"Basketball is not my life!" Colette told her assistant coach last year when pushed to stay after practice for more skills work. Already, she was spending ten to fifteen hours a week at regular practice, two nights a week playing home and away games, two weeks of every summer at basketball camps and clinics, and a number of weekends and holiday breaks playing tournaments.
Colette knows what she doesn't want. She doesn't want to give up her limited free time to watch game videos. She doesn't want to stand under the basket, repeatedly executing post moves with a trainer in the gym. She doesn't want to use her study breaks to practice shooting in the driveway.
For better or worse, what she wants is more time to read books, watch movies, bake brownies and lounge around with friends in pajamas. She wants to learn languages.
I've had to adjust to this harsh reality. When Colette was named most improved player after her first high-school varsity season, I admit I had visions. She could be good! If only she'd dedicate herself fully, give it everything she's got--commit to the holy basketball--she could do it. Play college even!
My husband did not share my vision. "Her classes are a lot more important," he told me. "We should be standing outside her science classroom cheering."
Once I told my therapist that I wished Colette had more drive in basketball. If I could convince the therapist that my daughter's stagnating numbers in blocks and rebounds were evidence of a more global problem of ambition, then maybe I could get some support for my expectation that Colette continue to improve on the court. The therapist's response: "It sounds like she knows what she's doing. The likelihood of her having a future in basketball is almost nil."
I've backed off considerably. Colette gives to her team, and her team gives to her. In so many ways, she's an active contributor. It isn't about her achievement with an orange, round basketball, really, but about something less concrete, bigger.
