Parents Out of Control

I was sitting with one of my granddaughters last week, watching one of her siblings play basketball. Behind us was a dad who yelled at his son the entire game. He was mostly encouraging, but called constantly to his son to give him tips and encourage him to “take it to the rim.” This dad never let up. He yelled The. Entire. Game.

The week before, I had been at a different game, again involving a grandchild. It wasn’t a particularly pretty game. The officials were doing a good job, stopping for teaching moments along the way. I happen to know both officials quite well. They are good men and were taking their Saturday mornings to help out. It would have been impossible to call every foul and whistle every infraction. We would have been there all day.

Sometime late in the game, the coach for one team was absolutely certain that his best player had been fouled. He screamed and gestured in a manner that would have made Bobby Knight proud. I didn’t know him from Adam but I was embarrassed.

Last week I worked a high school basketball game. It was highly competitive and came down to a last second shot but along the way, the visiting team was hit with 5 technical fouls, their best player was ejected, and one of their fans was escorted from the gym.

Here’s what I observed—their students, fans, parents, and school staff members spent the entire game screaming at the officials and the home team. Yelling obscenities, making hand gestures, and generally being out of control. No one should be surprised that the players on the court demonstrated such bad behavior. They were surrounded by it.

At some time, school administrators for that school should have stepped in and taken control of the student section. They didn’t. For all I know, they were part of it. I actually saw a teacher join the students at one point. Adults should know better.

Most of my sideline work is at football and baseball, where you are insulated from the comments of parents and fans. I will have a hard time if I eventually retire—I won’t be able to sit in the stands. When (not if) somebody says something about somebody’s kid or one of the coaches…well…I’m not sure what I will do but it won’t be pretty.

That dad needs to let his kid play. He needs to let him be coached and be part of the team. His kid was really good but that is no excuse. After the game, I saw the kid sobbing uncontrollably. I can only speculate why.

That coach needs to just calm down. He will find as he gets older (and wiser) that it isn’t that important. He will find that it’s far more important for his kids to develop motor skills, to learn how to be a good teammate, to understand what it is to be coachable.

He was probably the dad of one of the players on the team. I know it is hard to find coaches. Heck, the first full soccer game I saw, I coached. They for sure couldn’t find anyone better. But best case scenario is for a non-parent to coach those teams. Yeah, I know how hard, if not impossible, that is.

Do your job as a parent. Show love. Teach. Encourage. Support. Wipe the tears. Don’t make excuses nor allow excuses. Your child’s future depends on it. In life and in athletics.

One More Chat

I don’t want this to seem dark and gloomy. I want it to be something else entirely. But some life experiences this week caused me to think of my dad, who died in 1997.

Maybe it was the family gathered for Thanksgiving. Maybe it was when I sat with a dad that had just lost his son. I spent some time with my own son and that was part of it. Maybe that’s just the way these things work.

My dad was a simple man. He dropped out of school after the 6^th grade to go to work in a factory to support his family after his own dad had died. Think about that. Can you imagine sending your 12 year old off to work?

He was 16 when the Great Depression hit in 1929. Work was scarce so he moved from his hometown of Sweetwater to Knoxville, where he had a single room in the basement of a building and worked at jobs whenever he could find them.

He married my mom in 1941 and was the “old guy” at 30 in his Navy unit when he went off to war in 1943, serving in the south Pacific on the USS New Jersey. After the war, he moved to Loudon and got a job at the hosiery mill there. When a new factory opened, he moved there for better opportunities.

He had his first heart attack at age 45, and was forced into retirement ten years later. My summer job all through college was at that same factory. It was hot, nasty work but it paid well.

What I heard from those guys at that factory that had worked with my dad was that Carl Black was a hard worker. They told me that he always seemed to be going 100 miles per hour…that he often did the job of two people and looked for more.

He raised bees and strawberries, always had a huge garden, and each fall would help local farmers kill hogs to get some of the meat. He was always tinkering in his workshop and seemed to be able to fix anything. He was proud of his ice cream freezer, home-made and one of the first in our neighborhood to run off an electric motor. I was never hungry and I was never cold.

I guess I got my work ethic from him. I’m pretty sure I got my ambition from him. Not attending college wasn’t an option for me. I’ve wondered aloud how that came to be. I now realize it was probably from my dad, who never had that opportunity.

He was a little man, 5’6” and 145 pounds at his biggest. Sports were never an option for him but he became my biggest supporter in whatever I did. Because of his heart problems, he could never attend my football games. Doctors decided it was too much excitement for him. But I know he was always sitting at home alone, listening to the radio broadcast of my games.

