Under the shade of beautiful, old trees, I was schooled by a 6-year-old on how to become a better football player.
“Ya gotta put your fingers in all the right spots on the football. If you don’t do that, nothin’ is going to go right,” my handsome little fellow told me. Coach Brooks told me how to stand, the importance of stepping forward and following through.
Then, he threw the football to me, so hard it took me by surprise, and I stepped back a bit and failed to make the catch.
“Don’t be afraid of the ball. If you’re afraid of the ball, you’re never gonna make it,” he told me, all kinds of seriousness in those brown eyes.
When I finally got it all together and sent a beauty sailing directly to my coach, his reaction is something I wish I had captured on a recording to lift me up on gloomy days.
“See? See?” he said with elation, his skinny little arms held to the heavens, “I knew you could do it! If you KNOW you can do it, good things happen!”
I have been amazed throughout the lifetime of this little guy, my first grandchild. This summer has been just as transformative, watching him dive deep in our pool, his fearfulness of earlier years now replaced with exuberant self-confidence. It was pure joy to cheer him on when he was called to play a tournament baseball game with older boys, hitting a triple at a critical time in the big game.
Football is his latest endeavor, and he wants to share his knowledge and his joy. Brooks told me to be ready; he was going to make a long throw to me. It came like a bullet, spiraling right to me. I held my ground and (thankfully!) made the catch.
“See? See what I told you! If you’re not afraid of the ball, good things happen!” the dynamo coach shouted with pure glee, jumping for joy. Pure positivity radiated from this miniature sports guru.
We practiced for a long time, (“because practice is the only thing that will make you a better player … and if you aren’t practicing, some other kids are, and they will get better and you won’t”) and eventually, I was able to throw to the fast-running little coach.
He insisted on reversing this, with me running and him throwing. Coach gave me repetitive pointers; I listened intently to each one, and I promised to give it my all.
My dreams for the future were crushed, as my coach sat me down and with great seriousness said, “Gigi, I don’t think you’re ever gonna make it as a running back.”
There’s always next year, right?
