To Coach...

I had originally wanted to tell the story of the man who invented the couch potato. Well, not literally and not consciously, but in 1956 when Zenith introduced the wireless remote control, the wheels of de-evolution began. Robert Adler downplayed his role when asked if he felt his invention made people lazy. He responded, "People ask me all the time - 'Don't you feel guilty for it?' And I say that's ridiculous. It seems reasonable and rational to control the TV from where you normally sit and watch television." Mr. Adler passed away this week at the age of 93.

But that idea was distracted by the news that Kurt Cobain would have been 40 years old this week. I remember the day that the news announced the violent death of the obviously troubled young man who took his own life in Seattle thirteen years ago. My two sons had turned me on to Nirvana, the seminal band formed by Cobain. I remember their stunned reactions that day. I’m not sure, but I would imagine that he was the first music favorite of theirs to die like that. I had been through a slew of them from Buddy Holly to Jimi, Jim and Janis, but one can only wonder about what genius was wasted on that day. But this afternoon, I received news from my brothers that did shake me and causes me to want to recount the feelings I have now.

Their e-mails must have collided in cyberspace, because they almost arrived simultaneously. The father of a neighborhood pal and teammate from Little League through high school passed away today. Tom McBride was the first real coach in my life. He coached my grammar school basketball team and though I hadn’t spoken a word to him in over 40 years, he was a big part of my young teen life.

There is a connection made sometime in a young person’s life, when an adult authority figure like a coach, teacher, advisor or counselor connects with them in a way different from their parents. Parents come by their authority through birthright. They’re your parents, and their role is accepted. When you would tell your friends that your mom was grounding you, that friend never questioned your subjugation, hey, it’s your mom. Everybody understood that. But these aforementioned other adults, they were the first authority figures who earned your admiration and respect. There are many ways this can happen, but somehow, someway they touch you. By their actions or kindness or demanded discipline they teach you something that makes you a better person. They help turn the child into (in my case) a man.

I didn’t know the man Tom McBride. He was Mickey’s dad and my grammar school basketball coach. His motivation for giving up his Saturdays and odd weekdays during the basketball season never entered my thirteen-year-old mind. But he gave me far more than he probably ever realized. He taught me ways to feel good about who I was and what my place was in that early 1960’s world. I learned the feeling of what it meant to be on a team, to be accepted for my skill and if not fully in the clique, at least I was recognized as me. In the confines of a team, Tom McBride taught me rudimentary skills and had me practice them. But more importantly, probably unbeknownst to him, trusted me enough to ask me to step up. That the team needed me, right now! Needed me to win this game. We need a rebound or a basket; we needed the ball! When I actually did do what was needed for the team to win was a feeling I never had before, but would have again in other aspects of my life. Tom McBride let me experience that for the first time.

There is a French proverb that says, “Gratitude is the memory of the heart.” I’ll be thinking of Coach McBride this weekend.