Where'd my Little League Go?
A reflection while visiting my childhood
I just went to watch my best friend (when I was 9) coach his 9-year-old son on the same field that we played on when we were 9, in a little league all-star game, and it was WEIRD, to say the least!
Let me begin by giving a bit of background. I'm back at my parent's house for a brief stay while we, my family of four, make the transition from the Philippines, where we've been teaching and living for the past 4 years, to Peru, where we'll be teaching and living for the foreseeable future. On the other hand, my buddy is a retired professional baseball player living a few minutes from where we grew up. Needless to say, a lot has changed, but walking across the baseball fields a minute ago made me think a lot about the past, present, and future.
My parents live just up the hill from the baseball field of my childhood, and I can see all of the fields and hear any action from where I sit, in my parent's backyard. As I write this, the fields are lifeless entities awaiting the next group of young aspiring athletes to grace their tops. Nothing but well-manicured grass, dirt infields, and chainlink fence. Yet, when I walked down there 30 minutes ago it was teeming with life.
I got wind that my friend would be down at the fields coaching his son, so I decided to walk down there to say "hello." We don't keep in close contact anymore, but I always try to reach out, often without success, whenever I'm home. I figured this would be as good a time as any. You know talk about old times when we dawned our uniforms and played on these same fields together.
Walking the same route down to the fields that I'd done a thousand times before instantly brought back memories. It's as if I was 12 years old again heading down for a day at the field. As I got closer to the fields, the memories grew stronger. Making my way from one side of the park to the other, I quickly scrolled through my journey as a budding athlete in those same fields. I saw my 5-year-old self, wearing jeans and an old t-shirt getting ready for my first day of t-ball. With each new field, a new memory came floating back. I felt myself taking swings off the tee that first day of practice, then struggling to hit the live pitch thrown by my coach the following season. Walking by the old "Minor B" field, those anxious feelings that I first remembering having about baseball came roaring back. As I looked at the "major field", I recalled the time I got so angry for not making the All-Star team as a 10-year-old that I confronted the coach...unsuccessfully. I was so scared to approach him and challenge his authority, but my brother all-but forced me to do so. It's as if my whole childhood could be described as a series of baseball fields, and the moments that imprinted on my mind from those fields.
A lot was the same down there, the fields were laid out the same way, the smells were the same, the cheers still resonated, there were still pockets of players and coaches practicing. Yet, so much had changed. The grass was greener with fewer "potholes." The dugouts had all been converted from fencing to brick. The temporary outfield walls had all become permanent fences with green meshing and a yellow, home-run stripe running along the top. The fields weren't the only things that improved. The jeans and t-shirts that I had worn have been replaced by well-pressed name-laden uniforms. The coaches all had matching coaching shirts with the required Oakley sunglasses perched on top of their Pro-Form hats. The budding players were no longer struggling to catch a routine fly ball or make contact with a soft pitch. They were all well trained on the correct fundamentals of the sport and approached each opportunity with the ease of someone that has spent hours and hours of private lessons perfecting their craft. It all looked, from the outside, to be a big improvement on my experience with the sport. Yet, something just didn't, and still doesn't feel right about the whole thing which prompted this reflection.
First of all, I was going to watch a 9-year-old All-Star game. The kids are 9 for God's sake. They haven't played long enough to differentiate the "All-Stars." What about the non-stars? Should they give up the sport now? What are we teaching these young kids at such an age? Talk about creating a fixed mindset within children. At the age of 9, you either have it or you don't, so you mind as well stop trying! Crazy.
And the fields...these fields were better prepared than my college field, and most of the professional fields that I played on. The kids are going to be so disappointed when they step onto a field that doesn't meet their standards that they'll use that as an excuse for poor performing. What do they have to look forward to? That goes the same for the uniforms! Come on. Let the kids wear some crappy mismatched uniform that has some awful cursive lettering on the front that is barely legible. That's part of growing up. It gives stories to tell and write about. It reminds you that you're still a kid and gives you something to strive for, work for. I remember thinking that I couldn't wait to get to the Major field with the real dugout and the nice uniforms. Now, the kids get it from day 1. Things are supposed to improve. You graduate to a nice uniform as you move up the ranks, not the other way around.
What about the skill level? These kids are definitely going to be better ball players than my generation, simply because they have the resources to fund endless hours of training. But will they love it as much? Will it still be a sport, a game to play? Or is it just a job? A means to an end? Just another way to differentiate yourself from the next guy. How many of these kids will love throwing the ball around with their friends when there is no coach to prompt them? How many will value having a catch with their son or daughter, not because it will make them better, but because it will build a bond that can't be matched?
At the end of the game (my friend's team lost in the last inning), I watched the opposing coaches give each other a giant hug. It's as if they were the ones competing. It appeared to be all about them. Mind you, not one player hugged them, nor did they congratulate one player. Then it dawned on me, this is what youth sports have become. It's no longer a place for kids to get together have fun and develop some important life skills. Sports is now, I giant measuring stick for parents with too much time, too much money, and too little to do. This is how adults now differentiate themselves. It's about the team their child plays on. Who they beat? Where they traveled? What their rank is? How they compare? Child success in youth sport is the new measure of success for adults.
All of this made me wonder how I would/will approach my child's interactions with youth sports. If they have a genuine interest, I know I'll want to develop that interest and provide them with the opportunities to be successful. Luckily, I don't have to make those decisions too soon. First of all, my own children are still too young, 4 and 1 years old. Also, living overseas the lifestyle is drastically different. Most parents still drop their children off at practice and pick them up afterward. Specialist coaches are a rarity. A parent's life does not revolve around the child's sports schedule. Sport is not about a scholarship or become a professional, it's still about having fun and working with others. Parents are able to hold on to your values, your identity, and your self-worth as an individual. Through that, hopefully, your children learn the same!
