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.

Leaving a thumbprint on your life

We all meet thousands of people in our lives. Some we encounter in fleeting moments. The man  we bump into while waiting in line for a burger.  The woman we talk to in line at the post office.  The retail person who helps us pick out the right gift for our wife. The contractor who spends weeks in our house painting and putting up walls. Their impressions on us may come and go like dust on a nightstand. Easily noticed, but quickly wiped away.

Other people spend more time in our lives. Family members. Classmates. Neighbors. Co-workers. People we meet on our daily commutes or at favorite watering holes.  These people usually leave more of an impression on us.  More than we may even realize.

The truth is there are many people in our lives who leave their thumbprint on us.  A mark that is there for life, but not noticed until you look for it.  They may have shaped our outlook on life; taught us skills we will always use; or provided comfort at a critical time.  They leave an indelible impression that we don't notice or appreciate until we are prompted to reflect.

This story is about my former co-worker and friend John, who passed away this week, and the thumbprint he left on me.

The Original News Junkie

John was  a newsman.  He spent many of his early years as a reporter and would fondly recount his days working for the United Press International (UPI) wire service to me.  It's where he got his discipline for writing and his passion for the media. He loved the news. Everything about it. John was the original news junkie.

The Original News Junkie

I met John many years after he left the newsroom, when he was a veteran PR guy for AT&T and I was a young pup still finding my way around corporate America.   John was a well-respected and beloved media relations pro and we became good friends when we both worked in the Corporate Media Relations office for AT&T spinoff Lucent Technologies.

When his daughter called me this week to let me know he had passed away, I thought about John and all the little ways he had helped make me who I am because of the man he was to me.  We hadn't talked in over a year, but ironically, the day before he died I was speaking about him to an executive I was coaching.

Here are three quick stories that tell you about John and the thumbprint he left on me.

1) Media Relations is about Relationships, Stupid.

I never saw anyone who was better at building a relationship with a reporter than John.  He was so affable and friendly. He knew reporters' birthdays, their kids' names, their dog's names, where they played golf, favorite sports teams, etc.  He made a connection. He knew that their professional relationship didn't have to be an adversarial one.  He had lived in a newsroom and knew that world -- the editorial pressures, the changing landscape, how to pitch (not spin).  He was a voracious reader and knew more about reporters and outlets than anyone I have met since.  He was someone every journalist respected and trusted.

Princess Telephone

You can do a lot of "good" media relations with a great story to tell, but try having a "no win" story to defend.  For years, John "owned" the AT&T -- and then Lucent -- Consumer Leasing beat.  Even after Lucent sold the business, the buyer contractually obligated us to continue handling the media relations.  The basic consumer leasing news story went something like this -- "Grandma passed away and her kids discovered she had been leasing her telephone from AT&T and its successor companies for 30 years even after law changes, technology and economics made this seem like lunacy.  The kids discover that Grandma spent $25,000 over her lifetime leasing a "Princess" phone that she could have bought for $25 from RadioShack."  Every consumer reporter's dream story.

John had the talking points and background down pat, and he would talk every reporter through it with credibility -- and without sounding like a heartless bastard.  In the best case, he would talk them out of writing a story.  More often than not, we were satisfied if John could just get our statement into the story -- which he usually did.

2) You're a Leader Now, So Sound Like One

John had seen me grow up as a fresh-faced kid from AT&T and so when I first got promoted to lead part of the Corporate Communications team at Lucent, I didn't know how he would react having to report to me.

The first day of the news, John walked into my new office, closed the door and said, "Let's talk."  He knew it was a tricky situation when your mentee now becomes your boss.  We had a candid talk about how things were going to work.  I had so much respect for him and needed his help, his insight, his support.  He respected me, liked me and was proud to see me get my new position.  We agreed to be very candid and open with each other.  And we also agreed that there would be times when I might make a decision that John wouldn't agree with and that would be my call.  If John had an issue, he respected me -- and my position enough -- to talk to me in private.

After my first big staff meeting, John came into my office, closed the door and put a piece of paper on my desk.  It had all these little check marks on it.  He looked at me. I said, "I don't get it, John. What is this?"

"That is how many times you said  'Ya know' and "Uhm' in your staff meeting." These were engrained verbal crutches that I didn't even notice or hear when I was nervously speaking to a crowd. His point was these people look up to you. If you're going to be a leader, then sound like one.

Today, people like to say feedback is a "gift" in some hokey, corporate posterized motto.  But, for John it really was a gift -- and that was how I received it.  After every staff meeting, I would come back to my office and find a piece of paper on my desk.  Fewer and fewer check marks.  It was our secret.  He made me aware of a weakness and held me accountable to work on it. That was a gift.

3) You have a job to do.  Be a professional

At one time, John and I worked for an amazing woman, Jane, whom we loved.  One day, quite surprisingly, Jane passed away .  We had literally seen her one day, and the next morning we came in to be told she had passed away over night.  It was a complete shock to the whole team.

John was a very dignified man and walked out of the room where we were told the news, and he went quietly back to his office. I went to his office to see how he was doing.

John was sitting at his computer, pounding the keys like it was an old typewriter from his UPI stringer days.  He was writing Jane's obituary and press release.  The message was clear, "This is horrible news, but we're professionals and we have a job to do for Jane and the company."  I pulled up a chair and sat with John as we worked on the obit.  John was the consummate pro.

What impressions will you leave?

