I was not as vocal at Colette's basketball games this year. Maybe the many pressures of her junior year of high school have affected me, like second- hand smoke. She got through the season with some good rebounds and a few good steals and post moves, and I was fine with that.
That's not how it used to be. When Colette was in sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth grades, I was 100% engaged in the game from the bleachers, my shrill, piercing voice carrying to every player on the floor, supporting the mastery of their skills and the pursuit of mastery itself. I cheered loudly for each pass, block and basket. I took Colette to every camp, clinic and practice, so she could build her skill set and become a competent, contributing member of the high school team.
This year, the team finished with a record of 15 wins, 10 losses--a winning season overall. Colette's own performance was strong in practice and decent in games. I felt more detached. It's her game now and her team. For the first time, I missed over half the games because I worked Tuesday nights. I picked her up when the games were over.
She's not the rising-star post player I fantasized about when she was in ninth grade, but she's no slouch either. More importantly, her team became her world this season. The coaches and players kindled laughter and happiness in Colette every day from October to March, as she did in them. On the court and off the court, they learned to rely on one another.
Over a glass of wine at Christmas, I asked my sister-in-law, who played Division III basketball in college, whether she thought Colette should consider trying to walk on to a DIII team even if she's couldn't get playing time, for the sake of being part of a team, since she's loved it so much.
No, my sister-in-law said, she didn't think so, not unless basketball was Colette's first love. She described all the traveling that college basketball requires and how she'd often felt she was missing out on experiences on campus with friends. Then she became wistful, noting, "But I did love scoring." Turning to Colette, she asked, "Don't you just love that feeling of scoring, of putting the ball through the net?"
Colette hesitated, but I knew the answer. My broad-minded, deep-thinking, culturally-oriented daughter told her sacrilegious truth. "Not really," she said. "It's not that great."
As Colette's season ended, the college search process formally began for the juniors. A questionnaire from the college counselor asked, "What experiences have had the greatest impact on making you who you are?" One of her answers was playing varsity basketball. I think I understand that contradiction in her of not being driven by stats and scoring, but of being motivated and shaped by the team and the experience.
Basketball is where she pushed herself to perform in front of the school and to find her own strength going up against big, powerful opponents. It is where she confronted her fears and limitations. And it is this team of girls who accepted her as one of them, enabling her to forge close, new friendships and to feel and expand the shape of her own identity.
As the locker room door closes for the season and Colette begins to explore her other interests and to think about colleges and new possibilities, I sometimes wonder, What's the point of a post move? Does it make any difference anyway?
Maybe one day when she's writing a college paper or applying for her first job, she'll hear a voice in her head reminding her to hold her ground, box out, take care of the ball, or--my favorite--go up strong. Or maybe she'll forget the words and moves entirely, but will remember the feeling of working together, supporting each other through wins and losses--of caring deeply for one another, serving as family.
