Dad's Coaching Transforms Weepy Nervous Kid!
Posted: Tuesday, June 14, 2011
by Christofer French
Rain Dancer Associates, LLC
From Nightmares to Crystalized Dreams
I was a weepy nervous kid. I went to my Dad. “Dad, I’ve got to learn the “times tables” by the end of the year.” I was 10 years old and in the 4th grade in Kalamazoo, Michigan. I remember this as my first wrestling match with anxiety. I blew it up into a daily fearful obsession.
He would laugh. “The end of the year?” (It was October) “My God, you could learn Hamlet, and I mean all the parts, by June!” He told me how to handle. “Rehearse your times tables every night for 30 minutes for a month. If you rehearse the tables enough times, you will know them backwards and forwards before December!”
He would use the very word “rehearse” instead of “repeat”, or “practice”. He was a professional actor, director and playwright. He was first daunted as a young actor when holding a script, underlining all of his lines and then trying to imagine all those lines getting “lodged up there in my head”. My challenge was very do able; and his familiar experience gave me solid early success about what seems to be now nothing, but at the time, it was a crippling fear.
Baseball my First Physical Challenge and Introduction to a Strictly Male Milieu
Fast forward to 12. I went to my first baseball tryouts for getting into Little League. He went with me, and noticed something. I was not very good. Average or below average. My nerves complicated the speed and bounce of that white sphere. He knew he had to help his scared kid. Then he noticed: “Most of the kids were not very good at catching ground balls.” He had played semi-pro baseball as a Pitcher in Boston in the 30’s and immediately noticed this lack of skills. Kids love to throw the ball around and catch it in the air, but the love of catching ground balls does not really exist unless there is a deep schooling in those skills.
When he drove me home, he said: “Kid, right now, you’re not very good. You’re going to be an average hitter, and you’re not going to be a pitcher. The real skinny kids are going to be outfielders. You should be an infielder, especially if your ground ball skills are superior.” Then he outlined a plan for my goal. Again, I was fretful, but ambitious. I saw glory or calamity. He calmed me down.
He must have thrown me thousands of groundballs. He didn’t use the phrase “muscle memory” because it wasn’t yet coined. He kept on saying: “Your whole body, arms, legs, eyes, feet, hands are involved, it’s like a dance. You are going to do this so much that you are going to beg me to stop. And when you beg me, I won’t listen. Do you hear me?” I slugged my mitt, and said “Yeah, Dad.”
Thousands and thousands of ground balls later I was an infielder on my first Little League team. People called me “the guy who never misses”. The other side would cry out: “Don’t hit to him!” I was not a very good hitter and my arm was average, but I got to play. Why? Because no one else on my team was better than me at catching ground balls. It gave me an initial boost of confidence and ushered me into the male world of baseball. And that was good, because I was going to be well known in high school for something else. At the time I didn’t think that thousands and thousands of groundballs from my Father was anything special. It took me decades to appreciate that. My nightmare did not materialize. My little dream had come true.
Rehearsing on the Bus from Lubbock to Dallas
It was 1967. I was a senior in Lubbock, Texas. I was a contestant in the State Contest in Dallas. I was in Oral Interpretation – reading a poem dramatically. I had chosen a very long poem which was rhythmic and metered and dynamic; but it went on and on and on. I sat down with my Dad and asked him for advice. “I tell you right now why you’re going to lose this and why you “might could” win it. (He was from Boston, but he loved using Texas slang).
I swallowed hard, but smiled. “I reckon I’d like to know what yer talkin’ bout. Why I might be fixin’ to lose.” I joked with him, but I was really scared I “might could” lose it.
The poem was so long that we had to get special approval to use it. We got it. And there I was with an overly long poem. “Dad, I want, I need this First Prize”. I wanted to get into college and have as many credits to my resume as possible. Besides, if I was going to go through this, I wanted to win it! Those chosen to enter got much public attention. Coronado High was brand new in 1964. We were the first senior class to have gone through since being freshman.
I started reading it to him, and after two pages he stopped me. “What if you didn’t have to read it? What if you memorized the whole thing? Then you get people’s eyes fixed on you, and you take them on the animated story. You can use your vocal intonations and your accents, and you don’t have to worry about what line you are reading. It all comes out of your head, just like the theatre. Nobody says: “That wasn’t oral interp, that was a monologue. You can still look at the page, every once in awhile for the effect, but in reality, it’s all coming from out of your head!”
On the way from Lubbock to Dallas, on the bus, most everybody was flirting, kissing, inhaling soda pop and playing transistor radios. All fun. I was committing Vachel Lindsay to my head. And then to the motel room, and the 3 day contest.
“Let’s Not Let Him Sleep”
Then the Thursday and Friday rounds, I won the first two rounds. Then on Friday night, I was the only one left in the school for the finals. The kids went nuts for my making it to the finals, but then they thought a big joke would be to party all night, drink and play the radio very loud in the motel. “Let’s not let Chris sleep.” The whole group agreed, so they made me dance. Girls who I had only fantasized about were distracting me with kisses and dances and beer (illegally obtained by an older looking, knockout female), Fritos and junk food. By the time the morning came, sure enough, everybody else was asleep, but not me. I called my Dad.