Lots of people pass through our lives every day -- and we pass through theirs.  I hope I am leaving some good impressions, some lasting, positive thumbprints on others, the same way John did for me.  
 

    

"I don't like nuts" means I don't want nuts on my #$&$&# sundae

I don't like nuts.  Never have.  Never will.  I don't like the taste.  Don't like the smell. Don't like the texture.  I don't like nuts.

Not peanuts.  Not walnuts.  Not almonds.  Not macadamias.  Not pecans.

While I have been known occasionally to grab a handful of cashews, that doesn't really count. I still hate NUTS!

And for the longest time, people never took me seriously. Long before the nut allergy frenzy that we live in today, people dismissed not "liking" something as trivial.

Scars Run Deep

I can remember being out for dinner with my girlfriend in college back in the early '90s.  We were at Houlihan's in Weehawken on the waterfront at the peak of its popularity.  The crowds were crazy.  Thousands of people on a weekend night.  It was always packed.

We had enjoyed a nice dinner, and I decided to order an ice cream sundae to cap it off.  I asked the waiter if the sundae had nuts, and he said it did.  So, I explained that I didn't really like nuts and didn't want any on my sundae. "No problem, sir," he said, as he looked around the restaurant at all the beautiful patrons and potential big tippers.

"No nuts? No problem!"

I had fallen for this before.  It's "no problem" until the waiter forgets, the guy in the kitchen makes the standard sundae. and I am left sitting there biting into nuts when all I wanted was some nice ice cream.  Blech!

So, I stopped the waiter who seemed a bit distracted and said, "Seriously, I hate nuts, so please make sure there aren't any on my sundae."  He chuckled like this was a silly question and said, "No problem."

You know what happens next.  Sure enough, my chocolate sundae comes out, gets placed on the table in front of me and BINGO!  Walnuts splattered all over my sundae.  Aaarrgghh!

The truth is .... people don't take "not liking" something seriously.

Upping the Ante

Flash forward a few years later.  I was at a  restaurant on Long Beach Island with a bunch of friends.  We had enjoyed a nice dinner and I decided to order a brownie sundae.  Now a brownie sundae is very tricky.  At least with a regular sundae the walnuts are on top.  With a brownie sundae, you don't know what you've got in there until you bite into that brownie -- and you wind up with crunchy nuts in your mouth and it ruins your entire meal.

I had gotten older and wiser since Houlihan's, so this time when I asked for my brownie sundae from the waiter I decided to up the ante. I asked him if the brownie had nuts in it.  He said he didn't think so in a dismissive, "why does it matter, dude" type of tone.

I stopped the waiter and said with a meaningful pause, "Can you check because I am DEATHLY ALLERGIC to nuts."

I don't know what made me say "deathly allergic" that night. It may have been the scars of countless other waiters who dismissed my comment about hating nuts, not liking nuts, not wanting nuts, etc.  It may have been the joking, good mood we were all in that night.  I may have just tossed it out there as a social experiment.

The waiter brought out the brownie sundae.  Three scoops of chocolate ice cream topped with a mountain of whip cream and chocolate syrup .  All of it sitting on one of those gigantic TollHouse chocolate chip cookie brownies.  It was beautiful.
I gave the brownie a skeptical look.  My friends joked about  nuts being in the brownie, having never heard me say I was deathly allergic before.  As I was about to dive in, the young waiter came flying out of the kitchen, tripping over himself a la Jack Tripper from Three's Company, and grabbed my plate.  Apparently, his boss told him the brownie had nuts.

Finally, people paid attention.  It didn't matter if you spent years politely saying you hated nuts or didn't like nuts.  If you wanted their attention, say you're "deathly allergic."

I used this statement many more times over the years and I never had an issue with my desserts. It became a running joke with my family and friends.

The Joke Is On Me

Several years later, however, my wife Elena and I were visiting some very good friends in London and we went to a posh restaurant for dinner. Once again, we enjoyed a great dinner and I decided to cap it off with brownie sundae.  I asked the waiter about nuts in the brownies, and I told him I was DEATHLY ALLERGIC to nuts.

Now, this wasn't Houlihan's or some 18 year-old waiter in LBI.  This was the big leagues.  And as we sat there, I noticed a cluster of waiters and staff gathering in a corner of the restaurant, talking in whispers and looking in our direction.  Finally, the maitre d' came over.

"Sir, the waiter told me that you are allergic to nuts.  May I ask if you are feeling okay?" he said.  "I feel fine," I replied.

The maitre d' then explained to me that they were very concerned and were about to call an ambulance because the fish I had eaten was encrusted in NUTS. Ooops.  It tasted delicious.  Who knew!

I apologized profusely to the maitre d' and explained that I wasn't exactly allergic, blah, blah, blah.  Needless to say, my wife and friends were ready to kill me for causing such a scene -- and my  "fatal" allergy was miraculously cured -- forever.

As proof that God has a sense of humor -- or maybe a sense of irony -- today I have a wonderful six-year old son named Will. Cutest kid you'll ever see. Will is allergic -- SERIOUSLY allergic -- to nuts ... to shellfish ... and to all sorts of things.  Times have changed. Waiters will fall all over you when you utter the word allergies nowadays in a restaurant. And, I carry my bag of Will gear with me whenever we go out on the weekends -- epi-pen, inhaler -- whatever we might need.  I don't really like to put the words "death" and "allergies" in the same sentence any more -- unless I am telling a story about me being an ass.  ;)