Coaching -- The greatest "hassle" you'll ever enjoy

"I just don't have the time." ... "There are plenty of parents who are more qualified than me." ... "Who needs all that extra hassle with practices, games and drama."

I said all of that when it came time to consider coaching my daughter's basketball team three years ago. Life and work were hectic.  I loved playing basketball, but had never really coached a team. And, there are always potential headaches and tension around bad calls, playing time, etc.

The truth is ... coaching Emma and her friends was the greatest "hassle" I ever enjoyed. As their 8th grade season ends this week, I reflected back on coaching the last three years and couldn't help but feel a bit nostalgic.

A Great Experience

First, I was fortunate to have the opportunity to coach when the spot opened up three years ago. Not every parent has that chance. I was also incredibly lucky to work with a head coach and fellow father who was dedicated, experienced and good-hearted. We made it work.

It was very satisfying and rewarding to teach a game that I had been playing for 40 years.  It brought back so many memories and lessons about basketball and teamwork that I learned on the courts and gyms of my youth.

The girls were enthusiastic, respectful and upbeat. They gave the loudest cheers in the gym, "1-2-3-Assumption."  Always quick with a "thank you, Mr. Price" or a shocked look when they may have fouled the other team.

We never won more than a handful of games in a season, but our girls developed skills, had fun and learned how to play the game. To be honest, the other schools and teams were simply better. Over the years, we learned to savor the small victories -- a terrific pass, a made shot, a defensive stand and fighting to the end. I look back and see the progress each girl made, growing as players, as teammates and as young women, and I am so proud of them all.

Five Reasons to Coach Your Kids

For those parents who may be struggling with the decision to coach their kids, I would offer these benefits that you should never sell short:.

1. Show them "Coach," not "Dad" -- My daughter Emma got to see me in a very different light as Coach, not Dad -- even if just for a few hours a week. At home, I am the one hounding her about cleaning her room,... taking away her phone when she hasn't done her homework,... working on my computer at all odd hours of the night or weekend. At the gym, I was fun. Making jokes, running drills and smiling. Emma and I would tease each other, share laughs and have a special place where we could relate to each other in a whole different way.

2. Share Your Passion -- I love basketball! I have been playing since I was a little kid, and I still play today in regular pick-up games with friends. My kids knew how much I loved the game, but until they started playing it was hard for them to understand why. Emma and Tess both play now. They know why people get excited about a great play or the swish of a jumper. They appreciate all the hours of practice that go into improving your skills. When I drove Tess to her game a few weeks ago, she was telling me all about the defensive scheme they were being taught by her coach. I could hear her starting to grasp the game and have a passion for how the parts can come together when a team is working well.

3. Keep Fit and Have Fun --  As a coach, I loved practice. I didn't want to be passively barking orders from the sidelines or giving long lectures.  I was running around the court. Dribbling. Shooting. Showing them defensive stances. It was a workout and kept me energized. I had to stay in better shape, so I didn't embarrass myself racing up court -- or collapse during our defensive drill to Cotton-Eyed Joe. I also had so much fun seeing the pleased and proud look on their faces when they would make a steal, hit a shot and win a game.  They always made me chuckle and smile in their own goofy, girly ways.

4. Meet their Friends -- It's always been hard for parents to get a glimpse into their kids lives and know their friends. When I was a kid in Jersey City, your friends were all in the neighborhood and you called the house or rang the doorbell to ask if "Jimmy could come out to play." Nowadays, the only people who call my home phone are my parents and telemarketers. It's harder to know who your kids are spending time with and what is going on in their lives. Spending a few hours with Emma and her friends every week gave me a glimpse into their world, a better perspective on what mattered to them, and a greater appreciation for their problems and concerns. I would always ask them what they thought was working in practice ... what did they like ... what did we need to work on. I think they were surprised that I asked what they thought and also that I listened.

5. Precious Time -- The greatest regret most parents have is, "I wish I could spend more time with my kids." Well, if you're lucky enough to coach their teams, you get that time commitment. You have the drive time to games, weekly practices, pizza party celebrations, etc. You also have a common interest and topic that you can talk about -- something that isn't schoolwork or why they torture their sister.

