The drive from the game to the pizza shop was quiet.
Liam, my 13-year-old son, and his rep basketball team had just won their second game in a row, but his play wasn’t up to his own standards.
Liam is a hooper (in proper vernacular, that means a good basketball player)—really fast, sees the floor well, passes first, and can draw fouls for free throws.
But in the last two games, he was hesitant to make mistakes, and ironically, his hesitation led to some errors that cut into his playing time. This, in turn, hit his confidence and led to the quiet car ride, where the silence was broken when he said, “I don’t think I wanna play basketball next year, Dad.”
“Okay…why do you say that?”
“I dunno…I just don’t want to.”
“Is it ‘cause you got pulled from the game?”
“Huh?”
“Is it…hmmm…”
Silence hit us again. I then tried to reengage him from a coaching perspective.
“Okay…let’s examine that a bit. So, you don’t want to play anymore. That sucks, because I love watching you play. But I don’t want you to play for me, okay? I’m fine if you don’t, but we need to figure out the ‘why’ so that you have a real reason, pal.”
“It’s the pressure,” he responded. “I don’t like the pressure of the games. I didn’t mind last year, but I do now. And I don’t like the yelling because it makes it worse.”
To be fair to Liam, his two coaches are animated guys. They let you know their disappointment loudly, and our family isn’t a “yell at you” family, so the coaching style doesn’t always match up with his quieter demeanor.
But his coaches also really like him. Both wrote him kind notes for his 13th birthday, and both entrusted him with the ball when he’d rather give it to someone else.
In fact, their frustrations with him in those two games were that he was running from the task they knew he could do, and do well.
They see Liam as the point guard—the one who leads and sets the plays up for his team. This means having the ball in one’s hands and being calm under pressure.
Again, they believe in him, yet he couldn’t see or hear that beyond the noise and his own expectations.
They wanted him to “go to the ball,” not run from it by giving it to someone else. They weren’t coaching him to cower but to be courageous. It was better to risk and fail than to retreat and fail all the same.
Good coaching moves you towards the ball. And “the ball” can be anything you can think of: better financial planning, accomplishing a course towards a masters degree, improving yourself to be a better husband (or father, son, friend, single…this list ain’t a monolith), building heathy habits, or figuring out your “why” in life.
They weren’t coaching him to cower but to be courageous. It was better to risk and fail than to retreat and fail all the same.
Good coaching also gets to know you: how you work best, how you tick, and how to motivate you, call you out, and call you up to a higher place.
It requires your willingness to listen and trust the voice ahead of you, manage through the questions they pose, and learn that you had the answers in you all along.
Good coaching also gets to know you: how you work best, how you tick, and how to motivate you, call you out, and call you up to a higher place.
Much like how I led Liam to share his feelings, good coaching helps us put words to our feelings so we can start working on what comes next in terms of improvements.
This is something I experienced a few years back as I studied for my Level One Coaching certificate with Transformational Coaching through my friend and colleague, Jon Hand.
Over a few weeks, I sat in a coaching cohort with two other leaders where we asked questions, listened intentionally, and allowed one another to not just “figure it out” but to chart our action steps towards improving our situations as much as possible.
I’d also sit with Jon one-on-one, where he’d ask a question and allow me to stumble into enlightenment, either through a sarcastic quip (which is my calling card and key defense mechanism) or through blubbering tears. I learned my “why” and then had the tools to build my “how,” “where,” and “when.”
In Exodus 18:13-26, Moses’ father-in-law Jethro visits him and observes Moses trying to handle all of Israel’s leadership tasks himself.
Jethro asks his son-in-law, “What are you really accomplishing here? Why are you trying to do all this alone while everyone stands around you from morning till evening?” (v.14).
After Moses finds the words to express himself (and inadvertently reveals his leadership burden by saying twice over, “They come to me!”), Jethro gives him some coaching advice that lessens Moses’ workload and uplifts new people into new roles of leadership as well.
Beyond the picture of Moses getting lovingly schooled by his father-in-law, I love the idea that even someone as revered as Moses was a man who took too much on and needed someone to help him make sense of the mess he was in.
Like a good coach, Jethro saw a problem and a solution and invited Moses to see it too. Coaching gets you to look in so you can look out with new clarity and action steps.
As Liam and I kept talking over post-game pizza, I wasn’t sure if he’d play ball next year. That’s cool with me.
We did, however, leave with a game plan for the rest of the season: to play and have fun as if this might be it for a while. Run the floor and help your team.
This makes me happy because what’s important to me is that he has the tools to succeed and the words to express himself as a young man—that he sees the goals before him and hears the words of his coach from the sidelines with a heart of encouragement and a feeling of “I know how, now.”
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