When New Boyz is singing, “You’re a jerk, you’re a jerk,” they are singing to me. It would be rather romantic actually, if I didn’t feel like a real jerk. That’s because I’m becoming one of those fathers — the kind of dad who is overly involved in the athletic exploits of his son.

My son is a sophomore in high school. A number of people who should know tell us he is a legitimate college lacrosse prospect, at some level. People who know also tell me that I need to be an advocate, to help market him. That’s fine. That’s what I do for a living. The problem is, with every thing I do on his behalf I can feel myself steadily, step-by-evil-step, getting overly invested in my son’s athletic career. I even used the dreaded “we” the other day when I was talking to him about his lacrosse future.

Last week, I nicely asked one all-star program he plays in to consider him for a roster spot at a tournament where numerous college coaches will be scouting. Not too bad, I guess, but I still felt like a jerk. Yesterday, I emailed his high school coach (who fortunately is both patient and very helpful with the entire college lacrosse process) to ask why my son hadn’t yet received an invitation to a recruiting camp for which players must be recommended. Turns out the invitation had been sitting in a pile of mail in our kitchen for two days.

Also waiting for me in my kitchen were New Boyz, who serenaded me in person: “You’re a jerk. You’re a jerk.”

—————————————————————————————
Overheard at my house recently:

Me, somewhat exasperated with my parents: Don’t have parents.

My 15-year-old daughter: Tell me about it.

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