Hassles Can Be Treasures Once Unwrapped

Emma will be moving onto high school next year and probably won't be playing basketball.  Tess has a great, committed set of dads coaching her 6th grade team already.  And, Will is still young and a wild card, not sure if sports are for him. My coaching run may be over... but the memories and bonds over basketball will never end -- not for me and I hope not for them either. Emma and her friends taught me a lot about coaching, parenting and "hassles" that are truly treasures once unwrapped.

Apple Trees Make Apples

You may be familiar with the the saying "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," which means children are very similar to their parents. My friend Mark likes to twist that adage and say, "Apple trees make apples." He usually says it to me when I am complaining about one of my kids' less-than-flattering displays of stubbornness (Will), impatience (Tess) or inability to hear someone when they don't care what they are saying (Emma).  Imagine that?

I find myself thinking about "apple trees" more and more as I see Will growing up.

Will is a rule follower just like his dad.  Tell us the rules.  Paint us the box. And we will live with them, no matter how stupid or unfair they might be.  We usually try and negotiate a fair set of rules in advance -- or in Will's case he might evolve the rules to his advantage in the games he makes up. But, if there are rules we can usually live with them.

Chess Rules

Recently, Will has been learning to play chess with me.  Lots of rules to learn there.

He has been very quick to pick up the game.  He clearly thinks a few moves ahead, sees the whole board and is beginning to grasp the implications of each move he makes (today, he was even coaching sister Tess).

The first few times he played he was still getting familiar with how each piece could move differently.  However, one rule he learned right away was that once you let go of your piece, you couldn't move it again -- even if you then realized it was going to be taken.

So one game, he moved his knight three spaces and over one, instead of two spaces and over and he took my queen.  He then quickly let go of the knight.

I told him, "Will, you can't do that.  The knight only moves two spaces and then over one. It should be here."  He knew he was caught, but he also knew the rules and quickly retorted -- "But, Dad, your rule is once you let go of the piece... you can't move it again! So, he can't go back to the other space."  Gotcha, Dad! A rule is a rule.

We discussed the merits of which rule really counted in this case, and Will decided he would no longer play that day if I wasn't going to play by the rules.  

A Rule Is A Rule

At this point in my blog post, my mother is chuckling to herself and thinking you got what you deserve. She is also beginning to recall stories of her own son, who liked rules and had his own strong sense of fairness.

When I was in 8th grade, my teacher was getting very frustrated with our class at the end of one very long day. Spring fever had set in, graduation was on the near horizon, and students weren't as studious or prepared as our teacher would've liked.

She announced that she was going to ask one more set of questions from the chapter, and she expected someone to answer them -- besides Billy Price who had been answering all the previous questions -- or we would all be staying after school.  Well, when no one else could answer her questions (except me whom she wouldn't call on), the last bell rang, and she kept everyone after school -- including me.

Well, that wasn't fair.  She was changing the rules -- and I told her I shouldn't have to stay after school.  The teacher didn't appreciate the merits of my argument this day and sent me to the principal's office. Now, I didn't go to the principal's office very often in my eight years at Our Lady of Mercy, but on this day I knew I was right and I was ready to make my case. Certainly, the principal Sr. Rose Mary would be on my side.  She knew the rules.  She knew what was fair. I knew the answer to every question our teacher had asked, but she wouldn't let me answer them.  Why did I have to stay after school?

My train of logic derailed with Sr. Rose Mary, too, and so I went back to class to serve time with my classmates.  Another loss for the rule follower.

Will the Negotiator

Will has become quite the negotiator of what is fair and isn't fair in his own right.  For the last year, going to Sunday mass has become an unbearable torture for Will, usually ending in tears, crying and slamming doors.  No manner of persuasion or argument can convince him this is a good use of this time.

Most Sundays in the battle of wills (or Wills, in this case), I would win the battle, but lose the war.  He would go to mass crying, tear-stained and seething, and I would also go to mass ticked off -- and not in the most Christian mindset, other than praying to God for more patience.

