Three years ago, when my then-6-year-old daughter, Lily, expressed her desire to play soccer, I felt a wave of unease wash over me. I had anticipated this moment; after all, her friends were all involved in sports, and their fathers were actively participating. Meanwhile, I felt like an outsider. Unlike many men, I never found joy in playing or watching sports, and there were many reasons for this. For starters, my hand-eye coordination leaves much to be desired. Additionally, my shorter, stocky frame isn’t ideal for athletic pursuits.
However, the deeper reason lay in my childhood. My father left when I was young, and I often felt a sense of loss when my classmates shared stories about their dads teaching them how to play catch or ride a bike. Sports were a constant reminder of what I lacked—a father figure to bond with through these activities.
I knew that for many men, sports were vital to their social lives, and my disinterest made forming male friendships difficult—especially given that I worked in a Division I athletics program, where I often found myself the odd one out.
So when Lily wanted to join a soccer team, I had to set aside my own feelings and fears. I wanted her to fit in and not experience the same isolation I had. Many parents grapple with this conflict between their own dislikes and their children’s interests. Sometimes it’s trivial, like enduring a cringe-worthy YouTube channel, but other times it’s more profound, like confronting personal trauma while trying to support your child.
I signed Lily up for soccer, secretly hoping she would lose interest and quit. But I was mistaken. Not only did she thrive, but she also wanted me to join in. That summer, we spent countless hours kicking a ball around in a grassy area near our home. I knew little about soccer beyond the fact that I couldn’t use my hands, and luckily, neither did she.
It felt like we were learning together, and for the first time, I didn’t dwell on my absent father; my focus shifted entirely to Lily. I made it a point to attend her practices and games, motivated by a desire to support her and to learn enough to engage with her during our playtime.
One evening, as we practiced at a nearby park, I noticed her unique kicking style: she would always stop the ball, take two steps back, and then run forward to kick it. I suggested she approach the ball while running instead. This wasn’t from years of soccer experience; it just felt like common sense to me. After an hour of practice, she finally got it, looking at me with admiration, as if I possessed all the knowledge in the world. In that moment, I felt like I filled a void for her, one I had longed to fill as a child.
During her next game, Lily scored her first goal using the technique we’d practiced. My heart swelled with pride as she beamed at me, as if to say, “Look, Dad! We did this together!”
Today, Lily is 9 and has played several seasons of soccer, as well as dabbling in basketball. I’ve had to learn how to dribble and shoot, and most weekends, you can find us in the front yard, enjoying our time together. These moments allow me to experience the father-daughter bonding I always wished for.
Lily probably has no idea about my past struggles or my childhood dislike of sports. I’ve never shared that with her. I know that soon enough, she’ll surpass me in skills, but for now, she looks up to me as I fumble through our games. In many ways, I look up to her for giving me the chance to create the connection I always missed.
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In summary, my journey from disinterest in sports to actively engaging with my daughter’s passions has transformed my perspective. It has allowed me to create cherished memories and connections that I once thought were out of reach.