More Head Coaches, Less Spectators

Last night while watching my younger son practice with his pee wee football team, a group of teenage boys came and sat on the opposite end of the bleachers that my husband and I were sitting on. Within a few minutes more teens had joined the group—as did two more adults. The kids were talking about everything under the sun…especially how one was better, faster or stronger than the other. They cracked jokes on one another, challenged each other to races and tossed a football to showcase their passing or receiving skills. It was a pretty typical group of teenagers, on a pretty typical evening. From their prospective, there was nothing unusual or noteworthy about the day. The problem was, that the most memorable thing about their interactions and discussions was not the activities, or the wise cracks, it was the profanity. Every sentence seemed to begin or end with a curse word. The first few profanity laced sentences grazed my earlobe and I quickly turned to see who did it. I saw him and gazed at him intently for about five or ten seconds, but nothing…he didn’t even feel my piercing eyes staring in his direction.

I turned to watch my son as he learned how to lower his shoulder in order to get around his opponent without being tackled. He lowered the shoulder withstood the impact and my husband mumbled softly “Good, he lowered the shoulder”. Just then, another teen threw a four-lettered expletive at his friend who wasn’t fazed by the comment. I guess I didn’t lower my shoulder, because it hit me right in the gut. I turned again and glared at the perpetrator but to no avail, he was already lining up for the next play. I looked at the woman to my right and she stretched her eyes to signal that she was on my team, but it was clear to me that she was not interested in being on the frontline. I huddled up with my husband and brought the issue to his attention. He’d already noticed, but didn’t let it bother him. I told him that I just couldn’t believe that out of all of the kids on the bleachers, not one of them tried to remind the others that adults were on the bench. Not one of them seemed to care.

We reminisced about our youth and briefly discussed how teens use to respect adults and how we would be quick to excuse ourselves should we realize that an adult had been exposed to our dark side. That’s when our thoughts were suddenly intercepted by a kid who decided to add negative sexual orientation comments to his offensive lines. I sighed loudly, and noticed the woman on the left side of the bleachers shaking her head in disbelief. My husband explained to me that it wasn’t that they were trying to be disrespectful, but that a lot of young people don’t even realize that what they are doing is wrong. He said that they didn’t even see us. Wow, so, now we’re in their world and have to adapt to the changing times huh? Well, not so fast. Since I’m invisible, I decided to draw up a play of my own. I looked at the group again and tried to anticipate how they’d react to what I had planned. My sons practice was just about over so I told my husband to go on the sidelines and help him take off his gear. I was going to be responsible for the outcome—win or lose, this was my game.

I walked over and sat in the middle of their group. A few guys were standing around talking (and cursing) and hadn’t noticed my new position. I summoned them to come over and have a seat. Many looked confused and tentative, but every one of them complied. In fact, the one who had used the most profanity was the first one to acknowledge my presence. I started with a question…”Can I talk to you guys for a second”? “Yes ma’am” he replied. “Yes ma’am” can you believe it??? I’d finally been acknowledged as an adult who deserved respect. I talked to them for about five minutes. I was respectful and considered my tone and chose my words very carefully. I told them that I was disappointed by their actions because I was certain that their choice of words did not reflect who they were. I let them know that I too was a teenager and was far from perfect. I asked them to do me a favor and think about how their parents, aunts, uncles or other adults whom they respect would feel if they were in the park. I told them that I too have a teenage son and would not want him to use that type of language at all…but especially not in the presence of any adult. I noticed a few of these kids nodding their heads in agreement. Others hung their heads, while some looked at me with apologetic eyes. I asked them to be responsible for their words and actions, and to be aware of the adults in their presence. I reminded them that they represent their parents everytime they leave home, and asked that they take that seriously. I thanked them for listening, and some of them thanked me for talking. No one was disrespectful.

As the adult in this situation, I had a choice to make. I could sit there on the side line and complain about how awful kids are today, or I could get involved. Those kids didn’t need to be knocked down; they needed to be picked up. I was offended, but it wasn’t about me. It was about them. If they are our future, then it is up to us to teach them. Life is not a spectator sport; we have got to be willing to get involved. We’ve got to be willing to get in the middle of the huddle and call the play. As I walked off the field, one of the women who sat on the bleachers jogged over and stopped me. She commended me for doing something that she too could have done, but probably was too afraid to tackle the situation. I’d like to think that every one of us (kids and adults) learned a lesson or two from that encounter. I hope you do too.