Theirs Is a Relationship Made Stronger on the Court

The pancake syrup was the perfect weapon. All Brooke Koehler had to do was reach across the table, grab the maple or boysenberry and calmly pour it over her father’s head. Sweet--and sticky--revenge would be hers.

But that wouldn’t be Brooke. No, even though the La Habra sophomore was listening to her father-coach John Koehler go on and on about her deficiencies as a basketball player, her hardheaded nature and her misguided attempts to kill ants in the kitchen, Brooke was taking it all in stride.

She quietly sipped her soda as her father, sitting next to her in a La Habra coffee shop, rambled on.

“See, the thing is,” John said, “if Brooke took everything out of the pantry before she used the ant spray, we wouldn’t have had to throw out two-thirds of the food. . . . “

“It was old food anyway,” Brooke said.

John shot a glance at his daughter. He grinned. She smiled.

“Old food,” John said. “Riiiight.”

Two hours earlier, their conversation--if you could call it that--wasn’t quite so friendly. John stood in the La Habra gymnasium, shouting orders to his basketball team. More than half the remarks seemed to be directed at his daughter, a 5-foot-9 shooting guard.

Brooke, don’t shoot from there! That’s the worst shot to take in basketball!

Brooke, when you get the ball off a steal like that, don’t try to dribble it! Make the pass!

Brooke! Brooke! You’ve got to rebound!

To her credit, Brooke didn’t so much as roll her eyes. She listened carefully to everything her father told her, even though some of it wasn’t much fun to hear.

The way John looks at it, badgering Brooke is a necessity, at least on the basketball court. He says as a father-coach, he has to prove that his player-daughter receives no special treatment, no way, no how.

His point is well taken. When asked about the Koehler-Koehler connection, the other Highlander players cringe in unison.

“We never want to be Brooke’s partner on drills because Coach Koehler is always making her do them over and over again,” senior Jackie Kelley said. “He’s real hard on her, but she takes it well. I mean, she never cries in practice or anything.”

Well, almost never. Mention this father-daughter duo and you’re certain to be filled in on the following: During an early-season practice, John noticed that Brooke was having trouble catching. He asked for a ball. He fired it at Brooke. It hit her square in the nose.

Tears rolled down her face, but Brooke didn’t flinch. She threw the ball at him as hard as she could. He threw it back even harder. She threw it again. He threw it back. And on it went, faster and faster.

The ball was a blur by the time everyone realized what was happening. Brooke, tears streaming down her face, was catching the ball. Her teammates--fighting back tears as they cheered, “C’mon Brooke! You can do it!”--were on her side.

And John, trying hard to suppress a proud smile, couldn’t have been more pleased.

“I was the big bad father that day,” John says, relishing the memory. “But I’ll tell you what, it pulled this team together.”

It also helped Brooke, a junior varsity reserve last season and now a part-time varsity starter, prove herself as a player. She made varsity because of hard work and grit, she insists, not because Dad is her Coach or because Coach is her Dad.

And if there’s one thing John Koehler hates, it’s being called “Dad” on the court, or “Coach” around the house. Brooke learned this the hard way. After John told the players to run three laps around the La Habra track, Brooke finished and said, “Dad! I ran all three laps without stopping!” She was ordered to take another lap--pronto.

You have to wonder, why doesn’t Brooke, who at 15 would seem partial to mischievous ways, decide to get even? Why doesn’t she tell her teammates, for instance, about her father’s love for ugly, out-of-style clothes? (Her words, not ours). Why doesn’t she rat on him about his rather bizarre ways with spaghetti? (He chops it and flattens into a sort of pizza, then slices it into symmetrical, bite-sized shapes).

“I don’t know,” Brooke says. “Sometimes at practice I just want to say to him, ‘Shut up!’ It would feel so good. But I’d never do that. His eyes would blow up and he’d kick me out of the gym.”

The truth is, these two share a mutual respect that isn’t often seen on the basketball court. They’re as tight knit as a wool sweater that’s been washed and dried. Maybe that’s why it seems so easy for Brooke to separate her father from her coach.

She says, two years from now, she hopes he doesn’t have to yell so much. Maybe by then she’ll have picked up all the skills necessary to make him proud.

“I don’t know if it will ever happen,” she says, “but it would be great if he could point to me some day and say, ‘See, that’s how you’re supposed to dribble behind your back.’ ”

As for now, she has no need for revenge.