Sunday afternoon I had the pleasure of watching one of my son’s games. Like all proud parents, I enjoy watching my sons in their respective activities. Thankfully, my pleasure is no longer dependent upon the number of points they score, complete games they pitch, or whether or not they have a lead role. I’ve matured to a point (thanks, God) that I can celebrate each child for who he is and how he is uniquely gifted — as opposed to basing my pride on performance and accomplishment.
My youngest son, Josh, has helped much with that. It’s hard to adhere to pride based on performance when you have a special needs child. Life becomes a little more clear then — what’s most important, that is (another “thanks, God”).
There was one moment in Sunday’s basketball game which I found to be particularly insightful. There was a perhaps 11/12 year old boy on my son’s team, who was no more than four feet tall; he was actually quite physically skilled. He could dribble, shoot, and was unquestionably assertive on the court. Most of his peers were significantly taller; however, since the individual physical and cognitive disabilities differed, size did not dictate athletic dominance.
At one point, the small young boy dribbled smack dab into the middle of the lane, and a taller — albeit seemingly more physically challenged teen — stood directly in his way. The taller boy had flimsily stabbed at the ball a few times; it was a rather meek effort, but a stabbing just the same. His goal was to stop our enthusiastic, assertive four footer.
My four foot friend was obviously annoyed, though, as he encountered the defense; someone was opposing what he wanted to do. Hence, the four footer dribbled and penetrated, dribbled and penetrated, and then stopped dead in the lane, picking up his dribble. Then in his next, seemingly instantaneous move, the boy moved the ball to under one arm and used his other arm to slug his defender. He popped him right in the shoulder. The four footer then resumed his dribble, having subdued his opponent, and proceeded to follow through with his shot. (Thankfully, the defender was not hurt — granted, it was not from a lack of trying).
Now one of the many things I admire about my son and his peers is that they invest very little time in impression management; they don’t typically fake things, say things, or do things in order to control the image others have of them. They tend to live more freely — not allowing emotion to get in the way; they thus, also, typically do not hide how they feel. So on Sunday, when the young man was frustrated with the opposition, he slugged him; he threw a punch. He found the opposing of his ambition annoying, and so he simply let loose, so-to-speak.
It made me wonder: how often do we just “let loose” when someone gets in our way? … when someone opposes us? … when we find the opposition of another annoying?
Most of us are surely wise enough to refrain from physical slugging, but what keeps us from administering a verbal blow? …
Feel like someone is keeping your idea from being heard? … feel like their idea might be accepted by others? Shout at them; talk louder.
Don’t like something someone says that refutes your feeling or logic? Just insult them; maybe it will stick; maybe others will believe it.
The old adage that “sticks and stones will break our bones, but words will never harm me” is not one we believe in — otherwise we wouldn’t spend so much effort justifying the verbal jabs when there’s opposition in our lane. We should listen more, speak less, refrain from insult, and ask more questions in order to comprehend. And if we ever pick up our dribble, we should never feel justified slugging away… even with verbal jabs.
Respectfully…
AR