For a seven-week stretch in mid-October to November 2009, I had the opportunity to teach basketball lessons to the kids at the Murphy House just outside of Jasper. The Murphy House is not only a house—there is a large study room, fully-functional kitchen, toy room, and meeting room—it is an after-school program for kids with behavioral and emotional problems. I was called on to teach the Murphy House kids the fundamentals of basketball for forty-five minutes a week.
We had around twenty kids to participate in the program. Each week, I would teach a different skill, and conclude the instruction with a brief “life takeaway.” These were very simple lessons of life—have focus, read a book, study hard—yet I felt as if these kids weren’t learning these things at home and they were life lessons that were worth repeating.
At times, it was very difficult for them to pay attention in drills and simply follow instructions. I often had to call them out and correct their behavior. Some of the kids couldn’t pay attention, even for five seconds. Most of them had never even shot a basketball, much less executed a fundamentally-sound lay-up.
I couldn’t imagine what home life was like for some of these children. These weren’t children who were raised in the most affluent Beverly Hills home—they were country children who grew up in the sordid sections of Walker County. Some of them wore the same outfit every week. Others struggled with proper English. But I noticed two distinct things that were prevalent among every child there.
First, every child wanted my attention. They would often say, “Hey coach, look at this…I can dribble” or “Hey coach, watch this shot” or “Hey coach, I can make it from here.” They had a certain thirst for recognition and approval. As human beings, we all seek out the approval of others when we perform.
Secondly, I noticed that all of the children there had a heart of gold. There was something special and sweet about each one of them. They were good children, capable children, yet children that needed some encouragement. I tried my best to encourage them and praise them when they did well.
It was the last session of the camp, and I was standing in front of the huddled mass of children. I finished our lesson, and, one by one, each child started asking me if I was going to come back. I promised them that I would come back soon, and we said our goodbyes.
About a month had passed and I was working in my law office in Jasper. I was about to go to lunch and I walked out and checked the mail box. I found a package inside addressed to Coach Al Blanton. Unsure of its contents, I opened the manila envelope and found several Christmas cards, addressed to me. It was from the Murphy House kids. Each child had sent me their own, personalized Christmas cards. Some of them nearly broke my heart. I would like to share a few with you at this time.
Thank you for teaching me to play basketball now I’m playing basketball at a church. Thank you.
To Coach Al for Aaron.
I miss you Coach Al
Heyy, Coach Al
It’s been awhile since we’ve seen you
thanks for all the things you taught us.
Just to let you know I have been practicing.
thanks again and have a great holiday.
Love always/Jackie
You are the best coach ever
Have a Great Christmas
After I read all of the cards, I sat at my desk and was overwhelmed with joy and appreciation. That was so sweet of them to do that, I thought. I will never forget those kids.This is what Christmas is all about.
I lounged back in my office chair and smiled as a tear rolled down my face. My job as their basketball coach was to enrich them and in some small way, be a blessing to them. But it was I who received the greatest blessing—the heart of a child.
