It wasn't what one would normally call a proud moment.
My coltish 8 year-old, after motioning to his coach for permission to cross the basketball court to his father, arrived nearly breathless.
"Dad, can I have some money for Skittles?"
Silence hung.
I did not want to peek at what would no doubt be my husband's stern expression.
"I am not willing to discuss Skittles with you now. You need to get back to your team."
"But..."
"Now."
I watched my boy, his face reddening, half jog back to the bank of folding chairs standing in for a team bench.
He had no idea asking for Skittles in the middle of a game was a bad move.
Two weeks ago he didn't even know what a lay-up was.
Yet judging by the rabid discourse of some of the fans and coaches at this 8/9 year-old Catholic Youth Organization game, my son's candy question would have been an abomination if it were overheard by the masses.
As I watched him sulk and slump in his chair, his long legs splayed out in front of him, I felt a rush of joy and pride over his sporting ignorance.
My guy was clueless, but he was still a child who felt he had the freedom to be one.
He was not the boy running up and down the court looking for approval on the sidelines or stamping his feet because another boy stole the ball. He wasn't hogging the shots because he simply hasn't figured out the win-at-all-cost attitude many of the parents and coaches foster instead of teaching the game fundmentals and the beauty of teamwork.
Notably absent from this game was the sideline cheering on of teamates with the exception of basket here or there. No assistamt coach from either side looked to engage the bench of second stringers who would have been riveted by some play-by-play schooling and attention.
Instead, the kids were served a caucaphony soup of yelling and ref bashing from adults near and far.
BE TOUGH!
WHAT ARE YOU DOING???
FIND YOUR MAN...COME ON!
OPEN YOUR EYES REF!
I like to win as much as the next spectator, but there is something sad about grown men waving their hands like lunatics and harrumphing loudly when a child double dribbles, misses a basket once or every time they get the ball.
This is not the NBA. It's not even middle school.
My son's team lost by three.
But after the game, he got his Skittles.
"Good game," I said.
"Yeah..You want some?" he asked, handing me a fist full.
