Just Off the Boat
 

One of the saddest parts of coaching is watching a child’s gaze look up to the
stands searching for his or her parents. I remember one girl in particular.
Rebecca’s mother had remarried a man with younger children and quickly
became pregnant after the marriage. Rebecca’s stepfather was cold and
insensitive and made it clear to her that she was an unwelcome burden.
Rebecca’s home life became very unhappy, and the coed swim team became an
adoptive family to her. Kids have a sixth sense about team mates who need extra
support. During this transition, she spoke to her biological father quite often,
and he promised to attend every swim meet. However, he never appeared and
always had some pressing excuse. I remember Rebecca struggling with constant
disappointment and trying to power through her sadness during meets.
Rebecca performed well in the 100 yard butterfly, an event usually dominated by
strong, beefy boys – and if she didn’t beat them, she at least gave them a run for
their money. By midseason, Dad had still not appeared, and Rebecca’s
performance began to diminish. This prompted me to make a phone call to her
father and encourage him to come to the next meet. Halfway through that meet,
Rebecca’s father had still not shown up and I could see her looking up to the
stands with a discouraged expression. Suddenly I saw Rebecca’s face light up as a
handsome, well-dressed man bustled into the front row and squeezed himself
into a seat. She smiled and they waved at each other. Rebecca swam the best
race of her young life and beat a boy twice her size. After her event, she ran up to
the stands and hugged her dad. He never missed another meet. These meets
became a safe place for Rebecca and her father to have a connection without
threatening her new blended family with her mother and stepfather.
I had been coaching at this high school for four years and during each of those
years I watched the progress of twin brothers on the team who were gifted
swimmers and mischievous brats. If there was a problem in the locker room or
trouble on the pool deck, the responsible party was always one of the James
twins. In the beginning of their senior year, they asked if it would be alright if a
friend of theirs joined the swim team – he had no experience in the water or on

sports teams at all, unusual for our suburban high school. I told them that it
would be fine, but that I expected him to behave well, unlike them. I really did
not want to court disaster by including another known delinquent on the team.
The twins assured me that their friend was a great guy. On the first day of practice
Giuseppe arrived in the company of the James boys. Tall, dark, muscular, with a
mane of curly black hair – my underclassmen female team managers were beside
themselves at the sight of him and nearly swooned into the water.
Giuseppe’s parents were recent immigrants from Italy and spoke very limited
English. Their family’s focus was on working hard in their new country - his father
was a stonemason. Giuseppe had not participated in sports up until now because
such activities were considered frivolous by his parents. Giuseppe had been
working with his father after school and on weekends for years. The James family
lived in Giuseppe’s neighborhood, their parents also owned their own business
and worked night and day, and their sisters had both gone to college on swim
scholarships. This opportunity for education was the line of reasoning they used
to convince Giuseppe’s parents that their friend’s time on the swim team would
be well spent and could even help pay for college.
Giuseppe had a natural talent for swimming. By midseason, he was winning every
race. By the end of the season, he was setting school and conference records in
several events. As with Rebecca, Giuseppe looked for his parents in the stands at
every meet. He was ever hopeful, ever disappointed, and I called his parents as I
had with Rebecca and asked them specifically to come to several meets. They
never came to a single meet all season.
The last home meet of the season is a tradition called “Senior Night”. On this
special evening, the stands are crowded with relatives, friends and supporters of
the swim team. The meet is interrupted at midpoint to have the coach introduce
each senior swimmer, say a few words about the individual, and invite the
parents onto the deck. Each swimmer presents his mother with a rose, and his
father with a swim award certificate. I noticed Giuseppe sitting anxiously on the
warm up bench, looking at his feet and twisting his big hands nervously.
Then to my amazement, an elderly immigrant couple slowly began their descent
from the stands. The woman looked to be eighty, hunched over self-consciously,
her face all but covered by a shawl. The man wore a fedora tilted over his eyes

and a thick overcoat with the collar turned up. They made their way to the deck
haltingly, helping each other down the steep steps of the viewing stands. They
shuffled toward me to greet Giuseppe and the team. I was overcome with
emotion and fought to hold back tears as I announced Giuseppe’s name. The
team became silent – everyone seemed to sense that this was the first time this
family had participated in such an event. As he walked toward his mother with a
rose I suddenly became aware of something not quite authentic about Giuseppe’s
parents - was it something in their exaggerated gestures? I suddenly realized that
these were not aged immigrants at all, but in fact the James brothers in disguise.
His “mother” effusively thanked Giuseppe for the rose, clutched her shawl around
her face tightly; and she hugged and kissed him while shouting indistinguishable
bits of Italian, including swears and insults. Giuseppe’s “father” sobbed loudly
with pride and kissed Giuseppe repeated on both cheeks, praising Jesus, Mary,
Joseph, and the pope. Our swim team crowded around, clapping Giuseppe on the
back and congratulating him and his “parents” who wildly hugged everyone and
shouted heavily accented insults and questionable language at their fellow
swimmers. Eventually the couple hobbled out the door and disappeared. Shortly
after, the James brothers reappeared with wide smiles on their faces.
Giuseppe’s name is still up on the record board at that high school, and it is a
shame that his parents have never seen it; but Giuseppe’s fake parents saw it, and
that was enough for him.

By David J. Norton, LPC and Paula Norton, MA