“Dad, I didn’t sleep all night. I have this horrible hoarse voice. I have it memorized, I am sure. But my voice sounds like a frog!”
“If you have a sprained ankle, act like your leg is broken”. He laughed a little. “You do sound funny”.
“Not only do you use the hoarse voice, but you exaggerate. Don’t go to normal at all. Use your voice like it’s all on purpose.”
“I reckon I will”.
My performance was hoarse. I didn’t look down at the page, at all.
What I learned from my Dad.
Repetition is very important in many things, but especially in muscle memory and in oral presentations.
When you first tire of repetition, you probably aren’t even close to enough rehearsal.
Average performances and Superior performances usually differ in the degree of practice, and not the degree of sheer talent. (see Malcolm Gladwell)
When you succeed, reinforce your wisdom in practicing enough. Patting yourself on the back is OK, but it tends to diminish the importance of practicing and over emphasize inherent talent.
Malcolm Gladwell Makes Some Interesting Points
I took this lesson about “rehearsal” throughout my life as much as I could and always benefited from it. Recently, Malcolm Gladwell wrote a book, Outliers: The Story of Success and how 10,000 hours or 20 hours a week for 10 years lies at an unseen or unnoticed basis for famous heralded successes: Bill Gates, The Beatles, Robert Oppenheimer and many others. His point is that there is less “talent” involved in super achievement and much more “rehearsal” than people might ever know. It is worth the read. When I did read it, I thought of what I called “The Gospel of Burt” in my life.
“Know your lines, Know that you know your lines. Know that you know, that you know, that you Know your lines.”
When I got home to Lubbock I told him I had won. I showed him the trophy. He said, “When you know your lines, and you know that you know your lines, and you know that you know, that you know your lines, you will probably beat the less practiced and rehearsed competition. It’s like that in any endeavor. You’re just a kid. You have lots more ahead of you. But congratulations.”
Again, Dad helped me crystallize a dream and defeat a nightmare. He’s gone now, but I still am grateful. That night I got more freely offered kisses from females than I had ever had. I immediately picked up my 2 year study of guitar and started learning rock and roll. I was preparing for college in California. How many thousand hours of guitar practice do you think I put in? “Thanks, Dad.”
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Top-level comments on this article: (8 total)Very nice Christofer. Your dad sounds like a great guy and a wonderful father.Thanks, Brianna. He helped me grow up and face life's challenges straight on. Appreciate your comment.
Great article Boss! I enjoyed it. I love inspiring and thought provoking pieces like this...thanks for sharing it...Great to have a dad...Thanks very much. Without his instruction, I would have been much different. Appreciate your comment.
Christofer, I was right there with you and your dad. I was smiling and flinching and my muscles ached a bit during the ground ball drill...an excellent read. You introduced your Dad to each of us in areas that helped you to be the person you are, and no doubt, husband, dad and friend, too! Thank you for sharing him.You're right, I still feel those drills. You can tell my Dad gave me an outlook. It just so happens that outlook was very necessary because I was so timid. Thanks for your wonderful comment.
I thoroughly enjoyed this! Having graduated from Coronado and having grown up in TX (Lubbock, to be exact) I can hear the charming southern accent so clearly! What a great Dad and grandad! I take my (cowgirl) hat off to Burt...these experiences from childhood are formative (and transformative!).Thanks Glenda: Since you are from Texas, you can tell our humor was light-hearted and appreciative. Boston and West Texas are worlds away from each other, but Burt had a great time walkin' the walk, and talkin' the talk. And now forever more, I am from Coronado High. Hope you like Colorado.
Thanks Chris, for sharing our wonderful Dad in this excellent article! It shows his love, perseverance and mentoring skills. And you were very wise in your younger years to listen and apply what he taught you! You are a product of his teaching and you have also grown tremendously through the experiences of life. Keep writing:)Thanks Melania. Dad's techniques had an amazing way of taking the emotion both negative and positive out of preparing for tasks. It gave you direct access to your tools. Tears of Fear, or excited self demonstration did not work when you were involved in practice. See you in Nampa.
Hi Christopher your dad no doubt in this case proved to be a great role model for you in many ways. Something too be envied by others that haven't been so lucky to have had what you had (Wonderful dad.)
Keep well
KacyHe helped just exactly the way he could. However, he did not show up for any of my successes. That's not what a Dad is for though. He did what a Dad is absolutely key for - showing how things work. In looking back, I realize, I was very lucky. Thanks for your comment. I admire your prodigious work and its high quality. You are a master.
Great story Christofer:
When I was growing up there was a shortage of females. I had three brothers and more male cousins than I could count and I remember telling my dad that it wasn't fair that the boys could do things I couldn't do.
My father told me there wasn't anything in life I couldn't accomplish if I wanted it bad enough that all it took was hard work and that's a very true statement.
Hard work is the key to success in any endeavor.
Pat JohnsonPat: Thanks for your comment. As a Dad of three daughters, I relate.
Nice dad. Your lucky.Thanks very much J. He put on the pressure when I needed it, but didn't turn me into a nervous wreck doing it. Appreciate your comment.
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