I’m over at Larry Bernstein’s blog, Me, Myself, and Kids, today talking about the sidelines. I’ve been through many seasons of watching my kids play baseball, soccer, and basketball, and I’ve decided I really don’t like the other parents.
As a kid, I’m pretty sure it was one of the reasons I stopped playing. I knew it even then. In fourth grade, I played softball and I wasn’t very good. When the ball was hit to my patch of centerfield grass, I ran for it and threw it in. I threw it to whoever looked most eager to get it in her glove. Only my aim sucked. My eyes looked at her outstretched hand, but the ball went six feet to the left.
I used to sit in the dugout and pray my turn wouldn’t come up. Standing at the plate, I could hear the parents in the stands. Maybe they meant for me to. “Come on, hit the ball!” They weren’t using encouraging tones. They weren’t being helpful.
As a parent, I’ve sat on the sidelines through enough games and enough sports to know that I’m not cut out for this sort of thing. Even now as an adult, I hate hearing the other parents.
Visit Me, Myself, and Kids to read more and see what else I’ve encountered. Tomorrow, come back here and read about Larry’s experience with Little League, not only as a parent, but also as a coach.