Last Saturday was Micah's basketball game. His team has yet to win a game. They've come so close, but still no win. It was rather silly to even have a basketball game Saturday because the week before everyone was snowed and iced in and unable to practice. But the game must go on!
Not one single boy on that team played well, Saturday. No one seemed to know what they were doing out on the court. Micah included. On two separate occasions the ball practically reached out and grabbed him and he missed it, both times. He let his guy get away from him several times. He only attempted one shot (and missed).
Why is that so hard for a parent to watch? I know it's not just me because I've heard other parents 1) yell at their kid during and after games and 2) make excuses for why their kid didn't play perfectly.
Anyway, on the second time the ball whizzed past Micah, I heard this angry sounding woman yell out, "Watch the ball, Micah!" And then Micah looked up in the stands at me and nodded, sullenly. Yes, folks, it was me, Mommy, yelling rudely and without compassion.
Not even one minute later, Micah's guy that he was supposed to be guarding got loose with the ball and scored. How my heart fell when Micah looked up in the stands at me, again, with that broken look.
Please, don't let me be that mom. Not the kind of mom that gets mad if her child doesn't outscore, outperform, outdo everyone else.
This is a game. There are plenty of opportunities in life to fail, to hurt. Not this, though. It is a game. Wasn't it invented for pleasure?
Well the game ended. Boy did it end. 25-3.
Micah doesn't know if he wants to play basketball anymore. How awful. I hope it's not because of me. I apologized to him. Then I let him know that all that matters in games is that he has fun and tries his best. But mostly has fun.
He said "ok," but he didn't say it with much conviction.
This mom stuff - it's not for wimps.
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