Slow! Parents Playing

I sat in the path of a sea-breeze by the tennis courts Friday as a very fine young tennis pro worked with three boys, aged ten or eleven.

One boy's father, an "A" club-player, stood close-by intensely watching his son's performance, earplugs hanging down his neck.  After each of his son's shots, he made comments to the boy based on his own play standards.

Soon, mom, also an "A" club-player, joined dad on the deck overlooking the court and began offering her own comments. Then they discussed his racquet and grip, which were all wrong apparently (sorry). Eventually, she migrated to the other end of the court to get a different angle.

The boy didn't have a chance; he'd been tag-teamed. He could not enjoy an uninterrupted moment playing with his friends and the hired instructor. We can predict that the boy will develop into a very good player, perhaps college material, and, later, an "A"club-player. But, perhaps we can also predict that it won't be much fun along the way, and that he might return the favor by judging his parents every move with their own intense set of standards.

It may not be pretty.

The previous evening, up the road in Greenwich CT, LeBron announced "The Decision." The Times referred to Greenwich as " a small Connecticut town." Yes, and London is a village by a river and Wilt Chamberlain was a wallflower with the ladies.

The whole world seemed to be riveted by The Decision, as if we had all become collective parents at both ends of the court. Not to mention Judge and Jury.

New Yorkers are expert at fleeing to Miami, so why all the fuss, unless you really care about the woebegone Knicks? Cleveland-ers usually prefer Florida's west coast: the Uber-Clevelander George Steinbrenner comes to mind. But, LeBron just doesn't seem to fit Naples, Tampa, or Clearwater.

It took less than 24 hours for collective/adoptive parents, who do not live near Miami, to offer up their verdicts:

Ungrateful and Disloyal!
Played Us for Fools!
Insulting To Our Great City!
Bamboozled!

Please. And those comments were just from adults.

Dear LeBron, you don't owe them a thing. You're a hard-working, successful young man (the guy is 25 years old). You carried two cities on your shoulders: Akron and Cleveland. You and a handful of young men like you carry a tired NBA product. You may not have known your father, but your mother has been your biggest supporter and fan. Now, you have about 100 million expectant parents, who want a little piece of your jersey, your number, your sweat and your soul.

Forget them. Go where you want to go. But, remember, sometimes you get what you ask for. Your friends and new "family" may have unrealistic expectations of what you can do for their lives. You know better than anyone just how poorly many of these NBA teams play; why do people pay to watch this stuff anyway?

Competition is essential to life (see Darwin, Charles and Smith, Adam), but so is fun (see Python, Monty and Murray, Bill). When one becomes unbalanced at the expense of the other, we get obsessive and then we get into trouble.




Ed note: This post is dedicated to the memory of Alana Dupont and to her family: husband Peter and daughters Lily, Daisy and Charlotte, who, together with Alana's friends, celebrate her life each year by competing in and enjoying a tennis tournament. Alana was a tenacious and dedicated athlete, a gifted and inspired artist, and a generous spirit. She knew how to enjoy it all, while competing hard.