When his grandmother came to stay with us for a few weeks, she would go to the early mass, and for a couple of Sundays, I took the path of least resistance after arguing with him, and just left him home with Grandma when the rest of us went to mass.  This was not a long-term solution, but it certainly made for more peaceful Sundays.

There is nothing -- other than his mother -- that Will loves more than his electronics -- Nintendo DS, iPad, XBox, etc.  So, one Sunday, I told him, "Look here is the deal, if you don't go to mass like a good boy and without any screaming, then you will not be able to have any electronics for the entire day.  It's one hour at Church or a whole day without any electronics.  That's the rule."  He agreed begrudgingly.

The next weekend I told him the same rule that we had established.  He turned to me and said, "Well, Dad, you don't leave for Church until about 9:30, so I can keep playing my games until then, since I COULD go with you until you leave.  But, I am going to stay home with Grandma, and once you come back from Church I will give up my electronics the rest of the day. I am not going to church."  Gotcha, Dad! A rule is a rule.

And so, the truth is apple trees make apples -- even rotten ones some days.  :)

13 Truths About Fatherhood

It is Father's Day weekend.  A time to visit Macy's for that Oxford shirt and paisley tie combination your father has always wanted.  Or, time to hit Home Depot for the latest set of power tools that your father can drive through his thumb, foot and other appendages.  Or, time to find the last existing bottle of Obsession cologne to replace the one that your father has been wearing since high school. Oh, Father's Day.

Father's Day is also a great time to reflect on those common traits that make us fathers. In today's post, I would like to share 13 truths of fatherhood:

1) Fathers will never be mothers. They will never be the their kids' favorite or the first one they thank in their Tony Award acceptance speech. On the other hand, they will also never be the one who the kids yell at when they can't find their favorite pair of jeans, when they are "starving," or when the wifi is out.

2) It will always be a father's job to clean up the dog shit.  Or, kill the stink bugs... knock the bee's nest out of the garage ... or take the dead mice out of the mouse traps.

3) Dad's music will always suck.  From generation to generation, fathers will always have the crappiest music collection ... whether it is listening to Tony Bennett, Barry Manilow or Bon Jovi ... a Dad's music is never as cool as his kids'.

4) Fathers will never ask for directions or instructions .  They will follow their GPS mindlessly in circles or continue to say, "Oh, don't worry. I know where I am now."  And the IKEA furniture or thousand piece Lego set will always have "extra" pieces to toss away.

5) Every father is the "worst dad ever." At some point, every dad will be a "tyrant" and "hated" by his kids for being "soooo unfair."

6) Every father runs a hotel for kids. "Guests" enjoy concierge service, continental breakfasts, free wifi.  They don't need to turn out lights, pick up clothes, hang up towels, put away their toys, make their beds...  Check-out time is arbitrary -- usually noon on the weekends for teenagers. And new guests are always welcome to fill vacancies for sleepovers.

7) Fathers will always take the kids for ice cream.  They will generously buy little Jimmy his one scoop of vanilla ice cream on a cone, while they devour a 1200 calorie banana split with extra walnuts and chocolate syrup.  "It's for the kids, honey."

Megan Hock Photography -- Pinterest

8) Fathers will always hate their daughters' boyfriends and cry on their daughters' wedding days.  Always.

9) Every dad is a cab driver. A text or a phone call and a father is out the door faster than an Uber driver in Manhattan. Those Saturday morning drives to practices or late drives home from theater rehearsal. That one-on-one time is precious and priceless.

10) Fathers will always snore.  It's a chronic condition, especially after Thanksgiving dinner, or in an easy chair while they are "watching" the latest CSI episode.

11) Fathers will never be as tough as mothers. Mothers carried those kids in their wombs for nine months, doing unthinkable things to their bodies, and went through hell to bring them into the world.  Fathers whine when they get a twisted ankle playing basketball or smash their thumb with a hammer.

12) Fathers will never get sunscreen right.  Whether it is for themselves or their kids, someone will invariably wind up with one thigh that is lobster red, or have the map of the Ukraine imprinted on their back.

