When I Say Something. . . .

Steve misplaced his key to the main door of the gym, so we had to enter through the door that leads to the basketball gym this past Friday. I've mentioned before that I hate when that door is open. Too many folks think it's an open invitation to come inside the gym. That is all good and fine if they actually want information about the program. It's another thing to be in the way of everyone.

Danny brought a guy in, and the next thing I knew, the guy was rummaging around in the bag glove locker. "What are you doing?" Steve asked. "He told me I could hit the bags," came the reply. "Not unless you're signed up," Steve answered.

Right behind that guy came two boys who proceeded to hit the bags with no hand protection. "No touching the equipment unless you're a member of the gym", I said with no amount of the politeness Steve had for the other guy. One kid stood around for a moment, then left, but the other kid, a stout sort, decided he was going to keep messing with the gloves. Jermaine told the kid that he should come back on Tuesday and Thursdays when Barry is coaching the youths. The stout kid obviously took this to mean that he could continue to hit the bags. "You need to take that glove off," I told him. He came a little closer to me, talking about "Huh?"

I hate that bull out of kids. He heard me the first couple of times I told him to stop. Maybe he's the type that doesn't listen to his mama at home, but I didn't carry him for nine months, so I don't have to put up with it. "Take the glove off, put it back on the table, and stop hitting the bags. Thank you," I growled. The hint finally sunk into the kid's thick head, and he complied, leaving the gym not long afterwards. I don't like being a hard ass towards kids who are interested in the sport, but rules are rules.