My daughter is an adult now, but she played volleyball in junior high and twelve years ago this summer, she tried out for the high school volleyball team. She had done well in junior high, but she didn't get a lot of play time until one of the regulars messed up. The coach used Jill to "punish" the other player, making the girl sit on the sidelines and watch as Jill set the ball time after time.

Neither my husband nor I played sports, so we watched her with a mixture of feelings. She liked what she was doing. She was active. She felt like it gave her a place. We supported her decision.

Then came that high school tryout. The same woman coached both the junior high and high school teams, so Jill was familiar with her. She was also young enough to think that life was fair. She worked her rear end off at the tryouts, which lasted two weeks, one of volleyball camp and another of the actual tryouts. The coach said everyone had to earn their spots. She was sure she had a chance. Spots were filling slowly, but she had survived several cuts, so we were really hopeful as I dropped her off for the last day of workouts.

When I came to pick her up, she had a smile pasted on her face and she asked if we could give a certain group of girls, not any of her friends, really, but preppie girls, a ride home. Hers was a country school, and begging for a ride that went to the right side of town could have taken them a while, so I told her we could. I wondered why that group of girls, though, and as I saw them coming toward the car, I asked how she had done. Her voice broke, just once, as she told me she had been cut. The coach who said everyone had to earn their spot saved three spots for girls who had been on vacation the whole two weeks the tryouts were going on. And the girls we were giving a ride to? They had made the team.

I was so proud of my daughter as she steered those girls who would have thought nothing of snubbing her in school into our car. She congratulated them all and spoke brightly of the fun things they had been doing during the camp, of how well she thought the team would do.

When we let the last girl out and headed for home, she didn't say anything. She leaned her head on my shoulder, and then the tears started coming. It wasn't fair, she said. She had worked hard for one of the three spots that were never really available in the first place.

I agreed with her. I have never been a coach, and I don't really care for organized sports, but I think it would have been fairer if the coach had made it clear up front that three of the positions were already full instead of letting the other girls who had worked get their hopes up. I think that would have been easier to take.

My daughter and I were talking about this today as I drove her to the airport. The reason it came up is because the daughter of a friend of hers is starting her freshman year at high school today, and my daughter was talking about the girl's maturity level. This girl was home-schooled (on paper, anyway) last year because she couldn't take people picking on her. While junior and senior high school can be horrible, my daughter thought the picking would happen no matter what. She looked at it as part of growing up.

Growing up IS hard, and I remember how proud of my daughter I was that last day of volleyball tryouts. She was generous enough to offer a ride to girls who really were not her friends. She did not try to take away from their accomplishment in making the team. She did, in fact, encourage them, which is something I don't think I could have done as a teen. I might have a hard time with it now.

I didn't remember if I had ever told Jill how proud I was of her, so I told her today. Better late than never, I guess. She still has a generous heart. She still tries to encourage. She still takes it on the chin and then gets up when things don't go her way.

And I am still proud of her. And glad I got the chance to say it.

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