How I Became a Man, Part 2: A Complimentary Coach

In part 2 of my series on men who taught me to be a man, I profile a coach who kept me on his teams for a good number of years.

As an athlete, there were physical reasons for my lagging-behindedness. To be honest, I never told my teammates about my eyes or my asthma unless they asked. I always fought to be the best that I could be. Athletically, though, there were just some things that I could not overcome.

When it came to baseball, I think that I loved practice more than I loved games. Shoot, at games, I knew that I wasn't a good hitter, but I sure didn't swing at pitches that weren't strikes! Looking back, it makes me smile to think that maybe I always batted 14th because of my high on-base percentage, the coach knowing that I would be a smart baserunner and would come in to score thanks to the hitters at the top of the order. But, digression aside, practice was action. It was playing catch, reps at the plate. When I got older, it meant batting cages, too. I've held back tears at times, thinking of how much I loved baseball, wishing that I were better at it, but practice was pure immersion in the sport(s) that I loved. There was a boy a year ahead of me in school whose dad always got me on his team. Here are the values that I learned from that:

My coach, one year, after giving awards to the great athletic performers of the team from the previous season, gave me special recognition. Perhaps, he doesn't recall saying it, but he said that I was the player with the most heart. He loved having me on his teams.

As a side note, it's weird to think back on how, in school, I was "the smart kid," but, somehow, my teammates in sports never teased me... and I was, in all honesty, one of the least-talented players on my team, regardless of sport. I don't know whether it was the coaches looking out for me or my teammates respecting my hustle, but it's an aspect of my childhood for which I am very grateful to my teammates, and it's worth mentioning.

This was one of those things that seemed small to me at the time: the awards show ended, my mom emphasized that he'd said that about me, and that was it. But, it stuck with me.

So, there was the compliment, but I remember him pitching to me at practice. I remember his smile and the way that he always seemed glad to see me. Here was this father of two, a man whose familial and financial lifestyle was nothing like the one that this little boy knew (he had wonderful grass in his back yard; one year we had our end-of-year picnic and played whiffle ball), a man with very strong shoulders and I a little boy with virtually no physical strength: we were different. But, he reached out to me in ceaseless, tireless acceptance and support.

Aren't the comments of those who rarely give us any time the ones that we hold so closely to our heart? I remember three such occasions in the case of my sire, baseball-wise. Once, I was throwing at a fence, and he said that I should use the strength in my legs. One season, when I was not on the team of the coach about whom I write today, I got to pitch, and he, my father, actually attended a game, and afterwards told me that I threw faster than he had; the third time was when he played catch with me and showed me the basics of throwing a curve. How much I cherished those brief moments! ... Yet, they were almost as nothing when compared to the body of work of my coach.

I love to think about the butterfly effect, how one seemingly small act begets so many others... The buttefly effect has always served an amazingly positive influence in my life. In the example of this coach, his simple act to always include me on his wonderful teams led to me meeting another couple who coached our team. Despite the fact that I couldn't hit a damn beach ball, the lady coach said that I had a beautiful, level swing, something that I worked very hard to develop: when I make mistakes, often it's from trying to follow directions too much to the letter. I had learned, from an early age, the value of swinging through the ball. Here, years later, was validation of my efforts!

Finally, a very important aspect of character to mention (in the realm of example-setting lessons that I learned) about this coach: he and his wife attended, literally, every athletic activity in which their boys took part; the missus kept score at all the games. That kind of support has really stuck with me, and it served as a strong counter-attack to my father's dismissal of my endeavors as less important than his own desires. This couple's children grew up genuine, stable, and respectful; even as a child, the older boy and I sat having a conversation where we discovered common ground - by our peers, we were held to ridiculously high standards, he, as an athlete, and I, as a scholar; this supportive boy never showed me anything but friendship. I cannot help but make the assumption that this quality of character came to him largely from his marvelously supportive father.

How I Became a Man, Part 1: A Man with an Open-door, Open-Heart Policy

I recently tweeted (@MapNMusicMan) that I did not become a bad-ass all on my own. This series I'm beginning now profiles the powerful and/or subtly helpful influences of the men in my life who taught me how to be a man.

...One of the keys to a person being successful at her job of single-mothering is to understand her weaknesses and find ways to overcome them. My mother chose to overcome what she, deep down, probably knew was a flaw on her part - her insistence that I my father try to act like a dad – by annoyingly insisting that I get out of the house and do stuff… With some of these things, I think that it was harder to force me than others. She had a tough time getting me to go to school, a somewhat difficult time to get me to go to Boy Scout meetings (I don’t recall being difficult about camping trip departures, at least from a motivational standpoint), a little difficulty with church youth group. On the other hand, I think that I made it pretty easy for her to motivate me to go to soccer-baseball-basketball practice, but, in any case, I'm glad that she did. All of the men whom I met set some sort of good example for me or gave me some good idea of how I could find the path to success.

So, further ado to be left in the dust, here we go, starting off with the man through whose influence I am writing this blog in the first place.

Note: In order to protect privacy, I'm not going to use names.

My college communications instructor

Sometimes in life, I think that we run across people who, for some reason or other, we just want to sit and listen to them talk to us. I've been blessed to meet several such people. This gentleman's kindness has been so powerful for me. I say kindness because he gives me lots of advice; as I grow older, I believe more and more that advice freely given by others is a precious gift. When people take the time to give you advice, they often are people who deeply, truly care about you. How many people sit by and watch us fail, enjoying our pain?

A couple of the gems of sage-ness that he's shared (not direct quotes):

Make your job what you would do anyway; then, your work is just you being you, and it's not a job

What's your band going to offer that no one else has really done? Lyle Lovett uses Western swing to tell stories that have nothing to do with cowboy life. Living Colour is a band from Harlem that plays metal.

Sometimes, the best advice comes from a person not telling you what to do, but helping you to avoid making mistakes:

On my idea to make textbook audio books:
I think that you'll find that creative path fraught with difficulties for which you're not yet ready. Your time would be better spent focusing on something more basic.(Paraphrased)

I have stopped by his office numerous times just to talk, or to vent, or to throw out some random creative idea that I have. He always listens to me, encourages me. Every time that I apply for a job, I call him up and read him my cover letter, and he always finds something to make my cover letter slightly better and more professional-sounding.

He never tells me what I want to hear unless he thinks that I will have a chance to succeed. Sometimes, he's talking to me, and I just sit there, trying to be cool and hold back a smile, but I just love listening to him.

If he reads this, I hope that he knows that I don't know how stable I'd be, or if I'd have even been able to choose the few mildly-committal directions that I've chosen.