Three years ago, when my then-6-year-old son, Lucas, expressed a desire to play soccer, I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. I knew this moment was inevitable; all of his friends were involved in various sports, and their dads seemed to bond over shared experiences on the field. I was often the odd one out. Unlike many men, sports have never piqued my interest. There are numerous reasons for this aversion. My hand-eye coordination isn’t great, for one. Plus, I’m not exactly built for speed, being short and stocky.
However, the primary reason for my disinterest stems from my upbringing. My father left when I was young, and I often felt left out while listening to classmates reminisce about the games they played with their dads. To me, sports were a constant reminder of what I missed — a father figure to share those moments with.
Despite my personal feelings, I recognize how significant sports are to many men. Ironically, my lack of interest in sports has made it challenging to forge friendships with other dads. This situation is quite tricky, especially since I work for a Division I athletics program, where I find myself in the role of the person reminding athletes to focus on their studies.
To make a long story short, my relationship with sports is convoluted. So when Lucas asked if he could join a soccer team, I had to set aside my own feelings. I didn’t want him to experience the same sense of isolation I had. I think many parents face this struggle between their own preferences and their children’s passions. Whether it’s enduring a child’s loud YouTube obsessions or navigating through the clashing sounds of a musical instrument, the challenge often lies in overcoming our discomforts for our kids’ sake. For some, it can evoke painful memories that make certain activities hard to approach.
I signed Lucas up for soccer, secretly hoping he would quickly lose interest. I was mistaken. Not only did he enjoy playing, but he also wanted me to join in. That summer, we spent countless hours on a small patch of grass near our apartment, kicking a ball around together. I had little knowledge of soccer, save for the fact that hands were off-limits. Fortunately, Lucas was in the same boat.
It felt like we were both learning together, and for the first time, my absent father didn’t loom over me while playing. My focus shifted entirely to Lucas. I was present in the moment, embracing the joy of learning something new alongside him.
I made it a point to attend every practice and game for two reasons: to show support and to pick up skills I could use while playing with Lucas. One evening at a nearby park, while we passed the ball back and forth, I noticed his technique. Before kicking, he consistently stopped the ball, took a few steps back, and then charged forward to kick it. I suggested he try kicking while running towards the ball. It seemed intuitive to me, though I had no formal soccer training.
We practiced this for about an hour until he finally got it. The look of achievement on his face was priceless; he gazed at me with admiration, as if I were a seasoned soccer expert. In that moment, I filled a void for him that I had longed for myself as a child. It felt like I was giving him something profoundly meaningful.
During his next game, Lucas applied our kicking technique and scored his first goal. Pride surged within me. As he sprinted across the field, his beaming smile seemed to say, “Look, Dad! We did it together!”
Now, at 9 years old, Lucas has played three seasons of soccer and even dabbled in basketball. I’ve had to master dribbling and shooting, and our Sundays are often filled with laughter as we play basketball together in the front yard. Those moments offer me the father-son interactions I missed growing up.
I doubt Lucas is aware of my previous disdain for sports. I’ve never shared that part of my past with him. I know it’s only a matter of time before he surpasses me in skill, but for now, he views me as the ultimate player. He may not say it, but I feel his admiration as I stumble around our driveway. In many ways, I look up to him for the chance to create a bond I never had.
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In summary, my journey with sports has transformed from aversion to a source of joy and connection with my son, allowing me to experience what I missed in my own childhood.