Au basket
All who know Brewster, know his love for sports. He's a thirteen year old athlete. His football and basketball teams were two of the toughest things to leave behind when we moved to France. The friends, teamwork, competition, and sheer exercise not only satiate him, but define who he is in the world. I knew he'd be happiest if I could find him some sports to play in France.Last spring, I found a basketball league in Aix-en-Provence called Golgoths13. I sent them a note from the US and never heard back. In August when we arrived in Aix, I reached out again. Nothing. We looked around for basketball hoops in town and didn't find very many. I saw one at the Military Lycée and another one at a nearby primary school but neither looked promising.Back in August, Matt and Brewster were tossing a frisbee in the park next door. Brewster commented how out of shape and uncoordinated he felt. I cringed appreciating his honesty but felt his pain. We'd been traveling and playing for weeks and he'd had very little exercise. Once again, I wished that I could find him a sports program. Ideally, basketball.One Sunday evening after school started, I went for a run. I wasn't feeling up for a long one, so I took a short cut back to our apartment. I jogged by the nearby school basketball court and saw some kids playing. I took a photo with my phone to show Brewster. I thought if he was feeling bold, he could to go to the court one day and play a pick up game. Just as I started to run away, three boys who looked like Brewster's age walked off the court."Parlez-vous anglais?" I asked."A little" said one boy. "Our friend over there speaks English." He pointed to a kid across the street who was talking to an adult, maybe his father. "No problem." I continued with a few questions using my very limited French.I wanted to know where they bought their basketball and if they played on a team. Confused, they yelled out to their friend to come over. The boys explained that I had some questions and I spoke English. Their friend, a 14 year old American, explained that they all played on a team in the league, Golgoths13. They were just wrapping up tryouts. He told me to call right away to see if my son could play. Just before we said good-bye, I asked him his name. He said, "Hudson."I smiled. Brewster has a very good friend in Park City named Hudson. I was so grateful.Moments after I finished my run, I called the Golgoths13 office once again. This time I dropped Hudson's name and said he was our friend and he told us that the tryouts we now and could they please call me?I was so excited to share the news about Hudson with Brewster when I walked in the door. He looked at me sideways. "I can't believe you talked to people you didn't know. I am glad I was not with you. I wouldn't have liked that at all!" Sadie agreed. Whatever, I was feeling hopeful.The next evening, I missed a phone call from a French number and shortly after received this text: "Hello. I try to join You by phone for Basketball. He can test and train with his friends." The address of the gym and time of practice followed and I squealed with excitement when I saw the text."YES!" This is great! I may have been more excited than Brewster. Calling Hudson Brewster's friend was a little bit of a stretch, but I didn't care. We made progress!It took me most of Wednesday morning to figure out where the gym was located and which bus to take. I made a special trip to to the Office of Tourism to ensure where we were going. Living here is like a live treasure hunt!Sadie, Brewster and I left our apartment with plenty of time. While it was both good to arrive at the gym early, it was also difficult to have extra time to sit and wait. It was so awkward as the French boys arrived and walked passed us into the gym. I had no idea who the coach was, what the protocol was and if our "friend" Hudson was going to show up. Brewster was not very excited.
A few minutes before 5:30, I went up to someone who looked like they were in charge. Fortunately, she spoke English and said that she knew we were coming because I had been texting with the President of the organization. She confirmed that tryouts were indeed last week but they were happy to have Brewster play one day with the team and see how he fit in. If it worked, great. If not, I assured them that it was not a big deal. She introduced me to the coach who only spoke French. She translated our conversation and we were set.I went outside to let Brewster know that he could go in and he looked ashen. My sweet boy was so anxious about yet another new awkward situation. He was panicking. "I don't know if I can do this." He looked at me desperately. I asked him if he wanted to leave. I didn't want to make him do this. He contemplated bailing, but decided to stay and go inside.That was a difficult situation to parent through. I needed to be silent. I had to let Brewster decide if HE wanted to play. While I felt energized and grateful for this opportunity, this was his choice. I guess that what it means to "hold space". To leave it up to him and not attach to the outcome.I was so proud of him as he walked inside to face another challenge. That practice was 80 minutes of running and about 10 minutes of basketball. I watched him physically exhaust himself. His frustration, his anxiety, his homesickness all came out in that practice along with a bucket of sweat.Flash forward six weeks, Brewster is a leader on his team. He's made friends with his teammates and is respected by the coach. The French take sport very seriously and while his team is not winning any championships (or games yet) they practice hard twice a week and play on Sundays. Brewster is back in shape and his hand-eye coordination is developing. And forever he will have this French perspective.
This weekend, our game was at home at 9am but at a gym we'd never been to. We needed to arrive at the court at 8am. The buses don't run until later on Sundays so we walked. We left our house at 7:30am and had a beautiful walk through the Rotunde, the old town to a neighborhood I didn't even know existed.
The Golgoths13 played great. I was moved to tears when I heard a parent behind me say, "Allez-Brewster!" He is blending right in.I said to Brewster Sunday afternoon, after his game "Dude, I am so proud of you. It is so much easier and say no and skip trying something new. We are all so comfortable at home, on our computer, not interacting with the world. But look at you! We are all figuring out and you are killing it on the court." He was so close to chasing the easy way out. Jouer au basket! Allez-Brewster-Allez!
This weekend, our game was at home at 9am but at a gym we'd never been to. We needed to arrive at the court at 8am. The buses don't run until later on Sundays so we walked. We left our house at 7:30am and had a beautiful walk through the Rotunde, the old town to a neighborhood I didn't even know existed.The Golgoths13 played great. I was moved to tears when I heard a parent behind me say, "Allez-Brewster!" He is blending right in.I said to Brewster Sunday afternoon, after his game "Dude, I am so proud of you. It is so much easier and say no and skip trying something new. We are all so comfortable at home, on our computer, not interacting with the world. But look at you! We are all figuring out and you are killing it on the court." He was so close to chasing the easy way out. Jouer au basket! Allez-Brewster-Allez!