After I introduced myself to the coach he said, “Great, why don’t you sit over here…my name is Pat I’ll be coaching you this year and nine years from now you will convince me to marry you on the island of my hometown in Hawaii and we will have three children together. Welcome to my life.”
Ahem.
Okay so he didn’t EXACTLY say it like that. In actuality I was just another brace faced kid on his volleyball team.
I was fifteen and still thought I knew how to do everything. I mean really…what could a coach teach me? Very few coaches knew more than I did about the sport. Pat was no exception. That’s what kind of athlete I was. The know it all. I half listened and half rolled my eyes at him for the first half of the season.
As the season carried on, however, Pat completely won me over. He was a quiet guy. Always in the corner of the gym just watching and learning the game. He ate, drank, and slept volleyball. He was the first one in the gym everyday and the last to leave. Growing up I had surrounded myself with people who were loud and demanded attention, here was a guy that spoke very few words, but had the utmost respect from everyone he knew.
I was intrigued by his quiet nature. What was he thinking about? What was he like? What did he do? What went on in that head of his? I wanted to know. So I started seeking him out. If he was in the corner of the gym waiting for our next game I would go to the corner of the gym and start asking questions. I listened intently to anything he shared because I wanted to know what made this guy tick.
I realized that although he chooses to be alone he was actually very funny and had a lot of really poignant observations. He asked questions about my family and wanted to know what my goals were as a player and when I talked to him he made me feel like I was the only person in the room…like he was really listening…like my words carried weight.
I challenge anyone to have a conversation with this man and feel differently. To know him is to love him.
My team adored Pat. We loved Pat like you love a little puppy dog. We were a bunch of giggly, gangly, growing girls and we were constantly teasing each other and Pat and not taking the game as seriously as one would hope.
This was something that irritated him immensely. He loved volleyball, but he did not enjoy listening to girls get all worked up over boyfriends and squealing about bugs. On more than one occasion we had to do some serious running for acting silly and not doing what we were supposed to be doing. Many of the girls’ loyalty and adoration for Pat waned during this time, but not mine:
girl: (grabbing her water bottle) Dang. Pat’s such jerk…..gasp….why’s he in such a bad mood!?! Gawd!
me: Come on now….gasp….you’re the ones not….gasp….taking this seriously….don’t talk smack about Pat…gasp….just because….gasp….you’re not playing right….
girl: What are you…gasp…freaking in love with him….why don’t you just marry him!?!
me: (mocking tone) YEAH! I really love him maybe I will!!
It soon became the team joke. Pat had NO idea he was the target of much of our laughter. We planned out mine and Pat’s life together while he sat across the gym watching other teams play.
My dress would have the number seven etched in rhinestones across the back. My teammates would be my bridesmaids adorned in blue and yellow dresses (our club colors). Our reception would in a high school gym with volleyball nets set up. Our cake would look like a volleyball….we went on and on and on…laughing and giggling away, but knowing that of course it would never happen.
When I came back to play my Junior year in high school I played with many of the same teammates but with a different coach. We still ran into Pat’s team during practices and sometimes at tournaments. I still sought him out whenever I could spot him in between games. Sometimes Pat would join our coach on the bench and watch his old team play and help us with tidbits of advice throughout the game.
Pat was all about volleyball. He didn’t know that when he sat down on our bench in the middle of a game I would get in position next to the setter only to hear her whisper, “looks like your boyfriend made it…” and then my reply “I know, should I go give him a kiss” and that both of us would break out into a fit of laughter over my “unrequited love”.
He didn’t know any of that because he’s just a man. He’s a man that wanted to see some good volleyball and in turn became the target of years of whispering and giggling. He’s a man that couldn’t catch a hint if you hit him over the head with it (even still).
Poor poor unsuspecting Pat.
By my Senior year the joke had crossed over from club volleyball to my school life. My best friends brought home a ring from Mexico with his name stamped into it. I wore it until my finger turned green and still did not take it off. I set up team mates to take pictures of me when I just happened to be sitting next to Pat and then proceeded to hang those pictures on my wall. All part of the giant joke of a funny crush I had on my former coach.
(Please not how far Pat is off the bench we’re sitting on. Could I move in a little closer please?)
I even talked about Pat to my Mom and step dad and raved about what a stand up guy he was. I wondered what kind of wife he was going to end up with someday and thought about what a great husband he’d probably be. I pictured him with some tiny, beautiful Hawaiian hula dancer with long hair cascading down her back. I hoped he would end up with someone perfect, because I knew he was great.
And then I graduated from high school and never played club volleyball again.
