For Michael, every minute he was away from camp was a minute too long. He loved Camp Runico and was going back a mini-celebrity, having played hoops in Westville, Michigan, at nationals. He wanted to get back to camp as soon as possible, and I wanted to get him there faster than that. I woke up after the Ride from Hell feeling as if I had a hangover, without the fun party the night before. Regardless of how I was feeling, we were up and out by 10:00. I wanted to get Michael settled in at camp by noon, and we had 90 minutes of driving ahead of us. I was rested, fed, and fortified with three mugs of coffee. Hunger and fatigue were not going to be an issue this day.
The car ride to Camp Runico started out pretty quiet. I had been replaying Michael’s games in my mind. I could recall every moment. I remember the discussions about how he could become a factor both offensively and defensively. I remembered the conversations about aggression and how he needed to assert himself on the court. I remember what it felt like when he slid to the end of the bench and no longer had a place on the court. I remember staring at Mike Owens and looking at his body language during the game. I recalled every comment he made to Michael as if they were made to me. I lived and died a million times during each game. I knew how I felt about traveling to Westville to watch a week of basketball played by my son, who had not stepped on the court to practice in between games or in between seasons. Not once. Not ever.
I was wondering what Michael was thinking. I was wondering how he could find that nonexistent chip and place it squarely on his shoulder. Was he angry? Was he embarrassed? Did he have fun? Had he internalized anything I had said to him along the way? Did he have a plan? Was he thinking about working on his weaknesses? Did he even know what those weaknesses were? Did he love basketball? Did he even like basketball?
I remembered a particular moment on the court in Westville. At one point during the week at nationals, Mike Owens and I spoke about Michael and his obvious lack of aggression. We kept trying to talk about it with him, but he did not understand what we meant. We decided the best way to describe it to him was to tell him he needed to be more of a dick out there on the court. We said he had to be a big dick, he had to be mean, not let the guy he was guarding do what he wanted to do out there, and be more physical. We were telling Michael to get in the guy’s way, to push if he needed to in order to get in position for a rebound. The game was extremely physical, and Michael had to rise to the challenge.
Michael was ready to be a big dick and was going to show us that he had the aggression and meanness necessary to play hoops at the next level. The very next game, within three minutes of the opening tip, Michael leveled his opponent. He pushed the guy so hard with both hands that he fell to the ground. And Michael did that, right in front of the referee. When the ref blew his whistle and gave Michael a technical foul, we were not surprised. Michael, however, was surprised. He looked at me and at Coach Owens as if he did not understand what just happened. Mike said to him, “We wanted you to be a dick out there, but not THAT kind of dick!”
We were about thirty minutes from Forestville, Ohio, and I needed to give Michael something to think about. He did not know how I felt about this whole AAU thing and his week at nationals. I needed to tell him, and I needed to be as clear as possible. It was time for me to have “the talk” with Michael and for him to decide what kind of basketball player he wanted to be:
I want you to know that this week took a lot out of me. In fact, the entire AAU season was too long and tiring. We had games most of the weekends this spring, including Mothers’ Day, and we were gone for big stretches of each day. I assume that, if you keep playing AAU, this is going to only get more challenging and become an even greater time commitment for you and for me.
I do not love watching you on the bench. Actually, I hate it. And I certainly am not interested in driving around all over the country, or even locally, if you are not getting playing time. That is not my thing. If that were the case, I would rather you play rec basketball and simply play during the winter and enjoy your time on the court with the other kids playing rec ball. I am totally cool with that.
If you want to be good enough to play AAU, you have to work at your game, starting now. You have not done that. Not yet. You have not played on your own or at all outside. You have not practiced, yet. You have tremendous potential, Michael, but you need to put the time into the game in order to reach that potential. If you want to do that, I am in. If you want to do that, I will help you and I will find others to help you. If you want to do that, I will help you become as good as you can possibly be. If you want to do that, you can start as soon as you get back home after camp.
Most importantly, I am not signing up for AAU next spring if you don’t work at your game. I am not interested in that. It’s too much of a time commitment unless you are “all in.” If you are not totally in, that is fine. Let me know and you will do the rec thing, no judgment and no pressure. Your brother did not want to play, and that was fine. I am good with it either way. It is completely up to you.
I knew I had repeated myself in my declaration and demand that Michael make “The Decision.” Repetition is one of the ways I communicate. I knew by the end of my pitch that Michael understood the options in front of him. He listened intently.
There were tears in Michael’s eyes. I saw the internal pain as he sat there listening to me tell him the truth. The words that came out of his mouth were a bit shaky, but they were music to my ears. He looked at my face and clearly said, with minimal time between my last word and his first word, “I am IN dad. Let’s do this.”
I asked Michael to think about his options while he was away at camp during the next six and a half weeks. I wanted him to be sure. If he came home after the summer and said he was ready to rock and roll, I would respond in kind. I was ready, either way. I was pretty sure he would say “yes, I am in,” but I did not want to assume anything. I kissed him, reassured him that I loved him, and sent him on his way to Camp Runico.