I pace along the sidelines of the turf field and past my abandoned chair. This warm and sunny day feels ironic given the emotional storm crashing inside of me. The first game of my son’s recreational flag football team isn’t going as expected.
My eleven-year-old sits on the sidelines across the field, shoulders hunched. He gazes toward the track and plucks at the fake grass. His friend comes off the field and plops down beside him. My son is momentarily pulled back to the present. He smiles, offers a high-five, and utters what looks like “Good job.” He talks with his friend for a couple of minutes before the coach puts his friend back in the game.
Disappointment flashes across my son’s face, and I watch as energy drains from his body. He shifts his eyes away from the field to anywhere but the painful moment he finds himself. When the game finally ends, my son has played thirty seconds of a forty-minute game. And he’s not the only kid with this low playing time. Three others were in the same boat.
My anger surges. How could a program advertised as recreational, intended to teach youth who’ve never played flag football before, treat kids like this?
My son meets me on the track beside the turf field, eyes cast downward. His arms sag at his sides.
“I’m so sorry for the way the coach treated you,” I said. “It wasn’t right.”
My son snaps his head my way and stands a bit taller. The acknowledgment of the unfair situation he faced makes him feel seen for the first time in an hour. No one likes to be treated unfairly. And when we or someone we care about experiences unfair treatment, it can be unsettling.
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