More like parenting shrills.
I've had parents of the opposing Under-6 soccer team scream at me for not taking out one of my players because she scored three goals - even though you don't keep score in Under-6 ball and none of the kids on either team - including the girl who scored three times - had even noticed that anyone scored at all. And we had no substitutes.
Ridiculous.
During another soccer practice one time, I had a 5-year old boy sit down on the field and start crying hysterically. He wouldn't tell me why at first, but finally through his heaving sobs he told me that he had to go to the bathroom but his dad won't let him go because he didn't go before he came to the field. His dad was on the next field and since I couldn't leave the team to take the boy to the bathroom, I told him it was fine and he should just go ask his dad. A minute later our practice was violently interrupted with the dad SCREAMING at the boy at the top of his lungs from 75 yards away, "ABSOLUTELY NOT! I TOLD YOU BEFORE! NO! NO! NO! YOU JUST PEE RIGHT THERE IN YOUR PANTS!" All six teams practicing on all the surrounding fields stopped - there was really no other choice, it was a violent, invasive interruption...it was brutal. Finally the dad tucked the boy under his arm and ran with him to the bathroom, yelling at him the whole way. Afterward, we confronted the dad and told him we didn't want him at any of the practices or games anymore if he couldn't control himself.
Ugly.
But there are occasionally times when the parenting shrills - as disturbing as they innately may be - are brutally hilarious.
Last softball season I was coaching 8-9 year old girls. After five years of coaching softball where the girls' attention span hovered somewhere between, "Look! A butterfly!" and wearing their mitts on their heads, for the first time they were actually listening, taking it all in, and then applying what they learned during the games.
It was incredibly fulfilling - not just for them, but for me. It allowed me to approach practices and lessons more strategically. To propose situations that required foresight and planning multiple steps in advance. To motivate them with the promise of ice cream.
We had a special team - every girl but one was from the same school, and most of them were even on the same soccer team. The parents were fantastic, the kids were fantastic, and we had a stellar group of coaches. Truly a perfect combination.
Even the girl (let's call her, "Mimi") who didn't go to the same school had an incredible personality. She clearly perceived life as something to be lived moment to moment. She was carefree, always happy and smiling, and became something of a mascot to the rest of the team as she was the youngest and smallest.
It was Mimi's first year playing softball on a team in which most of the other girls had already played four years. She had never picked up a bat, ball or glove even once before she came to the first practice; we could quickly tell she was going to be a challenge. Thankfully, her attitude ensured that it would be a fun challenge.
But at the first game, I quickly became confused. When Mimi got up to bat for the first time, her dad jumped up from his seat and stood behind the backstop - yelling at her to, "HOLD YOUR BAT UP! SWING SOONER! PAY ATTENTION! DON'T SWING AT BALLS THAT GO BEHIND YOU!!!" It was aggressive and absolutely unnecessary - and anti what we had been teaching the kids (learn but have fun). My confusion continued to grow over the next few games as this dad's aggressive screaming increased exponentially and became quite disturbing both when Mimi was at the plate and in the field. How could this child be so happy-go-lucky with a dad that was squashing her every chance at happiness?
We became somewhat protective of Mimi - trying to provide as much positive encouragement and reinforcement as possible in response to her dad sucking the life out of her. After half a dozen games of nothing but strikeouts, the one game her dad didn't show up to she somehow managed to swing and get two hits off the pitcher: a monumental achievement for any girl in the league. She was absolutely elated.
The very next game her dad was back and picking her to pieces from the get go. We had had a couple talks with him - and he did seem like a nice enough guy when he was calm - but he clearly just couldn't help himself. I told him how great she had done and how dramatically she had improved over the first few weeks of the season.
"Bah!" he said, "She's terrible!"
We determined it was our duty to have her focus on us as much as possible and tune her dad out.
I put Mimi at third base and sure enough her dad walked around to that side and stood with his hands up grabbing the fence ten feet away from her each defensive half inning.
"MIMI! BE READY!"
