How Kids Support Friends Going Through Heartbreak: What I Learned From An Unlikely Teammate
Last month, I was folding orange plastic cones after my 16-year-old son Javi’s JV soccer practice, waiting for him to dig his cleats out of the dirt by the bleachers, when I saw the whole thing go down. Javi’s best friend Milo had just pulled his phone out of his hoodie pocket, and his face went that pale, tight color teens get when they see something they wish they hadn’t. A kid from the opposing school had sent him a screenshot: his ex-girlfriend was at the taco truck down the street, sitting on the back of another guy’s truck, posting a story for everyone to see.
Javi shifted awkwardly on his feet, said what any 16-year-old would say: “Dude that’s such garbage. Wanna leave and get pepperoni pizza at your place instead?” Milo stuffed his phone back in his pocket, tried to laugh it off, but his knuckles were white where he gripped his backpack strap. He said he didn’t want to run into them, he just wanted to go home, but he didn’t have his car with him that day.
That’s when the beat-up blue minivan Ty rides to practice pulled alongside the curb. Ty’s the kid Javi has complained about every single week since the season started. He hogs the ball during scrimmages, talks trash to the freshmen on the team, thinks he’s too good to ride the bus to away games, and never passes if he’s within 10 yards of the goal. I’d already formed my own opinion of him from Javi’s rants: cocky, self-absorbed, not a kid I’d want Javi spending too much time with.
Ty rolled down the window, yelled over the sputtering engine: “Milo. Get in. We’re gonna go hit the convenience store up the road, get those huge blue raspberry lemonades you like, then we’re gonna circle back past that taco truck and blast my new mixtape so loud they can’t hear themselves think. My mom said I can be out an extra hour if I do my algebra homework when I get back. Let’s go.”
Javi’s mouth dropped open. Milo blinked like he couldn’t believe it. I even stopped folding cones to stare. Milo shrugged, said “Uh, okay,” and climbed in. Ty gave a quick nod to Javi and me, then pulled out of the parking lot.
On the drive home, Javi was quiet for five minutes before he said, “I forgot Ty got cheated on last year. His ex went out with his cousin right after they broke up. He didn’t tell anyone but me and him were in gym class together last semester, he said it sucked so bad he didn’t go to school for two days. No one on the team knew. I never even thought about it when I complained about him.”
That hit me, because I do the same thing. Whenever Javi comes home and tells me a kid is a jerk, or annoying, or a bad teammate, I just nod along. I agree that it’s frustrating that someone hogs the ball, or talks too much in class, or doesn’t follow the rules. I never stop to ask what else is going on with that kid. I’d already written Ty off based on secondhand complaints, just like Javi had.
It’s such a small shift, but I changed what I say when Javi complains about someone now. I don’t just say “yeah that sounds annoying” anymore. I ask one simple question: “What’s one thing you know about that kid that most people don’t?” Last week he complained about a kid on the team who always skips team dinners, and after I asked, he remembered the kid works closing shift at the grocery store three nights a week to help his mom pay rent. It doesn’t change that the kid can’t make it to dinner, but it changes how Javi sees him. That’s all it takes, one small question.
We spend so much time telling kids to be kind, but we almost always frame kindness as being friends with everyone, even people you don’t like. That’s not realistic, and it’s not even what kindness has to be. Ty still hogs the ball. Javi still complains about him after practice. They didn’t become best friends after that day. Ty didn’t do what he did because he likes Milo a lot, or because he wanted credit for being a good person. He did it because he knew exactly what it felt like to sit around hurting while everyone pretended nothing was wrong, and he didn’t want that for someone else.
If you’re talking to your kid about standing up for people, you can tell them this simple, concrete thing: You don’t have to invite someone to your birthday party, or be their best friend, to do one small thing when they’re hurt. It can be as small as buying them a lemonade, or offering a ride away from a bad situation. You don’t have to fix everything, just don’t walk away when you know someone’s hurting. That’s a lesson no assembly or worksheet can teach as well as one random act after soccer practice.
A week after that practice, I ran into Ty’s mom in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. She mentioned the night he took Milo out, and just shook her head and smiled. She said Ty came home that night, ate a plate of leftover spaghetti, and didn’t even mention what he did until she asked. He just said, “No one did that for me when I was hurt. Figured someone should.”
I think a lot of the time we as parents and teachers are looking for big moments to teach kids about character. We plan lessons, we organize service projects, we do all these intentional things. But the most important lessons usually happen when we’re not looking, when the kid we’ve already written off as selfish or rude does something that no one expects. Javi still thinks Ty is the worst teammate most days. I still wish Ty would pass the ball more often during scrimmages. But now we both know better than to count someone out just because they don’t fit the box we put them in. Last week, when a kid on the team missed a game-winning penalty kick and everyone was yelling at him, Javi was the first one to go over and clap him on the back. He told me later he just thought, I don’t even like that kid that much, but I know what it feels like to mess up in front of everyone. That’s a small shift, but it’s sticking. And that’s more than enough most days.
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