When our son Henry was about 9 years old, he decided he wanted to play basketball. Having grown up in England, I personally had never played basketball, but, of course, I was eager to support him and so we took him to sign up for the local youth sports program.
After meeting the other young recruits, the coach announced he was looking for an assistant coach who was willing and able to step in should he ever get held up commuting home. All I heard was the word “willing,” but I was certainly not “able.”
All of a sudden, the other dads found something interesting to look at on the parking lot tarmac because they all took their eyes off the coach. Henry tugged at my hand, and so I raised the other one and said, “Hey coach, you can count on me.” And that was it — I was now the assistant coach.
The following Tuesday, we all turned up for our first game. One of the many things I loved about suburban life was how well-supported the kids’ after-school activities were. There must have been 20 people who looked like parents or relatives of the young sports stars, along with grandparents and neighbors.
Conversely, when I was in middle school decades earlier, the only people who turned up for our soccer games were my long-retired maternal grandfather and, occasionally, the referee.
With 10 minutes until start time, we all wondered where the coach was. And then I got the call: He was stuck on the freeway. It was my time to shine as coach.
Eight minutes later, I was standing on the court with five young boys eager to hear my game wisdom and strategy. Four of the boys had been playing this sport for three or four years, and the other — Henry — just needed me to know something, anything at all, about the game he wanted to play on this side of the pond so he wouldn’t be dreadfully embarrassed by his old man.
But I had nothing. One of the boys asked what position I wanted him to play, and I responded, “Where do you want to play?” Another asked me what the game plan was for the first quarter. I replied, “Just give it your best shot,” and followed up with that timeless classic to inspire youngsters in sports: “Make your parents proud — make me proud.”
By the end of the second quarter, we were losing big time. At the start of the third, the real coach arrived — seemingly stressed out by the horrible commute home he’d just endured, but even more so when he glanced at the scoreboard and realized I had no clue. I was swiftly substituted.
The lesson for me was a good reminder that being willing but unable is not a good combination for leading any team. You see, willingness may demonstrate good character, but a lack of ability unveils a lack of competence.
It’s often said that the commodity leaders deal in is trust. If we’re people of high character and high competence, we will be trusted, but if we have one without the other, we will lose games, lose business, lose trust, and eventually lose our jobs.
One of my most cherished memories of that first game attempting to coach Henry’s youth basketball team was him thanking me for stepping up on the drive home. That still fills my heart, nearly 20 years later. We never talked about the score.
I stuck the season out, and slowly, I started to learn the game, understand its strategies, and get a little better at being an assistant coach. My competence improved because the real coach was willing and able to work with me due to my character. I just saw it as a dad supporting his son, just as my dad had done with me.
They gave me a certificate at the end of the season. I’m not sure where that is, but what I do hold onto is that little hand tug from Henry, encouraging me to step up and be of service. After all, isn’t that essentially what leadership is about — being of service to others?
Paul Butler is a Santa Clarita resident and a client partner with Newleaf Training and Development of Valencia (newleaftd.com). For questions or comments, email Butler at [email protected].
