Don't compare your player to Damian Lillard

Don't compare your player to Damian Lillard.

You watched Dame hit a 37-foot game-winner. Your player had a rough night and shot 2-for-9. You said something. Maybe you didn't even mean it the way it came out — "well, Dame would've shot more confidently" or "if you just worked on your release like Dame…" — but they heard it. And they're going to remember it for years.

Comparison is the fastest way to teach a kid that they will never be enough.

"I love watching you play."

That's the line. That's the only line you need.

They're already doing it

Kids compare themselves to other kids. They watch the player on the other team. They watch their favorite pro. They notice who's better at what, and they think about it more than you know.

That's their job, not yours.

If they want to talk about another player — a teammate, a rival, the kid in the YouTube video, Dame's stepback — let them bring it up. Listen. Ask what they noticed.

If they ask how to shoot like that, or move like that, or get there — answer the question. Or hand it to a coach. Either way: they led, you followed.

What to ask after a game or practice

• "Did you have fun?"
• "Did you get better?"
• "What did you think?"
• "Do you want to talk about it, or just listen to music for a while?"

Nothing on that list is "what you should have done differently." That's not your conversation.

What not to say

• "Well, [other player] would've…"
• "I bet [pro player] never missed those."
• "If you just worked harder…"
• "When I was your age…"

And later, in writing

You'll feel this same urge in a few years, in a different shape. You'll be tempted to write a college coach and compare your player to someone else's kid — "we'd be a better fit than the kid you already have," "did you see what he did against the kid you've already signed."

Don't. The coach reads it the way your player reads "well, Dame would've…" Same wince. Same red flag. Same conversation in the office after you hit send.

Let your player's game speak. Send the film. Send the schedule. That's enough.

The hardest part

The hardest part of being a parent of a player is keeping your mouth shut when your stomach is in knots about your player's performance. Their stomach is more in knots than yours. They don't need you to add to it.

If they ask how they're doing — and they will, eventually — point them at where they were a month ago. Not at the kid across the gym.