Will you be my friend coach? ©

This was my first time being a coach. I had always dreamt of coaching my son in soccer, ever since I quit playing youth soccer myself. I remember as a young kid how much I looked forward to Saturday mornings in the fall. The smell of freshly cut grass and the sounds of cheering parents and referee whistles in the air.  Growing up, my house was on a hill that overlooked the soccer field. I could stand on my backyard decking and watch the early games as if I was in the high seats of a stadium. The anticipation would escalate to the point where I would ditch my chores, butterflies churning in my stomach, to get ready for my game. I simply loved to play those soccer games.

Now many years later, I was looking forward to coaching my son and his teammates and hoping to help them have some of the same great experiences. With a five and under team, I knew coaching them would take patience, but I was young and full of bliss from my own fond memories.

Meeting the players was fun. We had the fast kid who would kick the ball far and outrun everyone to kick it again. And we also had the kid whose older brother was a star, but who would just as soon play with the bug in the grass than be bothered with a silly sport called soccer. And we had Daniel.

Daniel was a stocky boy with a big smile. His uncle, Raul, came with him to every practice and became my assistant coach. The first day Raul said to me, “ I might as well be your assistant because I have to be here to keep Daniel in line.”

“Oh,” I said, “love to have you as an assistant.” I never did figure out what Raul meant by his statement, because throughout the season I never had a problem with Daniel.

Some of the kids took to the game quickly. Others, as five year-olds can be, were easily distracted. Daniel always seemed interested and looked like he wanted to know this game, but he was oftentimes out of position or too slow to really get involved.

One day during our usual scrimmage time, I saw Daniel intently following the path of the ball as it bounced around between players. I walked up behind him and put my hands on his shoulders.
“Let me show you where to go,” I said.
“Ok coach,” he responded.
As the ball moved towards the right sideline I gently positioned Daniel to anticipate where the ball would probably pop out next. Sure enough the ball came our way.
“Now go get it,” I told him.
Daniel met the ball and gave it a good kick. He was so pleased with himself he turned around and gave me a big smile. “Did I do good coach?” he asked with his thick Hispanic accent.
“Real good, Daniel, real good,” I replied.
Daniel looked up at me, his eyes brimming with hope, and asked, “Will you be my friend coach?”

As I looked into his chubby five year-old face, I noticed a very deep emotional sincerity to his question. This was a very important question he was asking me.
I smiled and said,  “Sure, Daniel, I’d love to be your friend.”
This became our new scrimmage routine. Every time the scrimmage would start, Daniel would look for me to move his way. Then he would walk up next to me and turn his back, expecting my hands on his shoulders. I would position him for a few minutes until he got his first contact with the ball and then with a big smile he would go out on his own. Daniel had won my heart.

As a father of my own son, I knew that what Daniel was looking for was acceptance and approval. He thrived on it. Raul, his uncle, was providing that in a big way, and I had the privilege of adding to it in a small way as his coach.
The season was exciting and fun but was soon over. Several weeks after the season, I got a phone call that I will never forget.
“Coach, this is Raul,” came the voice.
“Hi Raul, how are you doing?” I replied.
“I have some bad news.” Pausing for a moment, he continued, “Daniel is dead.”
“What? No! How?” I said incredulously.
“Daniel and his mom and dad were driving back late this weekend from Mexico. There was an accident with a truck. Daniel and his mom didn’t make it. The funeral is this Saturday and we would really like it if you could come.”
I could hardly speak. “Sure. We’ll be there.”
Daniel’s funeral was hard to take. There were a lot of tears; he was only five years old. 

It’s been almost fifteen years and I’m still coaching. But I will never forget my first year when I met a young boy named Daniel. I still have the coffee cup with his picture on it, (along with his teammates). From time to time, over the years, I go to the cupboard, pull the cup out and remember. I remember the joy of coaching my son’s first soccer team. I remember the triumphs and near misses. I remember the goals that were scored against us because our defenders were busy tracking a bug in the grass or a plane in the sky. I remember the joy in the kid’s faces when the team got a goal, no matter the score. But most of all, I remember Daniel. And as each new season dawns, his memory comes back to me.  I’ve seen him many times in the faces of my players. And many times as I look at them, I hear Daniel’s voice still asking me, “Will you be my friend coach?”

Written by Michael Ambrosio
Copyright 2003

Michael Ambrosio is author of the I Don't series of children's picture books (ages 4-8) and the upcoming Destiny series of chapter books (ages 8-12). He makes author appearances at Sacramento area elementary schools and lives in Folsom, California with his wife and five children and still coaches and plays soccer. For more info, visit www.lionxpublishing.com