Kids & Parenting

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Do you see a man who speaks in haste? There is more hope for a fool than for him. Proverbs 29:20

All right, I admit it I’m one of those fathers who could not remain still on the sidelines. Inside me was this coach ready to come out anytime or any place. My dad was a coach. So, blame it on my genes.

My son Patrick played soccer and baseball. While baseball was not his favorite sport, I knew something about it. I knew how to pitch. One day his coach noticed his arm in practice and asked him if he would be willing to pitch for them. When he told them yes, I could not contain my excitement. I’d always dreamed of a pitcher in the family.

So, like my dad, I bought a glove, a couple baseballs, grabbed a rubber home plate from the garage and proceeded to teach my son the fine art of pitching.

Because my son was only ten at the time, I wanted him to learn the fundamentals of pitching. So, we practiced for hours on end. I watched him closely, making sure he stayed away from exotic pitches like curves. I did not want him to wreck his arm like I did.

One of the pitches we worked on was our special pitch. We called it a slider. It was nothing more than a slow ball thrown in a way that would make it drop at the plate. I’m not so sure it had anything to do with the fancy grip we were using. Mainly, I believe the ball just ran out of steam and dropped. That’s how slow this pitch was.

During games, this pitch worked like magic for my son. After a couple fast pitches, my son would come back with this slow pitch that would suddenly drop, leaving wide-eyed ten-year-old batters swinging at the wind.

One day, my son’s team found themselves tied with the top team in the league. It was the final out of the final inning when the other team's best hitter headed to the plate. This kid was huge. Not real fast, but huge. Given the right pitch, he could easily send it sailing over the center field fence.

Knowing this kid liked high pitches, the coach in me took over. I left my wife sitting on the bleachers and headed for the fence to the right of the catcher’s box. I leaned up against it and signaled to get my son’s attention. Once I knew he saw me, I mouthed the word "slider." This batter liked them high, so I knew the slider would keep the ball out of his swing zone.

Patrick stared at me, as if to say "Huh!" Then he shrugged his shoulders. I could tell he did not get it. So I looked at him and whispered, “Sliiiiider!" I said it slowly, to make sure he could easily read my lips.

This time my son smiled, as if to say, “I got it dad!” Once confirmed, this feeling of excitement rushed through my entire body as I pictured in my mind's eye this big kid swinging for the fences, only to find the ball dropping well below his swing zone. And, me, I’d be the hero. I’d be the guy who made the right call. My son would congratulate me, the fans would cheer, and the coaches would thank me for my brilliant suggestion. Yes, I saw it all in my mind’s eye. Ole dad still had it.

As my son started his windup, my heart raced with anticipation. I could not wait to see the surprise on this batter's face. Going through his motion, my son checked first base to hold the runner, he then fired the pitch. Oops!

Something goes through your mind when you see a pitch that you thought would drop, sail high across the strike zone. I believe it was the longest home run I’d ever seen a ten-year-old hit.

My son, in disbelief, turned and watched it sail over the center field fence. And as for me, I just stood there, thinking about this coaching curse. With that home run, the game was over. Finally, my son turned toward me. The look on his face told me it was time for me to go.

Not wanting to disappoint him, I climbed the bleachers, grabbed my wife by the hand, said a few quick goodbyes to some of the parents and made my escape.

Driving home, my wife could not believe what I did. I felt like a fool. I was not ready to face my son. That's why I hoped his friends would drive him around the block for a few hours, letting him cool off before bringing him home. By then, I would be in bed, and wouldn't have to face him until morning.

Unfortunately, he was only a few minutes behind me. Watching him come through the back door, I felt like a deer in headlights. I wanted to run, but I couldn't. My heart was too heavy. So I stood there like some wimp trying to think of something to say that would defuse the silence. Finally, I could not take it any longer. I said, “Son, I am so sorry. What happened? I told you pitch your slider.” Then he grinned and said, “Dad, I thought you said, throw it higher.”

That night, I had to promise my son that I would not do any more coaching from the sidelines; at least not until soccer season.

Copyright 2004

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