13) Every father's cold heart has a melting point.  A tight hug, a cute smile and a sincere, "I love you, Dad" can melt any Dad's heart.

Melt your Dad's heart this weekend.  Say thanks and I love you.

The Perfect Place to Show off Inept Parenting? The Doctor's Office

If you ever want to feel inept as a parent just take your kids to the doctor's office.  The doctor's interrogation -- I mean questions -- are quick to reveal what a negligent, inadequate and careless parent you are.  Or at least it will make you feel that way.

Can You Repeat the Question?

When I was about nine years old, I was sitting on the living room floor with my dog Buddy watching television.  Buddy was a black Lab and terrier mix.  He must have had a sore ear that night as we watched television because when I rubbed his head, he yelped, turned quickly -- and bit my face.

It wasn't a Cujo, horror film kind of bite.  He snapped at me and because we were sitting so close, one of his sharp teeth went right through the skin under my bottom lip.  Clean through. A nice bloody mess.  You could've stuck a straw through the skin to my teeth.

My father got the unenviable task of taking me to the Greenville Hospital emergency room alone.  Standing at the counter, talking to the nurse who was filling out the paperwork, poor Dad almost got stumped on the third question.  "Patient's name?" she asked.  Got it.  "Address?" OK.  "Birth date?" ... "Uhm," said my Dad as he turned and looked down toward me.  "What's your birthday?"

We got through that and when they told us it could be a long wait (someone came in right before us with 21 stab wounds -- that's a whole lot of stitches), Dad decided my cut didn't look that bad.  We could always come back in the morning.

It's funny the things you remember.  The truth is medical interrogations bring out the worst in any parent.  You feel like you are on trial, facing a cross examination from a mix of the SuperNanny, Judge Judy and Alicia Florrick from The Good Wife.

The Inquisition

Flash forward to my own recent parenting gem in the doctor's office.

I know my kids' birthdays -- or at least I have them readily available in my smart phone so I can avoid such scarring moments for my own kids (just kidding, Dad).

I took Emma and Will to the doctor recently during the height of this winter's germ scourge. Their school friends were dropping like flies, and they soon succumbed to the bug.

As we sat in the exam room, I first had to face the nurse and explain why we were there.

"Will has been home with a sore throat and a bit of fever this week, and Emma woke up today with a 102 fever, glazed eyes and sore throat," I explained.

"Are you really this child's father? 

"Well, her temperature is perfect now.  98.6," said the nurse, brandishing a temporal scanning thermometer that looked like something Dr. Bones used on Star Trek. How could that be? How did she not have a fever?  Betrayed!

Truth was I hadn't even checked her temperature since that morning.  Once her mother decided she could stay home from school, the battle was lost. Why would I take her temperature again.  My orders were simple: "Keep them alive.  Get them to the doctor.  Pick up their medicine."

The doctor came in a bit later and had questions of her own.  No problem. I had this figured out now. I wouldn't look like "inept, know nothing" dad.  I would look like nurturing, "father knows best" dad. I wanted my kids to be strong and independent -- they could answer the questions themselves.

"Go ahead, Will.  Tell the doctor how you're feeling," I said.  Will did a nice job in his sad, soft-spoken voice, describing his sore throat when he swallowed.

I played the supportive dad, helping him out a bit, sharing what I knew about his allergies and asthma.  Whew.  Not bad.

Then came more questions.  This doctor was RELENTLESS!  Is this the Inquisition?

"What did you have for breakfast, Will?"  Oh, crap.

"I had Cheerios and chocolate milk," he said.  Not exactly high-protein eggs, nutritious oatmeal and orange juice, but hey it was better than the cinnamon buns his mother usually gave him.

We got our orders, and the doctor was actually very nice. She spoke to me very slowly when she gave me instructions, wrote it down for me, and didn't give me any stern, disapproving stares.

Full Circle

Bringing things full circle, my dad recently accompanied me on a trip to the Urgent Care with Will. My dad didn't want to go, but my mother made him. Maybe he was scarred by the trip to Greenville Hospital for the dog bite, too, and he didn't want to be questioned about his grandson. He probably doesn't know his birthday either -- and he doesn't have a smart phone.

