basketball

Basketball has always been my favorite sport. Growing up, I spent so much of my time in the gym as my dad coached at our high school so we were often around to see the game. Then I spent years on my own teams learning the positions and the ups and downs of the sport. Hearing the bounce of the ball, the squeak of shoes, the rhythm of the game, it was something I loved and brought me so much.

When Daphne signed up for her first season this year, a part of me was so excited for her to experience that joy too. But another part of me didn’t want her to feel like she had to love it just because it was mine. I wanted to share something I love without making it feel like an obligation. I didn’t want my passion to accidentally become pressure.

I had to find the balance between my own excitement and giving her the space to love the game in her own way. That meant reminding myself not to immediately point out what she could get better at and sometimes she just needed to hear, “That was awesome.”

Watching her try something new is always such a gift. Some days were beautiful and light where she smiled, she hustled, she had fun. Other days were harder. She saw other kids who were more confident, more skilled, more sure of themselves, and she compared herself to them. She wondered why they “never” passed to her. And as her coach (and her mom), that part was tough to watch.

But those moments became opportunities, not to correct her, but to encourage her. To help her see that trying something new isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, challenging yourself, and learning as you go.

As a coach, it’s easy to see mechanics and missed opportunities. As a mom, I had to make sure to see her first. I had to practice pausing. I had to ask myself, “Is this about her growth or my expectations?”

I know from experience how early comparison creeps in. It is part of the reason I stopped playing after my sophomore year. How quickly kids can measure themselves against someone else’s strengths can be something. And I learned that my job wasn’t to eliminate that feeling, it was to help her build the resilience to move through it.

What made me the proudest wasn’t how she dribbled down the court or her stats, it was her heart.

She was always the first one down the court when possessions changed over. She hustled. She encouraged her teammates. Even on the tough days, the ones where she felt discouraged or compared herself, she came back the next practice ready to try again. She didn’t give up. She listened. She worked. She grew.

And watching her grow forced me to grow too.

I learned (again) that my role isn’t to smooth every hard moment for her. It’s to sit beside her in it. To remind her who she is when the scoreboard feels louder than her confidence. To model steadiness. To cheer effort. To let her story be hers.

She learned so much this season, about basketball, and about herself. She learned that hard things are worth trying, that effort counts, and that being a teammate is about more than making baskets.

And I learned (again) that success looks different when you’re a parent. It’s quieter. It’s deeper. It’s less about outcomes and more about character.

This might be the only season she and I do together. Right now she says she wants to come back, but we’ll see what the year brings. And that’s okay if not because this season was a dream in itself.

When I was in middle school, my dad coached my basketball team. (See below, I am number 6, and my dad is the tall one.) It was the only team that he was officially my coach, but he was always supportive of the sport he loved as well. I didn’t fully appreciate it then, but now I look back and see what a gift it was, the time, the encouragement, the belief he had in me. Standing on the sideline with Daphne this season, I finally understand that dream in a whole new way.