Sometimes You Gotta Fight
A Kenny Rogers song and the end of a lacrosse career.
Photo by Jennifer Deneen
“I’ll tell you what’s good about this game,” my wise 76-year-old brother-in-law told me as he leaned over the bleachers of my son’s lacrosse game. “If I were playing this game as a teenaged boy, I’d have wanted to get in a fight three times in the first ten minutes of the game. If someone hit me with that stick, pushed me, chased me off the field, I’d want to fight back.” He went on, “At a time in these boys’ lives when they have hormones raging and a lot of fight in them, it teaches them to pull back when they need to and control their rage.”
My son is one of the most gentle souls that I know. When he was a six-year-old, he used to go behind his friend and free the frogs that his friend was jailing in Solo cups at the swim meets. He couldn’t stand to see the trapped frogs and their pleading, buggy eyes. This sweet spirit has been his now for 18 years. He does not go looking for trouble.
This same son was recently suspended from an important playoff lacrosse game because of a brawl that broke out at a prior game. In the video that I have of the moment all hell broke loose, my son was running with others toward the player that had the ball.
Within the 23-second video, there was a teammate knocked to the ground, then a teammate who threw a punch. Then the victim of that punch turned around and punched my son, and there was my frog-freeing son all up in the kerfuffle. Yelling and shoving ensued until the coaches and refs could break it up.
It’s fascinating to me as a conflict-averse, or maybe even conflict-avoidant, human how people handle conflicts and disagreement. Sometimes it happens in healthy ways, like open and honest, respectful conversation. Or like two-way compromise. And sometimes it happens in unhealthy ways, like avoidance, my favorite. Or like throwing punches.
My reaction to the fight was total horror. Violence is never the answer! Walk away! Turn the other cheek!
My 88-year-old mother-in-law’s answer? “Well, if kids are coming at him, he can’t just stand there and let it happen. He has to fight back.”
My sister-in-law, who is also not afraid of a fight, pulled out her phone to record the kerfuffle and was ready to jump in and defend her nephew.
And the next day, when my son wrote to his coach and apologized for being in the mix, his coach wrote him back something like this. “You played a great game, and we appreciate your taking up for your teammate.”
Tonight my son’s lacrosse season comes to an end with a final end-of-season banquet. As I reflect on all the sports he’s played through the years and seven years of lacrosse, I am floored by the life lessons he has learned. This team has pulled each other through highs and lows.
I have seen them come together to support a teammate who was struggling with mental health. They have done karaoke together at team-bonding events and walked the streets asking for fundraising dollars. They have gone to so many post-game Whataburgers across the Houston area that I’m sure the Whataburger staff can recognize that extra special lacrosse-gear stench from a mile away.
These young men started out together as 14- and 15-year-old adolescents with cracking voices and lanky limbs, and they’ve grown into young men who are ready to face the next stage of their lives. The coaches have been there for them each step of the way, teaching them life lessons as well as lacrosse lessons.
The ability to fight is one of the best lessons my son has learned. I’m not talking about physical fighting. I’m just talking about having that grit deep down within him, that spark that lets him know when something is worth fighting for.
He learned that if you’re losing in the third quarter, you can come back and win in the fourth. That you have to trust your teammates to have your back and to move the ball forward.
That if one of your teammates is on the ground being kicked, you step in and defend him. You stand up for those who will stand up for you. That sometimes you have to walk away, and sometimes you have to fight.
The next morning, I was still bothered about the fight, perseverating as I do. Are you OK? Did it hurt your head? Are those players going to come after you and hurt you? My son and the rest of humanity was over it (except for the game suspension). I thought of one of my dad’s favorite songs and played it for my sons while they ate their pancakes until they got annoyed and asked me to turn it off.
In this song, Kenny Rogers sings about Tommy, the Coward of the County. “I promised you, Dad, not to do the things you’ve done. I walk away from trouble when I can. Now please don’t think I’m weak, I didn’t turn the other cheek. And Papa, I should hope you understand. Sometimes you gotta fight when you’re a man.”
My brother-in-law was right. Learning when to fight and when not to fight is an important lesson.
As these big, burly, high-testosterone young men ended their last game recently, I watched as their faces softened. Tears were in their eyes as they embraced each other and took off their stinky gear one final time.
I am happy that these young men have been and will be in my son’s life. I watched them walk off together, emotions at the surface. “One final Whataburger,” I heard the goalie yell to the team. One final Whataburger.
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.