Because of the blood thinners he took for almost half his life, he was always cold. He loved the hottest days of summer when he was finally comfortable. The last good memories I have of him are sitting with him in church and putting my always warm hands on his cold hands, then napping in the afternoon with him in the apartment he and my mom shared. He was gone the next day.

Like everyone, I would like one more visit with my dad, one more time to talk to him. I don’t have to think hard to know what I would say. I would tell him about the wondrous things that his grandchildren have done and introduce him to my own grandchildren. I would tell him about my life since his death. I know he would be proud that I went back to school and got my doctorate. Being able to call me Dr. Joe Black would have been his proudest moment.

But I would have only one question for him. “Dad, did I do OK?” Hug on somebody today.

Finding Your Place

I have a friend who is agonizing over how to best raise her son. (Haven’t a lot of us been down that road?) In particular, she wants to make sure that he is an active youngster and, as a result of that, becomes an active adult.

The problem is that he’s not really interested in sports. Nothing seems to click for him. She has introduced him to lots of things. Baseball. Martial arts. Gymnastics. Flag football. He has shown little interest in any of those.

Oh, he’s an active kid. He goes 90 miles an hour most of the time with lots of different interests. He certainly seems to love life. Still, this mom wants to make sure she is doing the right things for him.

We have a similar story with my own grandchildren. One seems to really enjoy running but it’s too soon to decide if that’s her sport and definitely too early to focus on just one thing. Another seems to have a lot of talent on the soccer field but is likely to play everything available to him.

I’ve introduced some of them to mountain biking and a couple really show potential there as well. I mentioned one of the grands last week who has really taken an interest in soccer. But I mistakenly said she was giving up ballet. She’s not. She’s another one that is likely to do lots of different things.

One set of grandkids have become quite good at hiking, camping, and backpacking. That is, after one of them got over thinking about hiking as just walking (and he didn’t see the point in that).

I’ve told the story of my own kids here a couple of times. My son was always likely to be a football player. He towered over kids his own age from an early age. Still does. And football is sort of the family thing. Before football though, he was into gymnastics, baseball, basketball, and soccer.

I always thought my daughter would end up as a basketball player. She loved softball too. But then she discovered volleyball as a high school sophomore and that was it. That was her sport.

My point is this: It is not necessary to pick a sport early and stick to it. No…I’ll correct that: It is a huge mistake to pick a sport early and stick to it.

Travel ball for six year olds? I’m strongly against it. Position coaches and personal trainers at 10? Ridiculous. You think your kid is the next star quarterback? And he’s 8? There’s no way you can know that.

Let them play everything. Make sure it is fun for them. It is important for them to have some success at whatever they are doing—that’s what builds a passion for a game. But for younger kids, it is not important at all to win championships and go undefeated.

Let them be on a team so they learn teamwork. Let them be coached by someone other than yourself so that they learn how to be coachable. If the coach doesn’t recognize their extraordinary talent and keeps them on the bench, don’t blame the coach. Help your kid to get better. It will all work out in the long run.

Help them find their way, not yours. Open doors for them but don’t drag them through that door. Sometimes you don’t even need to hold their hand when they walk through that door. Let them be a part of the world so that they learn how to deal with the world.

Give them opportunities and they will find their way. Give them experiences that are positive and promote movement and they will seek that path.

Role Models

I took my youngest granddaughter to a soccer game recently. It was the MHS Lady Rebels Sub-State game against Science Hill that they won 3-0, qualifying them for the State Tournament.

This is the second time she’s joined me on the sidelines of a soccer game. She loves soccer. She watches the game closely. She’s 7 and just decided to quit ballet to spend more time on soccer. But this isn’t a story about the soccer game. This story is about role models.

Before the game, at the playing of the National Anthem, the MHS soccer team stood at attention, with their right hand over their heart and their left hand behind their back. My granddaughter and I stood too, facing the flag with our right hand over our hearts. I saw my granddaughter look at the line of girls in front of her, all of them with their left arm held behind their back. Slowly, she did the same.

I didn’t want to disrespect the National Anthem but I knew I had to have a photograph of that. I snuck my phone out and almost without looking, took a snapshot of the scene before me. I had no idea if it was any good at all until I looked later.

Oh. My. Goodness. It’s true that a picture is worth a thousand words. This one spoke volumes, at least to me. These high school girls are role models, sometimes when they least expect it.

You never know what little person is looking at you, not just learning how to play a game but also how to behave, how to talk, how to walk, even how to stand attention at the playing of our National Anthem.

