I See You

Sometimes the weirdest places become the setting for royalty.

The basketball court at our gym.

This is the place Emma graduated from preschool. A few hours later that day, Lilly was born. 8 years later, she's hurling the ball at the basket with all the might in her little body. A lot of things have happened at this gym. We've spent a lot of time watching our kids grow.

It's all Barry's fault. I mean genius. He's the one who said sports are good. I had no sports. Sports made no sense to me. There were no teams growing up. Ten years of teams, now, 3 kids later, dusty trophies all over the house, and strong, confident, funny kids.

At the gym, a few years ago, this coach came into our lives. He's a skinny kid, somewhere in his 20's. Tattooed in spots, face kind of jagged, long and lean. He's a guy you might be afraid of if you didn't listen to him talk to these kids. This is Bruce, just a volunteer coach at the rec center.

When he started coaching, we'd had Nathan and Emma on a bunch of teams, and they'd done well, learned to work with a group, they learned to share, learned to be a good sport, learned the basics of different sports. Then our rec center kind of fell apart, less and less sports were offered, and finally it just was basketball. Lilly couldn't even get the ball up to the basket, she was 5 years old, and still it's the only sport we had so we signed her up, and she played.

Nathan got this coach Bruce. The skinny kid. Maybe the first few times he had Bruce, nothing happened. Nathan still played the game the way he always did. Kind of checking out in the middle, standing to the side, hoping no one would throw the ball to him, scared to make a mistake. Liked the camaraderie, but scared to throw toward the basket, not confident of his skills, because he was sort of a lumbering player. He's never been the lightest on his feet, he's always been more of an observer, quiet, sideways sort of player. Cautious.

And then he started playing for Bruce. This guy said NO. You have to give me MORE. NO. That's not good enough. NO. RUN. RUN if you miss. RUN suicides. RUN some more.

Many teams beat them. Bruce stayed right in there with them. He identified the mistakes they made with them after the games, when they were sweaty and eating snacks. He didn't yell at them. He didn't just blanket them with fake spirit. He just said, we'll try again next time. Here's what we'll do at practice. We'll get you strong. We'll get you caring. You have to play 100%.

As the seasons passed, something changed. We started noticing Bruce. His strong voice, a coach that talked, he was always on the sidelines, telling the kids exactly what to do. He was helping them to think, yelling out guiding words, becoming the voices in their heads. This is a good voice, this person on the side who can see what's happening on the court, and yelling at these kids who are trying - hey, he says. I SEE YOU. He says.

He tells them when to move, where to move, when to pass, when to cut across, what players to block, where their feet should be. He's this guy who, in Nathan's case, took a player who loved the game and made him a player who could play the game.

In the last year, Bruce became the only coach we ever wanted. I am not a sports person, and I couldn't wait to go to Bruce's games. Barry even went to games where none of our kids were playing, just to watch Bruce. This is what I'm talking about, the royalty of this guy, on the wooden floors of the basketball court. There are just people who belong in a certain place, and are subtly doing this unbelievable thing, this changing of kids' lives, right there, in front of us 20 parents in the stands, we are seeing him, this warrior Bruce, helping our kids, changing our kids forever.

Suddenly Nathan is out there running. Nathan is out there becoming fierce. Nathan is out there believing in himself. Nathan is out there knowing strategy and able to use it. And not just Nathan. Littler kids on Bruce's other teams. Emma too. They're just making impossible shots, and playing rabid defense, against kids huge and formidable. They're doing it because Bruce is on the sidelines, believing in them. Pushing them. At halftime he isn't yelling at them. He's telling them they're a family. They have to protect each other. At really tough games he's telling them, and it seems mean, but he's telling them don't come here if you don't want to play 100%. Don't show up anywhere. At your job. At your school. In life. Unless you are there at your best. Try harder, he's saying. Earn it.

One game about 6 months ago, the kids were lazy on the court during a somewhat brutal game and a team beat them. Bruce made them run afterwards. If they missed a shot, he made them run. As a mom I thought this guy is terrible, he's so mean. They're just kids. I was questioning this harsh guy. But after that game, and that running punishment afterwards, the kids might've been scared of Bruce and hated him a little bit, but at the very next game they were different. They didn't expect to win, but they WORKED. They tried hard. And game after game, that's when it started happening, up until the last game last Friday. These kids, they just started flying.

It's not the games themselves, they are exciting, and the kids are laughing even, amidst the pressure and brutal physicalness involved - it's the teamwork between the kids, the comfort of the gym they've grown up in, and this guy whose voice they trust setting them up with the rules, drilling them, and then setting them free. Running alongside them as they fly, and then slowing down and letting them go. Cause now they know how.

Bruce taught his last team, a few days ago, he's done at the rec center, going out of town to college to become a coach. He is the first sports related person that I can recognize - understand. He's a kid who has a way with kids. His voice is in all our heads - you know he's done something so important for our kids when you see him and you just want to give him things. You want him to know what he's done.

In Nathan's case, he's made a player out of a watcher. He helped Nathan gain skills as he grows into his body. He gave Nathan the freedom to make mistakes, to be himself, to challenge himself. To be good enough. To be better than he thinks he can be. It's all simple ways, too. Recently, he saw the kids were playing well but missing all their shots. He said, with a shrug, every day, go make 20 shots.

Nathan went out every day. He threw the basketball til he made 20 shots. The practicing made him try harder. It made him hone his shot. It made him confident to throw the ball. In the next games, Nathan was turning and shooting. Nathan was making shots. Practice. Loving himself. Learning. The next game, he was even stronger. The next game, we expect the shots to go in. Bruce has made Nathan, and Emma, and Lilly, and all these kids, maybe 40 kids in his little universe here at our tiny rec center - he's grown these solid, respectable, bloodthirsty, alive people. He's this hero, with this ease to him. Even though Bruce is going away, Bruce has been here. There's a banner on the wall with his name on it.

It doesn't matter how small your universe is, or your audience is. You give what this guy has given to our kids, open and caring enough to nurture some young players - you can change lives so powerfully in such little ways. Just by giving. Challenging others.

Helps to have that voice in your head. The one on the sidelines. We hear Bruce. Echoing in that gym. "I see you, Nathan," he says.