Youthful Fear and What To Do With It

Young athletes and fear often collide like freight trains racing toward each other on the same track.  All of us face it.  But for the young athlete, it is often horrific.

When our oldest daughter Rachel was five, she started track.  Practice was ok.  She liked running, the new shoes, and a uniform.  Moms and coaches were there in the shadows of an open stadium, with empty bleachers,  lots of encouragement and love.  There was nothing threatening about practice.  Not so on the day of the first track meet.  She got up, got dressed, and started crying.  Her mother and I sat for a long time with her on her bed consoling and dabbing tears.   She told us she was afraid, that she didn’t know if she could do it, that she was scared.   We encouraged her to go, to see what was going on, to give it a try.

Now it was the parents turn to be afraid.  What if she had a negative experience?  What if she never ran again?   What if she wanted to throw rocks at us?   All good questions.  We arrived at the track.  The stadium was full of parents and kids. The infield was covered with the bright uniforms of stretching athletes, high jumpers, track teams, and chatter.  The track was marked with fresh chalk.  The starter carried a pistol.  There were lots of things frightening to a child who had practiced in the shadows of a quiet stadium and did not want to run except maybe home.  So we sat on the grass, watched the runners prepare, and listened to the starter pistol pop in the early morning sunshine.  We just watched.

Her race was called.  “Try it,” I said to her.  “If you don’t like it, we’ll go home.  Give it a try.”   I think that at that moment in time I was more frightened than she.  Such a promise.  She lined up for  the 200 meter, looking at her mother, sister and I, then, at the starter with his huge black starter pistol, his raspy voice, shouting “Ready.”  The gun went off, and the race was on.  Rachel may not have started well.  That pistol was loud and the fans were cheering but she started, she ran, and to everyone’s astonishment . . . she won.   No one was more relieved than I.

At little league tryouts my youngest son, all six years of him, wasn’t sure.   In fact he was absolutely not sure.  There were lots of people.  Names were called over a megaphone for each boy and girl to come up– to throw the ball, to catch it, to swing the bat at a ball pitched and one perched on a T.  But the pitched ball was thrown by a full-grown man that in this case had played ball professionally.   There were ten men with clip boards watching.

It wasn’t the backyard, where everyone loved and adored him.   It was with a hundred parents and seemingly a thousand kids his age, watching . . . him.  His name was called.  He didn’t want to go.  He, like his sister wanted to go home.  So we watched the entire tryout.   He noted that he knew a lot of those kids, that he’d played with them, that they did ok.  He thought about the fact that it was only a ball.  The crowd began to diminish.  No one was carried away in a stretcher.  Finally he decided that he could do it, that it was no big deal.  And it was no big deal.  He’d overcome those fears, all by himself.

We all have fears.   Performance anxiety is real.   It takes time, encouragement, and as little “stress” pressure as possible for young athletes to seize their demons.   Rachel went on to become an all star in track, basketball, and soccer.  She overcame those fears, as did her brother.  Parental and coach patience, together with lots of encouragement are the keys to overcoming fear.  For all of us it is different.  Once the kids know that they “can,”  the parents can relax.  You know they “will.”

It is January–Time for Baseball Sign-ups

I love January. It’s the month before February and February in Southern California, even though it is the rainy season, is when Little League teams are drafted and the first practices of the season are held.   Regardless of calendar declarations to the contrary, that first practice is the real official first  day of Spring.  In the field strawberries are turning red and in the evenings baseball teams practice in  every park.  The rest of the nation may be moribund in winter snow but the grass is green in Ventura, California.

Baseball is a rite of Spring.  It is a rite of passage for every boy and girl. Bubblegum,  sunflower seeds and base hits are what life is all about.  It doesn’t matter whether you are a participant or a proud parent cheering from thirty year old, rusty, rickety stands.  For many those stands supported  your grandparents who long ago  cheered for your mom or dad.

Where should your son or daughter be on March 1, or April 1 if you live in the Northern States?  Baseball practice.   And afterwards?   It’s hot dogs, mustard, and relish and for dessert it’s McDonalds for those soft ice cream cups with nuts, whipped cream, and a spoon.  It is the rite of Spring.  So sign up.  If money is a problem in these recessionary times every little league has scholarship programs.  Just ask.  Baseball is what we live for and remember forever.  It’s spring.  It’s baseball and nothing could be better.