The granddaughter has a special affection for Lady Rebel Emma Rice. She took a few private soccer lessons from Emma this fall. I’ve known Emma for a while now and I can tell you that there is no one out there that I would prefer over Emma to teach her how to play soccer and be a teenager.

Emma gets it. She is passionate about the game and is always giving 100% but she also seems to have a good grasp on what it’s really all about. Same thing for Karly Wolford. I’ve watched Karly over the last couple of years and she is one of my all-time favorites. She’s a triplet with two brothers and she loves those brothers beyond measure.

Abbie Kolarik is one of those Lady Rebels that I’ve known most of her life. Always polite, she moves with grace and style and I can think of no one that I would prefer my grandchildren emulate than her. I saw Grace Oliver once handle what could have been awkward social situation with maturity and…well…grace.

So here’s the thing…you may not know it, but somewhere, sometime, little eyes are watching you. You are a role model for somebody.

If you find it difficult to always be on your best behavior, to always be polite, to never use language that you wouldn’t want everyone to hear, to always be the best version of yourself, then maybe it makes your life harder.

If you want to be a positive influence on those around you, if you aspire to always make good decisions, then accepting the concept that you are a role model for someone can make life easier.

This role model thing is either an opportunity or a burden. But good or bad, never forget that someone is watching you, wanting to be you.

The Job of the Athletic Trainer

I can hear it now.  After the last four columns (where I wrote about various life lessons, maybe with a sports twist) my wife will have said somewhere along the way “those are all nice, but you need to write about sports and injuries and that sort of thing.”

Of course she’s right.  I guess when you get to a certain age, you want to philosophize a bit—share the lessons you’ve learned in a long life.  I most surely qualify.

I do believe there was meaning in those stories, maybe not so much about dealing with injuries but about life lessons that apply to sports.  I also believe the other side of that coin, that sports teach us life lessons as well.

But back to what I know best:  Dealing with your injuries.  Here’s what I know—to deal most successfully with injuries, you’ve got to know what you’re dealing with.  That’s where the importance of athletic trainers comes in.

When I came here in 1981 and put out my own shingle, I know I wanted to be in the arena of athletic health care.  I wanted to build my practice around it.  Other than the legendary Dr. Bob Haralson, there wasn’t much going on in the way of sports medicine around here.

That has most assuredly changed and the athletes of this area have benefitted from that.  There are athletic trainers and sports physical therapists everywhere around here.  I know that because I work with them.

Dedicated professionals who love kids and love sports.  Caring individuals who sacrifice huge amounts of time to take care of their athletes. 

So, if you don’t know what your injury is, seek professional help.  Don’t “walk it off.”  Don’t “shake it off.”  Don’t “toughen up.”  Get answers.  Get checked out.  You will get better quicker that way.  Athletic trainers take no joy in keeping you from playing your game.  Our job is to get you back out there as quickly as possible.

And we will do it within the framework of making sure that it is safe for you to return to play, that there are no short term or long term ramifications to your return.  We do not compromise on that. 

It used to be that we put ice on an injury for 24 hours and then switched to heat.  We now know better.  There really isn’t a place for heat in sports medicine.

Don’t be afraid of braces.  I’ve heard a thousand times that somebody didn’t want to wear an ankle brace because it made the ankle “weak.”  Huh-uh.  It doesn’t.  It just protects the ankle, maybe gives it a chance to heal.

I tape a lot of ankles but not much else.  A few wrists and fingers.  Tape on a knee or a shoulder is worthless.  Those colorful stripes that you see on shoulders and knees?  Mostly decoration.  Hardly worth the cost or effort.

Common sense also goes a long way in dealing with sports injuries.  If it doesn’t make sense, get it checked out.  If it lingers too long, find out why.

The job of the athletic trainer is to help you get exactly what you need, when you need, and get you back to your sport.

What I do Best

OK, so what’s the most common injury that we see? That’s easy. Ankle sprains.

You know the injury. The foot turns in and you hurt on the outside of the ankle. It happens all the time, either when you suddenly change directions or when you jump up and land on somebody’s foot. 

The treatment is the same—Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation (RICE). The sooner the better. Remember, you never “walk it off.”

              We see a lot of shoulder problems too. Those can be simple and can be complicated.  I spoke last week about the need to get a proper evaluation of injuries. That is never more true than when dealing with shoulder problems. 

