JediBoy is not a natural at basketball.
He didn’t know how to dribble a month ago, hasn’t got the hang of shooting the ball high enough that it approaches the basket, and isn’t great at catching passes.
He’s in the 75th percentile for height, at 6, and is playing in a 5- and 6-year-old league, so it’s reasonable to assume that he should be on the taller end of the team. He’s actually the second-shortest player on his team. Those other kids must be playing in the junior NBA - they’re tall and fast and wickedly able.
See, that’s JediBoy on the left. (He’s not really shooting the ball. He has his hands up to try and get the rebound. The picture looks fun, though.) See the back of the other player in blue? He’s the same age as JediBoy and a full head taller. His father and grandparents come to every game and shout instructions that include fancy-pants sports terminology. Obviously, he gets basketball coaching at home. JediBoy… does not.
The thing that gets me, though, is that JediBoy likes his basketball team. He gladly passes the ball to his taller, faster, and flashier teammates. He whoops and hollers after every basket the team makes, even though he hasn’t made any himself.
I love that spirit. I’m so glad to see it.
There are many things that JediBoy does well for his age, and I like to focus on his strengths. It can be hard for me to watch him do something he stinks at. It dredges up my inner-non-athlete and makes me wince with bad memories of gym class. I get teary-eyed when my little nerd gets bonked on the head by the ball or calls out to his teammates “I’m open!” just to have them whiz past.
But he doesn’t wince or sigh or get teary-eyed. He just keeps bopping along, enjoying his teammates, chatting them up about Legos or Star Wars or karate between plays. I love him. May he never lose that happiness.
