Toughen Up (part 2)

     "Can't you just be an uncle, and not a coach?" Christine snapped at me harshly.  It was at her son Gabe's high school basketball game.  He had just played a terrific game, leading his team to an upset victory over the league's first place team, with 28 points, eight assists, and a bunch of steals.  His mom beamed with pride while accepting all sorts of compliments from other parents and spectators in the stands.  But when it came to my opinion, she wasn't real appreciative.
     I pointed out that Gabe had made two critical mistakes in the final three minutes of the game, which could have turned the outcome around.  "That pass he threw away, then that missed lay-up..." I told her.  Christine wanted me to extol compliments upon her baby boy, but she wasn't going to get it from this guy.  Visibly angry, she turned away from me, not wanting to hear any more.  But separating my surnames, "uncle" and "coach", would be like separating a car from its wheels.  Christine wasn't willing or just wasn't able to understand that.  Family or not, when it comes to sports, blood certainly is not thicker than sweat, not in my mind anyway.  And as a coach, mistakes are never acceptable, regardless of the game's outcome.  As well as Gabe played on the court, I always wanted him to play better.  And tougher.  Physically and mentally.  The irony here is that when it came to mental and psychological toughness, Christine gave me my first lesson in it years before.
     I was 10 years old and the neighborhood had a co-ed pickup softball game at East Mountain Road Playground.  Forget that she was a girl, Christine could hit the ball like Ted Williams.  So as one of the captains, I picked her first.  But Chris was unflattered by her #1 selection, and lit into me about my decision.
     "Oh c'mon, Johnny!" she barked in hostile disappointment. "Pick someone else!"
She shunned me in front of everybody. I was embarrassed beyond belief, scolded by my older sister in front of all my friends and neighborhood kids.  But her message was clear:  Don't be a girly-man.  Play with the boys and learn to play like a man.  And if that meant my being criticized and humiliated to achieve that goal, then so be it.
     In that basketball gymnasium a few decades later, I was only passing along the lesson of mental toughness I had learned from big sister that day at the playground.  To Gabe's credit, I know he understood that.  But Chris, not so much.  I do however, remember and appreciate that wonderful tutorial given to me many years ago, which I've used a thousand times as a coach and uncle.  Even if as a mother, my sister no longer subscribes to the idea.