"MIMI! PAY ATTENTION!"
"MIMI!! YOU'RE FACING THE WRONG DIRECTION!!!"
Ugh. This was really getting annoying.
The other team started a rally and after three straight batters they had the bases loaded. I walked around to the infield and made sure each player knew what they would do if they got the ball. When I came to Mimi I said, "Mimi - what are you going to do if the ball comes to you?''
She looked at me quizzically.
"Do you know?"
"No," she replied in a small voice.
"OK, first just touch third base, then throw to first base. Do you think you got it?"
"Yes!" she replied confidentially, smacking her free hand in her mitt.
"MIMI!!!" a voice came from ten feet away, "THE PLAY'S AT HOME! THROW HOME IF YOU GET THE BALL!!"
"Mimi," I quickly stated out of ear shot of her dad, "The play is at third just like we talked about. Just touch third." In a league of 8 and 9 year olds, the only play is to get the easiest out. If they master that, then move on to the more complicated plays. And Mimi had not mastered the easy play yet. This dad was only going to confuse her.
Of course: next pitch the batter swings and hits a grounder right to Mimi. And of course, defying history and logic, she makes a clean play of the grounder. The crowd is going ballistic. But once that ball was in her mitt, she had no idea what to do next. She simply stood there with dinner plate-sized eyes looking around in confusion as the runners all advanced safely around the bases. Her brain processor had shorted out with the overload of conflicting (and bellowed) information.
"MIMI!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THROW THE BALL HOME!! MIMI!! DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME?!?!"
The torrent continued unabated. I couldn't take it anymore, I walked over to Mimi in the middle of her dad's tirade and kneeled on the other side of her so she would have to turn away from her dad to listen to me.
"Nice play hon." She sniffled in response to me. Her dad's voice trailed off as I quietly and calmly took advantage of the silence to calm her down and get her head back into the game.
"You fielded that grounder perfectly. Did you forget what to do next?"
"Yes," she replied in a voice the size of a mouse's.
"That's OK - no worries. There's a runner on every base, so all you have to do is touch third - or any base that you can get to the quickest before the runners..."
"MIMI!?!? MIIIIIMIIII!?!?"
A voice shockingly interrupted me mid sentence and my words caught in my throat as the shear intrusive volume consumed us from ten feet away.
"ARE! YOU! LISTENING! TO! YOUR! COACH?!?!?!?!?!"
Wow. A dad screaming at his daughter to listen to him berate her for potentially getting distracted when she should be listening to her coach. I'm not sure I fully understand it either - I just know it was inappropriate. And hilarious.
When the loudest, rudest voice demands attention, it's never a good thing (are you listening you imbecilic politicians?). Just like on Survivor: DanOnka has been Mimi's dad times a thousand: bellowing, berating, causing fights, demanding attention, forcing people to listen to her - it's been extremely painful. Hey, at least the Survivor contestants can vote out someone each week. If those of us who coach kids could vote out a parent each week - now that would be really tremendous.
Still - it was great to see her break, although unfortunately it didn't end up translating into her boot. Hopefully that's an inevitable outcome. Instead, however, the dumbest people on the planet show that 21 seasons of lessons learned mean nothing and vote out the strongest member of their tribe because he tried to convince them that a live hen laying eggs is more valuable than the instant gratification of an 8-piece chicken dinner.
I simply don't have the energy to explicate how inane this decision is anymore. It happens every season, and every season the contestants pay. Is it that humanity is so innately selfish as to sabotage their own survival in the hopes that the lottery will hit and their position will be better served at some irrational fantasy point in the future that never comes for 99.9% of the people and is now suddenly even less of a possibility because your tribe will never win another challenge?
Yes, but this is getting much too close to politics now...
Do we side with the "shrill" or the "chill?" Because, really there are three ways to look at this thing when you...
"HELLO?!?!?! ARE YOU LISTENING?!?!?!"
Chill out people. Learn what Mimi's mom learned long ago: earplugs.
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