Sharing the Faith
I like close games with spectacular
individual plays and dazzling teamwork, but my daughter clearly
wanted a good guys/bad guys scenario
By Paul Gilbert
© Copyright 2002 by Paul Gilbert
Editor's note: "Sharing
the Faith " appeared in the print edition of Parents'
Press in 2002. While the roster has changed since then, we
think you'll still enjoy this essay.
I had just finished putting the children to bed and the house
was blissfully quiet. As my wife rinsed off the dinner dishes,
I settled on the couch to read the rest of the Sunday paper.
Suddenly I looked up, and my 6-year-old daughter was standing
there in her pajamas.
"Daddy, who won the Lakers game?"
It had started innocently enough. I'd begun tutoring her at
age 3, watching NBA games together on TV. Rather than burden
her with rules and strategies, I simply encouraged her to pick
up on my energy and enthusiasm. She quickly mastered the most
essential element, knowing when to give me a hi-five.
When she turned 5, I decided the time had come for her rite
of passage. It was time to attend her first professional sporting
event. My father had taken me to my first game when I was about
this same age. Going to Madison Square Garden had been like entering
a house of worship, although my fellow believers sure drank a
lot of beer.
I wanted to make sure her inaugural experience was so special
that she could hardly wait to tell her friends about it
not that kindergartners spend a lot of time talking pro sports.
So I picked a Lakers/Warriors game, which guaranteed a sellout
and two players she actually knew, Kobe Bryant and Shaquille
O'Neal.
The day of the game, there were a few crises. First, we couldn't
find the Shaq jersey she'd gotten for her birthday. Then there
was a traffic jam on the Bay Bridge, and I had to repeatedly
assure her we wouldn't be late. We arrived just before tip-off
and took our seats, 10th row, center court. She wanted to know
why we weren't sitting down on the floor.
After briefly focusing on the action, she turned her attention
to more serious affairs. By half time, she'd devoured a hot dog,
peanuts, popcorn, and a soda. I finally drew the line at cotton
candy, rather than risk a gastric disaster.
Clearly wanting a good guys/bad guys scenario, she kept asking
me, "Who are we rooting for?" I started to say that
I like close games, with spectacular individual plays and dazzling
teamwork, but the question became moot once she saw the Warriors'
mascot, Thunder, as he somersaulted off a trampoline and dunked
amidst a shower of fireworks. "Why don't the players do
that?" she asked.
I kept trying to imagine what it must be like to see through
her eyes all the things I'd come to take for granted the
bright lights, the pulsating roar of the crowd, the beautiful,
sometimes brutal ballet performed by athletic giants. To a young
child, the world is a much simpler place. What's not to like,
when you're sitting in your father's lap at a loud party, eating
an ice cream sandwich the size of a Frisbee?
Meanwhile, as the home team battled the defending champions
to a standstill, the crowd was swept up in the emotion and drama
of the underdog Warriors possibly pulling off an upset. To make
things even more exciting, Kobe Bryant and Golden State's Antwan
Jamison each scored 51 points. The last time two players scored
over 50 points in the same game was 1962. But she wasn't overly
impressed that this only happened every 40 years or so.
By the middle of the fourth quarter, my little fan was fading
fast, as it was well past her bedtime. Despite my wanting to
stay, it wasn't worth a potential meltdown. Reluctantly, we headed
up the stairs, but not before she demanded, "I want to find
Thunder!" I lied and told her he had to go to bed, too.
We held hands on our way back to the car, and I reminded her
of all the things she'd seen and done, hoping to imprint these
memories of her first game. As we left the parking lot, I heard
on the radio that the game had gone into overtime. I turned around,
only to find her fast asleep. I just shook my head and smiled
all the way home, while, of course, the Warriors won.
As I drove, I thought about why I'd wanted this night to be
such a milestone. Pro sports have changed dramatically since
I was a kid, much of it for the worse, but the games themselves
still have moments of pure artistry, and they provide a forum
for bonding that crosses generational divides. No matter what
our differences have been over the years, I could always talk
sports with my father.
I put my daughter to bed with her jersey on, snuggled up with
the stuffed Thunder doll she'd conned me into buying. Though
I'd missed the end of one of the greatest scoring duels in NBA
history, I was satisfied with the outcome of our evening. My
daughter had been introduced to the fellowship of fans. It would
be up to her to choose whether to practice the faith.
Our fan base has recently expanded, as my 3-year-old son has
heard the call (via play-by-play) to join the flock. As the playoffs
kick into high gear, I often find myself sandwiched between my
young understudies in front of the TV. After a wicked slam-dunk,
they both turn gleefully to give me some serious skin.
Now, if I could just get my wife to convert.
San Francisco writer Paul Gilbert used
to work for the National Basketball Assn., where he created the
"NBA is Fan-tastic" promotional TV campaign. He is
teaching his son and daughter to dunk.
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GOLDEN STATE WARRIORS 2005
Official website. Tickets start as low as $10 each (up near the
rafters, but you can usually move down a few rows if the game
isn't sold out). Also check out Friends & Family nights.
ALSO RECOMMENDED FOR DADS
FATHERS' FORUM www.fathersforum.com
A monthly article on fatherhood,
dad-to-dad tips on the first 12 months of fatherhood, pregnancy
from a male perspective. Also online chats, information on Bruce
Linton's classes for new and expectant fathers in the East Bay,
San Francisco and the Sacramento area, and excerpts from his
book, "Finding Time for Fatherhood."
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