My first basketball coach was Lovetta Butler, but most people know her as Coach Vette. I don’t know if she realizes it, but she changed my life.
Now, before I ever met Coach Vette, there was another person who inspired me—my cousin Derrick.
In my seven-year-old mind, Derrick was the coolest person on Earth. He could draw. He was funny. He was handsome. And, most importantly… he could hoop.
As far as I was concerned, after Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Penny Hardaway, and maybe Jesus if He decided to lace up some Jordans, Derrick was the greatest basketball player alive.
So I wanted to be like Derrick.
I got a basketball and took that thing everywhere. To school. Walking with my grandmother Gertrude “uptown” in Ridgeway. To church. I even slept with my basketball.
Looking back, I probably would’ve taken it to a wedding if somebody would’ve let me.
When I was eight, my mom moved me from Geiger Elementary to Fairfield Primary and Fairfield Intermediate.
That’s where reality introduced itself. Those kids could play. I was terrible. But Derrick was still the standard.
So I kept working. In the sun. In the rain. Even in the occasional snow. I’d dribble a basketball. If I didn’t have one, I’d dribble a tennis ball… whatever I could get my hands on.
We didn’t have cable, so I couldn’t watch NBA games every night. I read basketball magazines, watched NBA Inside Stuff with Ahmad Rashad every Saturday morning, and studied those AND1 mixtapes like they were homework. Those guys had moves that made the Harlem Globetrotters look like they were using training wheels.
Then my mom let me transfer back to Geiger for fifth grade. That’s when I met Coach Vette.
By then, I had put in countless hours by myself. I wasn’t the fastest kid, but I was smooth. I could jump. And in my ten-year-old mind, I didn’t think another ten-year-old on Earth could guard me.
The beautiful thing about Coach Vette was she didn’t coach fear. She let us play. She trusted us. She especially let me and my buddy Grayson Squirewell create, take chances, and express ourselves on the court. She gave us freedom. And freedom builds confidence.
We didn’t have a championship season. I think we lost in the playoffs. If my memory serves me right, it might’ve been to Amelia Miller and Coach Head Mobley. Amelia could absolutely play.
After the game, Coach Vette gathered us together and reminded us we’d had a great season. Then she looked at me and Grayson and said, “You two made the All-Star team.” We just stared at her.
She looked back like, “Ain’t y’all excited?”
So we immediately started jumping around, celebrating.
Truth be told, I didn’t even know what making the All-Star team meant. I just knew Coach Vette seemed excited, so I figured I should be too.
Looking back, I realize she wasn’t just announcing an award. She was speaking confidence into two little boys. And confidence is a gift.
I’ve had coaches like Coach Vette. I’ve also had coaches and leaders who slowly convinced me I needed to shrink to fit in. To stop taking risks. To perform for people instead of performing from the gifts God gave me.
Proverbs 22:6 says, “Train up a child in the way he should go…”
Notice it says train up.
Not tear down.
Not embarrass.
Not belittle.
Train.
Kids don’t arrive on Earth knowing who they are. We help teach them. Everyone is helping shape somebody’s confidence, whether we realize it or not. So I’m grateful.
Grateful for my mom and dad, who always challenged me to be my best. Grateful for Derrick, who unknowingly gave me something to chase. And grateful for Coach Vette, who watered something in me she probably didn’t even know she was growing.
Thank you, Coach Vette.
And thank you to everyone who has ever taken the time to build a child instead of breaking one. You never know what they’re going to become.
Kenny Robertson, an educator and comedian, is a native of Ridgeway.