The first time I witnessed it I was genuinely alarmed and thought of trying to intervene, or perhaps of calling in the authorities. But there were others there who knew these two better than I, and no one else batted an eye. He didn’t hit her. I don’t think he cursed. I tried to put myself in her mother’s place–but her mother was there watching with me, and did nothing.
Then it was my daughter, and still I did nothing. Hey, if he were her boyfriend or her husband I like to think I’d be there in his face, or at least on the phone to social services trying to find counseling help, But this guy was my daughter’s coach. And from what I hear from other parents, dads especially, this guy knows the game. He can teach her the skills she’ll need, help her improve her game. And if he wants to, he can make her sit the bench. Which is why she beseeches me to mind my own business.
And I do. Other mothers, once bothered as I, tell me it is better for our children to be screamed at than ignored. It’s a sure sign of that nebulous desirable called potential, they say. I’ll get used to it and so will the kids. Though it does seem to me that submissiveness is considered a part of that potential. The few girls with faces marked by defiance are more likely found near the end of the bench.
Besides, this guy’s not alone. Why is that a comfort, knowing someone else has it worse? There’s the coach at a neighboring school who takes it right down to a foot-stamping, bleacher-kicking tirade. And the boys get it worse than the girls. The boys’ varsity-team players are a bunch of “f—-pussies” when they falter; a band instructor preparing for competition screams threats of what Will happen unless more precision is achieved, using words that shock even those kids whose language is an adolescent shade of blue.
What’s going on here? In any other scenario, wouldn’t this behavior be stopped? Haven’t we agreed that abuse and humiliation are not appropriate instructional aids? And isn’t it especially chilling to allow–to encourage–our daughters to accept such treatment at the hands of a man, to shrug it off as “part of the game”? After all, it wasn’t that long ago when the playing field was much broader, when it was all “the game” and women were all required to put up with it if they wanted to keep their jobs or their marriages.
But somehow even women seem to see school competitions in a context all their own. Their daughters are at last competing and they’ll need to learn to do their best to win. And if that means coaches’ using the traditional unkindnesses of pitting kids against their own teammates for playing time, yanking them out for a tongue-lashing in front of a gym full of their friends and relatives, or screaming out their mistakes as they try to play the game, well so be it.
In any case, isn’t it necessary for kids to learn how to perform well under stress?
Actually not even the armed forces buys the old stress routine anymore, and drill instructors have been told to cool it a bit. Fraternity hazing is frowned upon and it’s no longer tacitly acceptable to beat your wife or kids. I can’t think of any other situation in which a collection of nice, middle-class parents would sit quietly by while an adult publicly reduced their children to tears. But short of corporal punishment or a technical foul (you can heap abuse on the children in your charge, but not on an adult referee), anything goes on the gym floor or the playing field.
I hate the way it works and I haven’t gotten used to it. I still cringe along with the kids and sometimes can’t bear to watch. I’m angry with myself for failing to challenge a wrong when my gut insists I should. I’m not sure I believe my children when they tell me they’d be the ones to pay for my speaking out, but I’ve not been willing to risk it, either. And when I witness the same thing in another sport or at another school, I tell myself it’s none of my business, really. I recall the other arguments, too–that coaches are dedicated guys and that I am unable and unwilling to coach, so I should have no voice in how others do the job.
So while I wait for the answer to come to me I do silly little things, like yelling out “Good job!” to any player who exerts an effort, yelling it a little louder to the ones who screw up.
I tell myself it’s not important anyway, that these are just children’s games, after all, and that if their love of the game weren’t enough to offset the guff, they’d quit. But I fume to think that those are the choices, and I wait for someone to take up the fight for our children’s dignity.
Maybe one of the good coaches, one of the ones the kids adore, will step in. Maybe parents with more clout, whose kids are stars? But they have even more to lose. They may approve of these methods. It’s gotten their kid further than the others, right? Maybe someone with kids who are not involved in sports, some outsider who could bring attention to the problem from a safer distance?
That’s what I tell myself, but I’m not buying it. I know it’s really my job, even though I am just an out-of-shape, over-40 mom with no credibility in this world of jocks. I know that with their eyes on the prize, their vision is different from mine. My children are the first to tell me that I just don’t understand. But I thought I recognized harm when I saw it come a child’s way–the least I can do is point to it.
