I never expected that a youth football experience would lead to a significant parenting dilemma, but that’s exactly what happened last spring. My almost-10-year-old son, Leo, expressed interest in playing flag football for the first time. Since he hadn’t shown any enthusiasm for team sports since he quit baseball a year ago, we eagerly embraced the opportunity. Although he had enjoyed casual football games with friends in the neighborhood and during recess, this was his first formal engagement with the sport. Unfortunately, with my husband, Mark, tied up with work commitments, I took on the responsibility of attending every practice.
As someone who knows very little about football, I wasn’t sure if I was being overly critical, but it seemed to me the coach wasn’t providing much instruction. He barked plays at the players he recognized and relegated the new kids to the sidelines, allowing them to stand idly while the others practiced. I watched Leo’s excitement wane, replaced by boredom and frustration. Was this how youth football was meant to unfold? I wondered if perhaps the coach was focusing on offense one practice and defense the next. Minutes turned into an hour, and Leo remained motionless with the other sidelined players, overlooked and ignored. When practice finally ended, the coach gathered the kids to announce, “We played like a team today, guys!”
I was furious. How could they have played as a team when half of them never got a chance to engage? I kept my feelings to myself for Leo’s sake. On the way home, he shared that he felt the coach wasn’t interested in the new players, and it seemed he didn’t like him. I reassured Leo that the next practice would be better, knowing that if he, who struggles with anxiety, perceived the situation negatively, he might try to avoid it altogether.
Navigating anxiety in children is delicate. We don’t want to exaggerate issues that could heighten Leo’s fears, but we also can’t downplay his worries. It’s a careful balance—one we sometimes manage well, but other times we stumble badly.
At the next practice, which was the last before the first game, I hoped the coach would finally focus on the defensive players. Instead, he called over a group of older kids to scrimmage with our 9- and 10-year-olds, forcing half of our players to watch from the sidelines. For an hour and twenty minutes, I witnessed Leo’s confidence erode; his posture slumped, and his expression turned blank. I felt a rising agitation within me. How could this coach not want to help these kids learn? Was he even trying to coach?
In an unexpected twist, the coach finally pointed Leo out, calling him over without even knowing his name. After three practices without any instruction, Leo was suddenly thrust into a play he didn’t understand. He ran awkwardly, dropping the ball when it came his way. “Don’t you know the play?” the coach yelled. Leo quietly admitted he didn’t, prompting the coach to bark again, “What play do you know?” Another player stepped in to demonstrate, while Leo whispered to himself. This was a nightmare for any anxious child: unprepared, criticized, and made to feel inadequate. I could see the tension building in him.
I faced a tough choice: Should I intervene and potentially embarrass Leo, or let him handle the situation? My own mother was fiercely protective, often confronting authority figures on our behalf. While I appreciated her support, it also made me anxious about facing those adults later. I didn’t want to repeat her pattern; I wanted Leo to learn to stand up for himself.
As the coach continued to bark orders at Leo, tears welled in his eyes. I knew how much he dreaded showing weakness. Crying is a natural release, yet for boys his age, it carries a stigma of failure. I watched helplessly as Leo turned away, trying to regain his composure while the coach ignored his distress. Suddenly, without thinking, I found myself beside the coach.
“CAN YOU JUST GIVE HIM A MOMENT? TEACH HIM THE PLAYS INSTEAD OF HUMILIATING HIM!” I exclaimed. My heart raced as I saw the shock in the kids’ faces, Leo’s tear-streaked expression, and the awkward glances from other parents. The coach attempted to defend himself, but I pressed on, “You’ve barely spoken to the new players! Today, you let them watch instead of play! Leo, let’s go.” I led him toward the car with steam practically rising from my ears.
“Why did you do that?” Leo shouted. “Now he’s really going to hate me!” I felt the weight of embarrassment wash over me, realizing I had become the overzealous parent I never wanted to be.
Later that night, after calming Leo down, I indulged in some wine and reflected on the day. I relived the moment on the field and faced my insecurities as a parent. I had never intended to fight my child’s battles, but I found myself doing just that. For now, I needed to protect Leo until he could navigate his anxiety more effectively.
The next day, Mark and I decided to transfer Leo to a different team within the same league. We didn’t want to teach him that quitting was the solution, but we also didn’t want him to endure a situation that could lead to lasting emotional scars. Although Leo wasn’t thrilled about continuing with football, especially after his previous experience, we were committed to helping him through it.
At Leo’s second game on his new team, coached by two supportive high school boys, I watched in amazement as he took four flags, made three blocks, caught a pass, and celebrated every moment. In just one hour, I saw my son transform from a defeated child into a confident player, reveling in the joy of the game.
Summary
This story recounts a parent’s challenge when their son experiences a difficult start in youth football due to a neglectful coach. After witnessing their son’s anxiety and lack of support, the parent confronts the coach, ultimately leading to a team transfer that revitalizes the child’s confidence and enjoyment in the sport. The narrative explores themes of anxiety, parental protection, and the journey of supporting a child’s growth in the face of adversity.