Chapter 3 - Discipline Dedication Determination - 5' 3"

Abby in her first 3D season, summer prior to grade 8.

A defining moment.

That fork in the road you always look back on and remember the decision taken that set down a new path in life. Often the subject of legendary literary metaphor that we can all relate to. Consequences for making the right or wrong choice. The role of luck and circumstance in what will follow. Jesus decides to confide in Judas. Columbus petitions Queen Isabella for last ditch financing. Tin Cup going for the green in two. Your choice about what university to go to. What career path to choose, a decision to buy a home, get a dog (why did I do that again?), or start a family. You know what I mean. Life's big decisions that you can look back on and admire or admonish. You always know where you were and what it felt like when the really important decision was made good or bad. A defining moment.

Like Abby's decision to continue with basketball after the Great Muffin Experience had come to a formal close at season's end. A defining moment for certain given basketball's disappointments to date, and what followed. A decision and a moment not to be forgotten. Looked back on and admired for how it worked out. A memory cherished. A memory to go down in family folklore.

Too bad none of us can remember it.

None of mom, dad, Abby, or coach has any idea what the defining moment was that led to Abby's continuation in the sport of basketball. By all accounts, and despite the efforts of Coach Walters, this pursuit should have died a quick death. Abby had developed some skills, namely she had vanquished her fear of dribbling, but the sport seemed to hold no more promise for her than deep sea fishing.

Except there was a new influence that must have influenced the great basketball tractor beam in the sky that somehow drew us all toward it.

Thomas.

Thomas was the fellow drawing a small crowd after the Mullet Man incident. He looked incredibly young to me then, undoubtedly a consequence of me looking incredibly old to him. About my height we had similarities in appearance that included looking potentially athletic in stature but lacking a bit in the muscles department. Our not terribly bronzed skin tone is a commonly known affliction in our neighborhood that has its share of pale skinned men of WASP decent with tanning potential further reduced by a climate where the sun shines prominently and hot in the short summer but the likes of Thomas and I must hide under shade and SPF 50 sun cream or suffer skin cancer risk of considerable magnitude. He stood out smartly in his bright red golf shirt with the unfamiliar logo. He wore glasses that would make others look somewhat bookish except he posessed a certain confidence, a force in personality that made him come off more like an intelligent looking guy who was on some kind of mission. He carried on an easy conversation with basketball parents looking for help. I had no clue who this guy was but I had the sudden feeling I ought to for no other reason than he seemed to know everyone who seemed to care about basketball and I knew nobody. Thomas had a quality that reminded me of Coach John. He was already a dozen steps ahead of me. Without saying a word to him I had the sense that, should Abby care to play any more basketball, he had an accurate idea about how the road map should look but would share it with me on a need to know basis.

Thomas was a principal owner in a local basketball club called 3D, which stands for Discipline, Dedication, and Determination. Unlike the Steve Nash league, this was a for profit business - ie paid coaches. It was not unlike the Roman Tulis soccer school that we had so much admired and had been such a positive experience for Abby, so the idea of a pay as you go club sport experience was not new to us. Thomas was offering up an alternative to the Steve Nash route for basketball enthusiasts, in fact he seemed to be scouting the talent. He had no shortage of interested parents and athletes eagerly accepting his 3D pamphlets after watching the Mullet Man debacle. I had to admit, Thomas's sense of entrepreneurial opportunism seemed very well tuned.

We were not among those with 3D aspirations. As the Steve Nash season drew to a close we looked forward to a Spring season of playoff soccer with the prospect of soccer tournament play in late August before the Fall season began.  In between there would be cocktails, BBQ's, and trips to the lake. 

Then Abby announced she wanted to try out for a 3D Spring/Summer basketball team.  Ugh, in an instant the prospect of a household otherwise absent of stress would now be subject to another run of tryout anxiety with who knows what to follow.  She never told us why she made this announcement then, and she doesn't remember why now. I do remember thinking her rationale couldn't be based on what her social circle was up to; few of her closest friends had expressed this interest, so what was it? Abby can be somewhat taciturn at times and downright speechless at others, so she didn't offer an explanation. Basketball tractor beam again maybe? Who knew. Anyway she seemed keen enough and so why not. We signed her up, and sent her along with the first in a long series of cheques made out to 3D Basketball.

The plan was to form two teams. The first team would be the most competitive and travel to games in the Seattle area to get good competition. The rest of the players would form a second team focused more on development though they would participate in some local tournament play. The girls would attend a series of practices over the course of a few weeks, after which the teams would be selected.

