My name is Michael Portas and my third son is also named Michael Portas, which strikes people as odd until I tell them that I taught high school for years and my wife had been in early child education, at which point they realize that we had simply run out out of names that did not conjure  associations.

As part of his job description as a third boy, Michael was taken to his brothers’ practices and games for baseball, football, soccer, and basketball. Generally I was out there coaching but I made it a point to look over at him periodically, and was rewarded because I could see that he was usually following the action closely. Given that he was in the 10% percentile for size, had a perfectly round head, and was pretty unassuming, the older boys and fathers were always nice to him and made him feel included.

As he got involved in sports himself, I kept up my mission of overextending myself and volunteered, or in some cases was volunteered, to coach his teams. No one was going to confuse my little boy for a superstar. At that point in his life, physically he presented what I called the unholy trinity of athleticism: short, skinny, and slow. Quiet by nature, he called no attention to himself, and just went about his business purposefully.

Michael played some soccer and even football for a season, but he gravitated most to baseball and basketball. The same kid who at age three once garnered an audience in the mall as he impersonated the entire Yankees lineup in order, nailing every stance and mannerism with remarkable precision, showed a great love for baseball but did not enjoy much success. At one point his travel teams lost over thirty games in a row, a string of futility made all the more remarkable by the fact that Michael never complained or pouted about it. Not once. Michael Portas the elder would have carried on like an angry baby, but the younger just rolled with it.

I realized that I envied his ability to maintain perspective. He was competitive but did not live or die with the outcomes. When I asked him after every game “Did you have fun?” the answer was always “Yes.” Without fail. I can only wish that I could have said the same.

Travel basketball provided its own narrative. His 3rd grade team was not particularly strong, but played hard and listened. Michael was the last guy on the bench and got his minutes more because the league required it than because his coach/father decreed it. He struggled, and I struggled with that reality. He just wasn’t strong enough to compete, yet so I asked him at the end of the season if he wanted to keep playing. His response was to look at me as if I’d asked him if he still wanted to get birthday presents.

He worked with one of his older brothers on his game and came back a little better in 4th grade, and then stronger still in 5th. His playing time was still among the least on the team, but his attitude never wavered. My wife and I realized that this experience, being a part of the team and around this group of boys, was the most important thing in his world. Everything in his body language and approach to the game suggested that he would not want to be anywhere else or doing anything else.

For 6th grade his team became much more competitive and as a consequence of playing considerable Nerf basketball with his brothers, his footwork and floor vision improved. Another strange thing happened: his playing time increased and I stumbled into finding out that the smallest kid on my team could play excellent low-post offense, a role typically reserved for your bigger players. While his brothers contended I was an idiot for playing Michael there, he developed a passing touch that got his teammates involved and a shot fake, likely borne out of being pummeled by two older brothers, that would deke much larger opponents and let him drop a feathery short corner jumper that rarely missed.

He established himself as a regular for the 7th grade season and his team ended up having a magical season that resulted in winning championships in both the leagues in which they participated. The boys were not the most talented and could not run a half-court offense with any degree of precision, but played hard and together. I ascribed their success to love and defense as they took care of each other and hustled like madmen. Never once was their finger pointing or blame; instead, the boys demonstrated a mindset of unity and persistence. When they won their first championship, coincidentally on Michael’s birthday, I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen him happier. I hugged him, told him I loved him, and thanked him for all his hard work.

Now, we just wrapped up a disappointing final season and today is his 14th birthday so I’m trying to put into perspective what a kid 32 years my junior taught me. I realize that I should have thanked him for the conversations in the car– as a rule, neither of us is very chatty in the car — when we would share about 150 joy-infused words in 30 minutes on the way to a game, or on the way home when he would afford me space to make sense of what I invariably thought was a poorly played game that I could have coached better. I should have thanked him for never complaining about playing time. I should have thanked him for demonstrating a competitive maturity that I never grasped. I should have thanked him for reinforcing that success is measured by growth and development.

I had thought for years that competitive sports were a zero-sum game. That may hold true for game results, but is most definitely not the case for the purpose of youth sports. Growth, toughness, grit, joy, collaborative skills — these are greater measures of success.

I am a much better coach for the perspective and depth of understanding gained from my experiences with Michael and his friends.

I am a much better parent for having had that moment of stomach-dropping recognition and disgust for myself upon realizing how terrible my conduct had once been to my own child, as well as that elation of having had him thank me repeatedly for helping his team.

I am a much better person, I hope, for being permitted to see the grander scheme through the eyes of a kid who had to work harder at sports just to get a small share of playing time, who loved his team because he belonged with them, whose attitude never wavered during the inevitable roller coaster that life presents us, and whose appreciation for the time, energy and effort we expanded kept me charged up for the past six years.

Thank you, Michael.