If you had a chance, would you keep your son “back” a year and have him repeat a grade?
For many boys, there is no better gift than to have an extra year of school. It is the parenting move that delivers the intangible quality separating the men from the boys. And that is confidence. Let’s face it, life is a competition, a battle that thrusts us onto the court whether we like it or not. We all get to individually choose what role we play out there, but regardless of what we do, where we go, and how we do it, having confidence leads to self-esteem. Self-esteem (loving oneself) is the first ingredient of happiness. Having an extra year to mature physically and emotionally gives us that little edge on a silver platter.
Even though Michael was young and only in fifth grade, I knew his mind was special. Simply put, he was really smart. With very little effort, he was able to do the work. Of course, I felt he was a genius. All parents feel their children are talented in the classroom. Lilly and I were no exception. This was one young man who we didn’t have to worry about academically. But as the prospects of middle school loomed, we had a concern. He was equally as inclined to fool around, play video games, and lack focus as he was to dig into his books and get his work done. Our fights around Game Boy, Xbox, PlayStation, and anything with a screen were vicious and legendary, including tantrums and an occasional expletive. Michael literally became a different person when he was under the spell of technology, a monster of monumental proportions. Lilly and I could barely control him and had to institute very strict rules about playtime and worktime. I would be lying if I said our rules worked well or even at all. But we had rules.
In addition, Michael was slower to develop socially. With a July 31st birthday, he was among the youngest students in the grade. While he was immature in some ways, his size told a different story. He was tall and a solid young boy. I never thought he was “fat,” but looking at him now in comparison to how he was then, it’s fair to say he was carrying some extra weight around the court. One would see him and think he was much older than he actually was. This was a common theme at yearly conferences with his teachers. As a result, they often held him to a higher behavioral standard than he was able to reach. His reputation suffered. As our concern grew, we realized we needed to make a move. We gave Michael The Gift. We hit the reset button after fifth grade.
Longview Country Day School (LCDS) is an all-boys school that goes from first through ninth grade. It nurtures boys through some of their toughest times in a socially safe and academically challenging environment. This was the perfect place for Michael to redo that fifth-grade year. I remember driving him to school during that first month. I asked him what the difference was between LCDS and Sandytown Elementary School. He solidified our decision as the correct one when he said, “At Sandytown, some of the kids fooled around all the time, some of the kids fooled around some of the time and worked hard some of the time, and a few kids worked hard all the time. At LCDS, all the kids work hard all the time. It’s ok to be smart here.”
By mid-winter, not only Michael had settled in beautifully, but he was thriving on many levels. He was loving the kids, loving the teachers, and loving basketball. As he walked into school each morning, he was high-fiving everyone and smiling from ear to ear. The basketball court was no different. He was thriving. It came as no surprise. If he had been among the tallest kids as a fifth grader the previous year, now he was truly the gentle giant of LCDS. Most of the kids barely made it up to his shoulders. He stood out like a man among boys on and off the court. He had an amazing year at the Willcrest hoops rec league with other fifth graders, he played well in the Highridge basketball rec league with his former peer group, and he had some memorable moments playing fifth-grade hoops at LCDS. For him, this was a dream season. Lots of play time. His skills were developing nicely. His love for the game was formulating, and his confidence was growing. This was my long-term plan in motion. This was perfect. I still had a goal for basketball to become an important part of Michael’s life. He was on his way. Then I got the call that changed the trajectory of his personal hoops journey: the call from Jerry Cramp.
"Hello, is Mr. Schayes there?"
"This is he."
