Once there, she set herself and shot. The ball barely reached the rim. Shea grabbed it. Again she flung it with her might. And again. And then, "Aaugh! Daddy, I'll never make it." With hands on hips, she kicked at the ball, missed that too, and then slumped her shoulders in the exaggerated way that 8-year-old kids do.
I looked up at the basket. The hoop stood at regulation: 10 feet from the ground. "Can I show you a trick that might help you get the ball up there?" I asked.
With the look of a bulldog, she retrieved the ball. I showed her a different hand placement on the ball that might create greater leverage, and thus, increase the arch of her shot.
With gritted teeth, she took the ball from my hands and set her feet. But there was no suspense for me; emotions ruled my daughter now. There was no surprise when the ball took an ugly course and bounced away. Shea threw her fists down and slammed her foot on the pavement. "Daddy, it's too high!"
I looked at her. "Yes. The basket is high, Shea. But I'm not sure it's too high. Do you want to keep playing?"
Walking like Frankenstein, she retrieved the ball, came back and spit, "Yes."
Modeling the new hand position, I took a gentle shot, and then gave her the ball. After helping her with the placement of her hands, I backed away. Shea took a step forward and pushed the ball with the angry intention of a victim. The ball squirted from her hands in an awkward arc.
"Okay, we're done," I said, walking towards the bikes.
"But Daddy I want to play," Shea responded.
I turned and looked at her. This Magic Moment felt familiar. Shea wanted to hit a target that seemed out of reach. Because her initial attempts had failed, she had forfeited subsequent results by delivering sub-efforts. By focusing on what wasn't working and what she didn't like she had put success out of reach. She refused to accept that the goal was 10 feet high. With the rationale of a child, she thought that by complaining about the obstacle, it would miraculously lower the goal.
Life doesn't work that way. Like any father, I saw the opportunity for a greater life lesson. But how could I deliver it?
I decided to work on acceptance first. "What do you want to do, Shea?"
"I want to play basketball."
"Okay. The basket we have chosen to play at is high." I paused. "Do you still want to play?"
Slowly, "yes."
"Alright. But if we're going to play, we're only going to play one way. How do you want to play with the high basket?"
Quietly, "have fun."
(Parents will recognize 'have fun' as code for 'have a good attitude.') "How do you want to have
fun?" I asked.
"Try hard and don't get mad."
I stepped towards her, pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her.
Life is full of high baskets. Because each of us wants to be great, because each of us wants to succeed, when early attempts fall short, a mistake can be made. This mistake is a judgment we either make of ourselves or fear others will make of us: that we're not good enough. Ironically, the moment we adopt such a belief system, we indeed become 'not good enough.' And the basket grows higher.
There are people around us with these belief systems. Their actions are similar to my daughter's that day on the basketball court: slamming fists, words of defeatism, and diminished efforts. What questions can we ask to assist them with accepting the current facts? (Acceptance, the first step in the Big 6 of Degrees of Strength.) What can we ask so that they realize they have a choice in how they approach their goals? (Responsibility, the second step.) And how can we ask these questions so they know we believe in them?
Shea stepped back on the court. Her hands tried the new placement. The ball was released…and it never got close to the rim. (Were you expecting a Hollywood finish? Were you expecting the ball to swish through the net? Not here. This is better. This is real life.) She ran and grabbed the ball and positioned herself again. The ball left her hands and it missed again. She retrieved it and took another shot; this one hit the rim, but bounced sharply away.
Ten shots later (or was it 15? We got lost in the fun) that little girl made a basket. When the ball wiggled through the net the victory was celebrated with shouts and dances only the determined know.
Of course, what Shea doesn't know is that the "high basket" will be replaced; there will be other lofty goals she'll either be given or self-select. She'll find goals in every arena. When she looks up at them what will be her response?
What's yours?
