Bold Moves Are the Best Moves

Most people agree the middle school years are the ones everyone wants to forget. When someone mentions the tween years, I cringe at flashbacks of my 7^th grade yearbook picture modeling a shamrock-green, crew-neck sweater with a mammoth perm and a timid smile of silver metal.

It also reminds me of a time full of disappointment – broken hearts over boys, party exclusions, friend betrayals, and cheerleading tryouts. The tryouts cut deep. The only consolation was my best friend didn’t make the team either. We didn’t know how we’d survive 8^th grade if we weren’t cheerleaders, but we had each other.

The Summer before that dreaded year, we had new hope. My dad’s friend was the head coach of the local university’s men’s basketball team. The NAIA championship team was coaching a camp, and they needed two girls to fill the roster. He invited my best friend and me to the well-known camp for free, so we could be the star 8^th grade basketball players that the cheerleaders supported.

The week-long camp was competitive. We were the worst of the girls that came from all over Western Kansas to hone their skills. We gave it our all though, and we plotted to keep this secret between us. We planned to surprise everyone at try-outs with our new-found, athletic talent and steal the top roster spots.

When tryouts finally arrived that Winter, neither of us made the team, but many of the cheerleaders did. It seemed so unfair, and it was devastating for two, sensitive, 13-year-old girls (and my grandma who tried to console our tears after school that day.) I can only imagine how much worse it would’ve felt if the new team were posting their excitement on Snapchat and TikTok.

I never thought I could feel so much heartbreak over a sport until years later when my 9-year-old son was excluded from his friends’ rec league team because parents got involved. We had to scramble but found him another team through the Catholic Youth Organization. He cried going to the first practice because he wanted to play with his friends and didn’t know any boys on this team. It broke my heart and stirred the mama bear in me, but he persevered.

Today was his last game with these boys that welcomed him four years ago and made him one of the team. They finished strong with a big OT win, and he had his best game of the season. I’m so grateful to CYO and their Play Like a Champion program that requires coaches to promote ALL kids versus a “win at all costs” environment. His coach told us he just wanted the boys to enjoy playing the game. As avid Jayhawk fans, it was sometimes hard for us to understand how losing by 20 points could be enjoyable, but our son loved the games and even practices. He built new friendships, confidence, and improved significantly by getting so much more playing time.

Next year, he’ll endure the dreaded try-outs and hopefully play with his school friends. No one knows if his basketball career will extend past middle school, but I know he’s equipped to play a pick-up game with friends as an adult or play with his own son/daughter in the driveway someday, which is as far as my skills took me. Isn’t that all that really matters?

I’m proud to say my best friend and I both made the high school cheerleading squad. We survived the middle school years, and my lack of basketball skills (and really bad hair) never once affected any future success. I just wish more parents understood that.