My wife and I like to joke with people that we must be the only two parents in America who actually want their kid to play football, even if he doesn't want to.
These days, participation in youth and high school football is down, in large part because parents -- rightfully -- are concerned with the relatively high risk of injury for football players, especially the risk of concussions. Now, the reason my wife and I are OK with our kids playing football is not because we aren't concerned with our kids' health and safety; it's just that we both believe that the rewards of playing football -- the life lessons the game teaches, the friendships the kids make, and the fun they have -- are greater for most than the risk of injury.
Our three sons all played youth football, and our middle son still plays in high school. He's about to start senior year and plays both offense and defense for our high school team. Our youngest son is set to enter high school as a freshman, and, after not playing football for a few years, has toyed with the idea of possibly returning to the game in high school. He's brought it up a couple separate times, and debated the idea with himself. When he does, my wife and I, and his brother, all try to talk him into playing. So far, we've been unsuccessful.
Why is it so important to us that our son play football? It's not that we're such devotees of football; it's that we want to make sure that if he doesn't want to play anymore, it's for the right reasons. You see, when he made the decision to quit the game, it wasn't because he'd gotten hurt, or had somehow lost his love of the sport, or anything like that. No, it was a coach who drove him away.
He so loved football when he was younger, but when he got to the fifth grade, he had a coach who was simply consumed by winning. If this guy didn't think a kid could help him win, then that kid meant nothing to him. Our son was moderately athletic, but small, with probably only average speed. He was never going to play in the "A" games, but he didn't play in the "B" games, either. Worse, the coach was so focused on winning that he devoted all his practice time to the kids who played the most in the games. That meant the kids who weren't going to play in the games didn't even get to practice. They just stood around and watched every night. Mental reps, they call it in the NFL.
When you coach 10- and 11-year-olds, though, the job is different. You have to balance the desire to win with the need to keep kids engaged and to develop all their knowledge and skills, because kids all grow differently -- at different times, and different rates. And sometimes, the smallest kid in the sixth grade ends up being one of the bigger kids in the ninth grade. Oftentimes, the stars of the PeeWee team aren't stars in high school. And those kids who were smaller and weaker and who just played to be on the team and have fun end up being the best players on the varsity. When you're coaching at the youth level, winning should be a happy byproduct of good coaching and talent; it shouldn't be the thing that drives how a coach operates.
Our son has gotten along just fine without football over the last few years. He's given his heart to basketball, and the sport has been good to him. He's made wonderful friends and he's made himself into a very good basketball player. He's a good lacrosse player, too. And he's grown. He's not small anymore. The high school coach would love to have him, but it looks like he won't. If he doesn't, it'll be largely because of a youth coach who never understood the job.
