It was only his first practice but I was already sweating bullets on the bench and shaking in my boots for him.
I've had to do a lot of "coaching" with this boy from the time he was little until even now. He's needed the reassurance that he can do this.
You see, we've already been through baseball. Getting used to the whole "team" thing. Learning what a base is, and a strikeout, and how to run like Forrest! After three seasons, I believe, he finally has some confidence in the game. Hitting pretty consistently. But he's 6. It isn't the Major Leagues. I don't stress over it but finally found my comfort zone and could relax.
And besides. I've always said I don't want to be that mom. Whatever that mom is. I don't want to be her. I don't want to force any sport or activity on my child. I don't want him to do things that he doesn't enjoy. I don't want to place the emphasis on winning, and being the best.
I want him to learn how to be on a team.
To play.
To have FUN.
To "Be Aggressive" when he needs to be. (He does have an older brother after all!)
I want the kid to NOT be like me. To not be scared to play a sport because his fear of failure takes over. I still to this day will not play volleyball. Don't ask me why. But I don't like things being hit toward me. Duh. And I don't want to look stupid when my face ends up in the sand. Or disappoint the team when I'm not paying the least bit of attention and I'm day-dreaming about chocolate ice cream. Mmmmm.
Anyway, get to the YMCA. He immediately begins. "I don't want to go to this YMCA. I don't want to play here!" We get out of the car, kicking and screaming and crying. "I don't want to play. Tell them I'm not playing. I'm NOT going inside." He's blocking me at this point. What he doesn't know is that I am more than terrified for the both of us. It was like the first day of school. I was nervous. I wanted to cry with him. He didn't need to worry or be scared, I was worried and scared enough for the both of us!
We get inside and down the hall into Gymnasium 2. Kids are hooping it up, laughing, dribbling, just jumping right in. Not my little mini-me. He's tearing up again...fighting it. We go out to meet the Coach and he won't speak (which drives me batty by the way but we're working on being polite and at least making eye contact). So we go back to the bench and I begin coaching him on how fun this is going to be and look!! there's Hunter from baseball and Ava from Kindergarten....you can do this baby! But it isn't working. Praise Jesus, Doc walks in and up they go out onto the court to begin stretching and announcing to each other their names, what grade they are in and what their favorite thing to do is. Amazingly they ALL love to play basketball. Imagine that. But not my kid. I couldn't hear him well and he was last to announce his biography. But he definitely didn't say "basketball" as his favorite thing to do.
So they warm up.
And BAM!!
No joke. The Coach has them running suicides (he was last and we almost had a breakdown), dribbling down the court and back (he was last, again), bounce passing to another teammate (he was enjoying this actually), doing layups (he had no CLUE what a layup was), and all kinds of other basketball related drills. It was fast. I was sweating.
And he was enjoying it!!
He was smiling and having a good ole time. I had to remind myself that basketball is fast paced, he's gonna be ok. I could see it in his eyes though. At any minute he could break. Coach was telling them "whoever is last will have to do 10 pushups". He was ancy to get a head start. He didn't want to be last. But still, he was.
And he got down and started to do pushups.
My heart dropped to my feet. And it broke.
It broke into a million pieces and I wanted to swoop him up and get out of there. But he smiled. And did his pushups. And Coach told him how good he did and they carried on.
You see, this life of boys...I'm not sure I'm cut out for it. I'm an emotional basketcase sometimes. I cry a lot. I'm tender-hearted. And I sweat like a man because I'm nervous, and I get scared at stupid things!! Boys are so much tougher and I want to keep my big boy a soft-hearted baby. But while I pray he continues to hold onto that soft heart, I also pray he grows into a strong, BRAVE, young man!
That he one day, boldly, shakes the hand of his Coach.
That he one day doesn't even think twice about starting a new sport or hobby or job.
He was the last to make his free throw so that we could leave. I was biting my nails. A couple other moms that I was talking to were staying to watch Lukas make his shot. I was so nervous for him thinking "is he REALLY going to make him do this? in front of everyone? the kid doesn't even know how to shoot the ball" and BAM. He makes the basket.
Yeah, so, he was last.
But who cares?! HE MADE THE BASKET!! The smile and joy....and the cheers of the moms around me (THANK YOU!).....made my heart burst!!
This is good for him. I have to keep reminding myself of that because if not, I'd be at the front desk asking for a refund in a heartbeat. But it's good for me too. He makes me stronger. And wiser. And it makes so SO proud of him for being brave and DOING it.
He's a pretty OK kid, ya know?! :)
But he's still this little baby in my eyes.
And his little brother.....this little spitfire. He's not scared at all. He's ready for his turn, crying because he WANTS to get out there!
It's crazy. Their personality differences.
My boy is big for his age. Everyone has always thought he was much older than he is because of his height. But he's only 6. The doctors say that he'll be at least 6'4" when he gets bigger. I'm afraid "bigger" is just around the corner at this rate. He's already to my chest and growing every day.
Moms, please tell me this slows down a little. Tell me that I'm not crazy. Tell me that it is normal to watch videos like the one below and boo-hoo......
Because today...I'm a mess. I am so proud of these kids. All of them. And I don't care what sports they play, if any, or what hobbies they enjoy, as long as they are wholesome! I just want them to be brave and feel good about themselves while doing it. I want them to (gently, slowly!) spread their wings.
And just....
take.the.shot.
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