"Good evening, my name is Jerry Cramp; I am the father of Trent Cramp. Trent and your son Michael are classmates at Longview Country Day School. He is a really nice boy. Trent is fond of him. "
"Thank you. Michael really likes the school. It’s been a good year so far. "
I"’d like to talk to you about something, Mr. Schayes, but first if you don’t mind, I would love to give you some background. I don’t know if you are aware, but I am the varsity basketball coach at LCDS. And I have had thirty years of experience playing and coaching at the highest levels of basketball. I played at UND, and I coached at Patterson College with Rick Medino when he took the Stormrunners to the NCAA Final Four. Basketball has been a big part of my life, and as a result, it has afforded me many opportunities, opportunities others don’t and can't have. Not only do I volunteer my time at LCDS as the head basketball coach, I also run a nonprofit foundation to give inner-city kids a chance to get the proper exposure to college coaches to get scholarships, obtain a college education, and play basketball. It all starts very young for these boys. And I am building this opportunity for my son Trent. I have seen your son Michael play, and he has the potential, with good coaching, to be a very good player. If he has the proper coaching and is exposed to the proper people along the way, he can play at this level, the next level, and ultimately, he can have a chance to play at the college level. This sport can give Michael an advantage in life. It is really up to him. But it all starts now.
Mr. Schayes, I am putting an AAU team together with the Toledo Select Basketball Program. I will be coaching them and traveling with them around the Ohio area to play in different tournaments against the best fifth-grade competition. This is not bitty basketball, Mr. Schayes. This is big-boy basketball. And if you wish to give your son the chance to grow into a special player, I can help him do that. It’s tough work. I am a tough coach. I don’t know how much you know about basketball and coaching. I do not know your experience. But that is often the difference between a young man’s success and failure on the court. I am that kind of coach for these boys. I would like for you to consider allowing me to bring your son along as I build a team."
A waterfall of emotions cascaded in my mind as I geared up to respond.
Do I know anything about basketball?… I’m the man! At least in my own mind I am the man. Or at least I think I WAS the man. Basketball defined me for the first thirty-five years of my life. In fact, I had recently “retired” from playing competitive ball. I played in high school, AAU, prep school, college, JCC, Sunday pickup, and open summer, fall, and winter leagues. I dominated along the way. They called me “White Sugar” in high school, “The Doctor” in college, “Skud” in the summer leagues, and “Push Button” in the winter leagues. I was First Team All-League, MVP, and captain in high school; I won a dunking competition, too. That’s correct. I could jump and I could play. Do I know anything about basketball? Screw you, Mr. Cramp. I know hoops.
Do I know anything about coaching? ... The question from Jerry Cramp sent a wave of emotion across my body. I immediately was struck with conflicting feelings of anger and hope. I recoiled from an innate lack of trust, yet moved willingly with unwavering belief. I know that I despised just about every coach I ever played for, and I was praying you would deliver a different experience to my son. I was psychologically abused by the coaching staff at Center College. I still have the emotional scars. I was absolutely screwed my senior year by the head coach at Kanwyn. I have not forgotten that. I was slammed by my AAU coach in Fremont. When I heard that Jerry Cramp was a coach, I began to twitch. I had a terrible attitude toward coaches. I feared them and hated them. Yet I had to respect them. And I immediately felt that way toward Jerry Cramp.
With every ounce of self-control I could muster, I unearthed the courage to dig down deep in my soul. I took a deep breath and said as clearly and articulately as possible exactly how I felt. I didn’t mince words. I let him have it.
"Your credentials are certainly impressive, and I am glad that you have seen the potential in Michael to play on your team. I am sure he would love to learn from you, and his commitment will meet your expectations. I’ve played my share of basketball and have a bit of coaching experience. I know what you mean by what you say. You can count on him this spring. Thank you, Mr. Cramp. Thank you for this call. It has been a pleasure speaking with you. I truly look forward to the season and seeing you in action as you develop the boys."
Coaches have the ultimate position of power over a basketball player. I knew they would control the destiny of my child from this point forward. Therefore, I could not show an iota of negativity toward them. The fear of retribution far outweighs any possible benefit of complaining or challenging their authority. This is the way it is as a player. This is the way it is as a parent. My only option was to do what I did as a player: shut up, stand up, and do what they say.
Coaching is the perfect position for an abuse of power. I am hoping, Mr. Cramp, that you do not take advantage of your position. I have a long list of coaches whom I labeled as “assholes.” I am hoping you are not going to end up on that list. Today you gave my son a gift. An opportunity to play AAU hoops. Thank you, Mr. Cramp. You will never know how I feel. Not today, not ever.
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