Abby's goal, as stated in her usual economy of words, was "Dad, I want to make the first team".

Great, let's set the bar high then shall we?  I did not know where this was all coming from, and I had a feeling she might be setting herself up for disappointment, but you had to admire the pluck of the Kid.

So the practices began. Two or three a week in the evening. At her first practice I noticed something I had never seen before. Abby had a look in her eye, the likes of which I had never seen on the soccer field even in the most competitive of games. It was a look of someone with singular focus, a determination to achieve something difficult. She hung on every word the coaches were saying. What she still lacked in ball handling skill she made up for in work ethic. When the girls ran lines she was a quarter of the floor ahead of the next player. When she didn't have to run because she was on the winning side of the scrimmage she ran anyway. She always made sure she was doing push ups when the others had stopped. She applied her quickness to a ruthless form of defence. Without the ball she proved to be an exceptionally effective pest, she generated steals and intercepted passes. As the practices wore on and others grew weary her tireless pursuit on defence was even more noticeable. She was also developing into a noticeably good passer, leading players with the ball into areas that would lead to a clear path to the hoop. As her confidence grew she became even more focused. I didn't even know she had it in her.  And all the time that look in her eye.

Thomas created a reward system based on practices attended and glued stickers to a poster board to show all the girls whose attendance was most consistent.

The tryouts went to 47 practices, Abby was the only person not to miss a single one.

She had to have made an impression, and I started to believe she actually might make the first team. After all, don't all good teams have these types of role players? The ones who push the others to work harder, improve, and who can maybe help the team in certain situations when defense matters more? Right? There was no doubt in my mind that she wanted it bad. I was still not sure why. Was it the sport? Or the challenge of making the first team? Or both?

The evening when the rosters were to be posted online finally had arrived. Abby looked several times before dinner but the results were not posted yet. For the first time Abby was not relying on natural ability to make the team, she knew she'd have to make it on working the hardest.  I found myself hoping for her to make this team like I had never hoped for her to make any other. Hard work always breeds results. We all know that.

After dinner, Caroline went to the computer and found the results so summoned us to join her. Together we read the names.

She had made the second team.

Abby was silent and stoic, she just stared at the PC monitor.

There was nothing I could think of to say.  But I should say something I suppose.  Something very brief but still brimming with great wisdom and profoundness.  Something that would immediately heal the hurt and preserve Abby's belief in humankind.  That's what we need here.  Think dad, focus gosh sake.

I needed help.  I decided to access the inner sanctum of the best TV dads who always knew what to say at just these types of moments.  I began to channel Mike Brady, and Howard Cunningham, and as desperation grew even Dick Van Patten.  But it wasn't working.  I remembered what happened the last time I struggled for words and instead of something wise blurted out a blasphemous statement instead, so I simply remained silent. The moment was passing, I needed to say something about how hard she tried and that she would certainly make the first team next year if she worked hard on her skills. This was the first time she had ever tried out for something and not made it. Plus this time she wasn't relying just on her natural athletic talent. She actually worked her ass off too.  All these thoughts were swirling around in my head as we sat there together stunned.  The wise TV dad words were simply not going to come, so I said the only thing that I could think of:

"I'm so sorry Abs."

Abby nodded quietly as my words tried to sink in, her face devoid of any expression whatsoever. Normally in control of emotion at all times somehow one tear accidentally escaped the corner of her eye which was quickly brushed away. This was my first of many experiences as a dad where I felt absolutely powerless. My daughter's heart was breaking and there was nothing I could do about it but wonder why she had put herself into this position in the first place.

About an hour later the phone rang. It was Thomas. He asked to speak to Abby. She took the phone from me and sat down to listen. She was very quiet and maintained her stoic expression, nodding her head occasionally. The conversation lasted about 2 minutes during which Thomas told her how much she had impressed the coaches, but that they thought a season of focused development would help her more than playing games that were too competitive. It helped a bit, and Abby decided she would play for the second team. I was proud of her.

A couple of days later life was moving mostly normally. Just before dinner the phone rang. It was Thomas again, and he asked to speak to Abby.

She took the phone and listened quietly, though her face suddenly transformed and she managed a barely audible, "Ok, thanks".

She handed me back the phone and looked at me with a wry grin that I will never, ever forget. It was almost as though she saw it coming somehow. She was clearly happy about something, but her words were not excited, they were measured, quiet, and confident:

"Someone on the first team doesn't want to play. I made it dad. I'm on the first team".