PROG8R said:
[...]
Do you think you would keep them away from pool, or would you let them do it but make sure it was just 'for fun', or would you introduce it to them at all?
I am thinking that I would let my boy play on my table, and when he was older, 16+ maybe the family league nights, but I am pretty sure I would make sure he didn't plans or dreams to take it further than that. At least i would try to curb it. Knowing how pool can infest a person and take over them it might be hard to do. I am just glad i have a while to work this out before he gets to that age.
We got a table in our basement ten years ago when my son was 15. He absolutely loved it and spend many hours a day practicing. [btw, neither of my two daughters would bite at all, so ymmv]. I don't think he even knew before that that I played the game (I hadn't played in a couple decades). In retrospect it was a great thing for him. There are certain ages when it's good to have distractions, and a passion for pool can be a really good thing, imo. We went to local tournaments together. He got to where he could run 35 balls in straight pool and could every now and then string two bar box 8-ball or 9-ball games together. He really doesn't play now because he's distracted with other passions. But if he's home we play, an if we're off someplace on vacation or something, we'll try to get in a little cheap scotch doubles action or something. I would say it's been good for him and it's been good for us.
Here's a little story I related nine years ago about taking him to the VNEA junior 8-ball tournament.
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While registering at VNEA Junior nationals in Sioux City, IA with my
16-year-old son a few weeks ago, Mike said 'what are these?' referring to
a bunch of patches in a box that indicated the registrants should take
one. I explained that the patch is used to mark the intended 8-ball
pocket. Mike was pretty nervous for the singles competition for several
reasons: he had never traveled to play pool before; the kids in his local
junior league had been talking about 'nationals' all winter; due to a
registration screw-up, Mike was not going to be able to play in the team
competition; and the format--race-to-three, single elimination-- was
pretty brutal.
His first match was against a local (Sioux City) kid. Mike won the first
game. During the second game, Mike made a nice run, fixing some problems
and getting down to the 8-ball for which he had a 3-foot straight-in shot
to the corner pocket. The patch--of course--was sitting at the other end
of the table. I was screaming inside my head and silent on the outside as
Mike pointed to the pocket and bent down to address the ball. Then, as if
toying with my emotions, he stood up and reached to the other side of the
table (Phew! I thought.). But his reach continued past the patch to the cube
of chalk. He chalked up, bent down, and shot. I couldn't hear what was
said, but I watched his opponent walk over to him, say a few words, and
point to the patch. Then Mike's face dropped and his eyes closed for
a few seconds as he prepared to break the next rack in the loser-breaks
format. The letdown of recognizing what he thought was a 2-0 lead in a
race to 3 was really 1-1 took its toll on a few shots, but he did come
around in time and went on to win the next two games.
Mike's second match was against a kid from Winnepeg, Manitoba. Mike went
win, win, loss, win to take the match. At this point, most of the
original 250 or so participants in Mike's age group and most of the people
he knew were out. He was feeling pretty good during the long wait for the
next--his final--match. The only exchange we had about the patch incident
was that he said "I can't believe I did that." I replied that it's easy
to forget about the patch when you're nervous and not used to using it,
and told him I thought he was playing well and making good decisions.
The next opponent was a good shooter from Council Bluffs, IA. In the first
game, they each had one ball left, and Mike executed a nice safe that left
his opponent hooked and down the length of the table from his ball. The
opponent executed a real nice kick shot that left the cueball behind the
8-ball. Mike fouled and then lost the game. In the second game, Mike's
opponent had a nice run and got down to the 8-ball with a nearly
straight-in shot to the corner pocket. The patch--once again--was at the
other end of the table. In fact the parallels with the first match were
uncanny. The 8-ball shot was similar, the patch was at the other end of
the table, the shooter had executed a tough run to get there, the shooter
was up 1-0, and I was once again screaming inside. The kid bent over and
shot in the eight ball. Just like before, I couldn't hear the words as I
watched Mike walk over and say something pointing to the patch. Just like
before, I watched a look of incredulous despair suddenly appear on the
shooter's face. Yet unlike before, the shooter this time proceeded to
rack the balls (recall loser breaks) for the next game.
What I didn't hear was Mike saying "The patch was over here" (pointing to
the patch). "Is that where you intended?" (indicating the pocket the 8
went in). The kid's face dropped as he said "Oh no!!! yes!." Mike
immediately followed with "that's fine; nice out" Sometime
during the next game, the opponent came up to me and asked if I was Mike's
father. Then he said "he showed some real good sportsmanship." The
opponent went on to win the next game, winning the match.
There are times when it's easy to do what you consider the right thing,
and there are times --like this--when it's hard. And there are times when
it's easy to find an excuse to do what gives you the outcome you want.
[It IS the rule, or It happened to me.].
Although Mike did what I think I would have done, I would not have been
unproud if Mike had chosen a different path. I think it's fine to take the
position that it's a clear rule and we should abide by it. My point here
isn't to say what is right or wrong in this situation. My point is that
Mike had his own standard, and it was a standard he held pretty high, a
standard that survived a tough test. For that I'm proud of him.
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