The stay-at-home dad Hoop Dreams and selfish parenting

Hoop Dreams and selfish parenting

After weeks of waiting, my new portable basketball hoop arrived on my doorstep last Friday. More specifically, a giant box containing the parts of my new basketball hoop arrived. That means there’s a long way to go before I actually get to use my new basketball hoop.

Hoops have been sold out everywhere it seems, both online and locally for curbside pickup. Maybe some establishments have had them, but y’all don’t wear your masks enough for me to feel comfortable browsing around every store in town. Shade!

Anyway, I did manage to put the hoop together, by myself, with minimal complications. My history of building things is tainted by a few incidents of upside-down bookshelves and dresser drawers, so it’s a miracle the hoop stands upright.

I set the height at 10 feet, which immediately frustrated my four kids.

“It’s too high!” one said.

It’s not too high for me.

“How are we supposed to make a basket?” said another.

Practice.

“We’re not strong enough to get the ball up there!” another one said.

Get stronger.

I love my kids, and I provide them with toys, bikes, scooters, books, clothing, food and LOVE. But some stuff is mine. I wanted a hoop, and I wanted to use it at adult height.

Truthfully, I’ve always been a little bit selfish as a parent. I’m reminded of a joke by comedian John Mulaney. He retells a story of he and his siblings on a road trip with his dad. The kids see a sign for McDonalds, and all the kids start begging and hollering for “McDonald’s.” His dad pulls into the McDonald’s drive-through and the kids cheer. Then the dad orders “One small black coffee” and nothing else.

I’m that dad. I’ve gone through the McDonald’s drive-through hundreds of times with my kids in the car. They always ask for Happy Meals. 99% of the time I order iced coffee and nothing else. 1. Too much fast food isn’t good for them. 2. If I bought something for the kids every time, then I wouldn’t be able to afford an iced coffee everyday.

Being openly selfish about my basketball hoop creates problems, usually in the form of a kid repeating “That’s not fair!” Instead of caving, however, I made up a “learning opportunity.”

My explanation for a 10-ft. hoop: “The professionals play at 10 feet, and if you practice at this height, you’ll have a huge advantage over other kids, and you’ll have more opportunity to get really good at basketball. So while you probably won’t make a basket today or tomorrow or even a month from now, you’ll eventually be better than everyone else.”

That’s just total nonsense, especially for a 3, 5 and 7 year old. In fact, it probably makes more sense to have the hoop at a lower level so they can practice the proper shooting form.

My 9-year-old daughter bought into this logic though, and it didn’t take long for her to figure out how to get the ball into the hoop at that height. Her progress is impressive, especially given her history of playing basketball (I’ll save her hellish experience at a kindergarten basketball camp for another column).

As you might expect, the little kids still found ways to make the hoop all about them. The 5-year-old and 7-year-old still want to get the ball in the hoop, so everytime they shoot, they miss by about nine feet, and bounce the ball off the edge of the base, which then jettisons it into the street. The street has a slight incline, which means if I don’t sprint after it immediately, the ball will be about a half mile down the road. I’m getting some cardio, at least.

Meanwhile, the 3-year-old screams at me unless I give him the ball, lift him up over my head and let him try to put the ball through the net. Over and over again. Strength training, I suppose.

After all this, wouldn’t it be easier to just lower the hoop? Yes. Yes, it would. But it’s my hoop. Maybe one day I’ll finally get to use it.