Will was under the weather.  Poor little guy had strep.  As we sat in the waiting room, my dad fell asleep in the chair before we even saw the doctor. With age comes some privileges. He never had to answer a single question.

The Walking Dead and Parenthood -- It's All About Family

I am a long time fan of the television show Parenthood, the sappy, award-winning drama about the everyday trials, tribulations and tragedies of the Braverman family. Every week, I record the latest episode on my DVR and then sit on my couch and sniffle over all the heartwarming and gut-wrenching moments.

Kristina's recovery from cancer. Hank's and Max's struggles with Asperger's. Joel and Julia's marital problems.  Amber's struggle with growing up and finding her way. Adam's stressed out existence as the one everyone depends on. Zeek's heart trouble and mortality. It all gets to me. I am a sensitive guy.  And my wife kindly reminds me, "It's just a television show. What is wrong with you?"

Parenthood is one show that my wife and I would make time to watch together. I would watch so I could  get all sentimental and think about how I hoped someday I would sit on a porch like Zeek with my daughter and have her tell me I was a "the best" father (sob... sob...). My wife Elena would watch the show so she could sit and laugh at me for acting like an idiot on the "crying couch" with my daughter Emma (also a sniffler).

Now, switch gears. I have recently become addicted to a different kind of show: The Walking Dead. This hit show with a cult-like following portrays people's struggle to survive in the weeks and months after a zombie apocalypse engulfs the world.


Skulls smashed with axes. Gun shots to the head. Herds of mindless zombies walking and devouring live victims in their path. The base reality of survival -- kill or be killed -- in all its raw glory. I sit there on my iPad watching episode after episode, cliffhanger after cliffhanger, addicted to this show.

As I watched the final episode of Parenthood tonight, I got to thinking, "How could the same person -- me -- love these two vastly different shows?" And the truth is it's all about family. The strength we find in family. They ways we define family. The bonds and commitments we have to each other.

It may seem odd, but here are a few of the family lessons, these shows share:

Family always has your back -- In Parenthood, no matter how many fights they might have or how much they might snipe about who was their parents' "favorite," in the end they always made up and stood up for each other. Adam and Crosby disagreed about the future of the business they started together, and things got very ugly. But in the end they were brothers and that trumped being business partners (eventually). In The Walking Dead, they were always willing to put their lives on the line for their group. When T-Dog got bit by a zombie, he didn't hesitate in sacrificing himself to the zombies to help Carol escape. Family means making sacrifices, making apologies and always having each other's back.

Cherish those "moments" -- Don't lose sight of the simple family moments -- the points scored in a basketball game, the excitement over a report card, crazy singing in the car... Or, the beauty of nature you can share -- the sunrise in your yard, the walk on the beach, the snowmen that you build. When Adam successfully bakes a souffle with a student with special needs, and neither of them had ever done it before, that was awesome -- a small victory against the world. When amidst all the death and hopelessness created by the "walkers," little Carl talks about the peaceful looking deer he got close to in the pasture, that is rejuvenating. The fact he could still see beauty in all that despair was cool. Don't let those "moments" pass unnoticed.  Enjoy them and remember them, always.

You don't choose your family -- or maybe you do -- At the end of the day, he's "my blood" is what redneck, arrow-slinging hero Daryl says about his choice to stay with his evil, racist, masochistic brother Merle. At the same time, their group is a band of strangers who bond like a family to survive and would do anything for each other (even chop off a friend's leg with an axe to save him from "turning"). In Parenthood, when Amber sleeps with her cousin Hattie's boyfriend, or when little Sydney screams at her newly adopted brother Victor, you know it will all work out. You're family -- for better, or worse.

I know this all may sound crazy and farfetched, but there has to be some reason I find these two insanely different shows so fascinating and enjoyable. If it's not the common theme of family, then I may have to admit that I am a weepy, emotional sap who cries at Hallmark commercials, while secretly wanting to enjoy the adrenalin rush of decapitating a crazed zombie with an old, rusty bread knife.