He was pointing at a sheet of practice times.
My son was not being held, but the coach stood between him and the only way out of the corner.
“One more set,” he said. “You wanted to be good.”
“He is finished,” I said.
The coach stepped aside. My son came straight to me.
In the parking lot, he kept apologizing.
“For what?”
“All the money you spent.”
I put his equipment bag in the trunk.
“I paid for you to learn something you enjoyed. You dont owe me suffering in return.”
We ended the private sessions. I documented what I had seen and raised it with the gym. At home, we took his exhaustion and other changes seriously rather than calling them a bad attitude.
For several weeks, he did not touch his equipment. I left it where it was.
Then one Sunday he appeared at the back door with a ball.
“Want to play?”
“Do we have to keep score?”
He considered that.
“No.”
We played until he decided he was done.
As we walked inside, he was telling me about a ridiculous shot he wanted to try next time.
There was going to be a next time. His choice.