then, you’ve hardly spoken to some of the players! It’s time to do your job!” I insisted, my voice trembling with pent-up emotion. I turned to Max, urging him to head to the car, and we left the field amid a mix of feelings.
“Why did you do that?” Max asked, still within earshot of the onlookers. “If he hated me before, he’s really going to hate me now!” I felt like I had become the embarrassing figure in his life, just as my mother had been for me.
That night, after calming Max down, I reflected on my actions. I indulged in a little wine and shared my feelings with a neighbor. I replayed the day’s events in my mind, grappling with my insecurities about parenting. I never wanted to be the mom who fought my child’s battles, but in that moment, I was—and I realized that I was doing it out of love and a desire to protect him.
The following day, Mike and I decided to switch Max to a different football team in the same league. We wanted to teach him resilience without subjecting him to unnecessary emotional turmoil. Max was reluctant, feeling inferior after the previous experience, but we were determined to help him navigate his anxiety.
At Max’s second game with his new team, coached by supportive high school boys, I witnessed a transformation. He earned four flags, made three blocks, and celebrated with exuberance. In that hour, I saw my son blossom into the confident player he was meant to be.
In retrospect, I realize that while I might have overstepped, my intentions were purely to protect my child. As he grows, I hope that I can guide him toward standing up for himself, much like my mother did for me. Until then, I’ll continue to fight for him and help him find his footing.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, Jamie Harper shares her experience of confronting her son’s football coach after witnessing his neglect towards less experienced players. The emotional turmoil of the situation, compounded by her son’s anxiety, forces her to reevaluate her role as a protective parent. Ultimately, the decision to switch teams leads to a positive transformation for her son, illustrating the complexities of parenting and the importance of standing up for one’s child.