              There are a lot of knee problems out there in athletics as well. Most of them, when treated correctly, won’t need surgery or months of rehab. Everyone is afraid of ACL injuries but fortunately they don’t happen that often. Younger athletes, particularly girls, are prone to problems with their kneecap (patella).  Most often it is a biomechanical issue and if those issues aren’t dealt with, relief will be temporary.

What’s the most difficult injury we deal with? That’s easy too. Concussions.

Concussions are also the scariest thing that we deal with on a regular basis. During our sports seasons, there is rarely a day that one of our athletic trainers doesn’t deal with a possible concussion.

And a concussion is something that we can’t be wrong about. Make a mistake and there is the potential to negatively impact someone’s life. That’s why we’re ultra-conservative when we suspect a concussion. That’s why if there’s any doubt about it, the game is over for that athlete.

That’s also why an athlete has to go through a whole battery of tests before returning to sports after a concussion. We simply cannot make a mistake.

It’s definitely frustrating for an athlete that has had a concussion who feels fine and cannot understand why they still can’t return to their sport. We have to make sure that the brain is fully healed before allowing sports participation. 

If the brain is still healing, it is far more fragile. The 2^nd Concussion Syndrome is very real. Have a concussion on top of a concussion and the impact can be much, much more severe.

I know concussions on a first name basis. Not only do I deal with them professionally, I had what I now know was a pretty serious concussion in high school football. 

It was 1970 and I remember arriving at our opponent’s field and I remember lining up across from their best player. And that’s it. That’s all I remember. The next thing I know, we’re back home in our own locker room.

I played the entire game, on both sides of the ball, and remember nothing about it. On film, it looks like that all-state player slapped me in the head one time and maybe that was it but I have no memory of any of it.

It turned out OK.  I don’t think I suffered any long term effects from it, but in hindsight, it is a bit scary. My brain was injured and yet I continued to play. 

I don’t want to let a fear of injury and especially of concussions keep you from allowing your child to play sports. I think that’s a huge mistake. I honestly believe that some of our best life lessons come from our playing fields. 

But I do believe that we owe it to ourselves and to our children to be smart about it.  And that means seeking trained professionals to make those decisions with you.

I Had a Dream

I Had A Dream

With all due to respect to one of the greatest speeches ever given (Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech), I want to offer a glimpse of my dreams. Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s bragging. Maybe you can learn something from it.

My story is humble. I probably had no right to dream but that didn’t stop me. I dreamed of a life and a world that was very different from how and where I grew up. From an early age, I dreamed of changing the world.

The first thing I can remember is the dream of being a Boy Scout. That started with my Den Mother Mrs. Patton and was fostered by really great Boy Scout leaders. I loved everything about it and grew leadership skills there that are still with me.

I dreamed of playing football. I loved everything about it. The teammates, the practices, the games, the helmets, the hitting. My high school football coach remains one of the greatest influences ever on who I became as a man.

I always wanted to have good friends that I could depend on. I’ve had a bunch of them. Even though we don’t talk often, I remain somehow cosmically connected to my best friend from childhood, Ronnie McNabb.

I dreamed of being married. It hasn’t always been easy and anybody that tells you that it will always be easy is lying but it has been worth it and now it is both easy and perfect.

I dreamed of finding a job where I was of value, a career that I enjoyed. Growing up, very few from my hometown went to college. Dreaming big was not really part of the culture. I remember all too well being told by a high school teacher that “people like you don’t go to college.”

But I was always going to college. My parents didn’t allow me to even consider anything else. They both worked in local factories, which was what most of my high school classmates did after graduation.

How I stumbled into this one must be the result of divine intervention. Nobody could be so lucky. Every time someone turns to me for help with their physical well-being, I know I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. And when a parent tells me that they feel better because their child is in my hands, well…it doesn’t get any better than that.

I dreamed of having children. I dreamed that those children would become successful adults. I really hit the jackpot on that. And then they brought me grandchildren which may be the greatest blessing a senior citizen could ever have. 

I dreamed of staying healthy and being healthy into old age. You’ve heard that story many times, as it relates to my dad’s heart problems. From an early age, I took ownership on that one. A lot of what I do today is my effort to sustain that dream.

I never wanted fancy cars or expensive clothes.  Jeans and t-shirts have always been more my style. I never dreamed that I would write a newspaper column for 33 years that people would actually read.  I know every English teach I ever had would find that thought pretty funny (or ridiculous…or both). 

I never dreamed that I would get to walk on the sidelines of championship football teams year after year. I never dreamed that I would be embraced by a community like I have by this one, where I have lived my dreams for 40 years. Thank you.