K just finished her first season on swim team and her first season ever of any competitive sport. She loved every minute of it from the daily practices to the Saturday morning swim meets. I was truly impressed.
K diving off the block.
I was also reminded of my own sorted sporting history. My earliest memory of any sports event that I was in was in grade school: field day, the 100 yard dash. I had been in the top of this race for the first three or four years at school, trading off first place with another kid, AJ. I was proud of this. Little kid, I can beat you proud. My dad would take off work to come see it, which made it that much more important to me. The last time I ran it I walked up to the starting line filled to the brim with the confidence and pride that previous years had awarded me. I was also filled with the fat that a summer of eating a consistant diet of junk food awarded me. I don’t remember the start. What I do remember is being about half way done and gasping for air, all four of the other racers sailing by me. I kept running all the way to the finish line, and then through the finish line, past the other racers, and then across the school yard, all the way to the edge of the school property where I slamed into the six foot chain link fence, giant tears streaming down my face.
Things didn’t get much better from there on with me and sports. In junior high, while playing in one of the two football games I was put in for, I actually scored a touchdown for the other team. Yep, I’m that kid. I’m 6’2″, and am terrible at basketball. I got hit in the face with a pop-fly ball while playing left field in high school baseball. My braces are the only reason I still have my real teeth.
But now it’s time for K and R to find their way in the wide world of sports which means it’s time for me to decide what sort of sports dad I’m going to be. It really comes down to limits, how loud and in your face is too much? My gold standard of too much is a dad that got my basketball team disqualified because he wouldn’t stop yelling at the refs and coaches. At an away game. I’m pretty sure he was banned from future games in that town. But on the other side I think you can be too quite. When the kids look up into the stands I want them to see that we are cheering them on and use that energy.
What I found out over the summer was that I have no need to fear being too quiet and I feel like I’m still pretty far away from being too loud. I also saw a fresh set of parents all trying to be my new gold standard of too much. Kneeling on the side of the pool with your clipboard of stats while you scream at your 8 year old swimmer and then demanding the timers give you the times before they have even turned them in, that, my friends, is the path to the dark side.
What kind of sports parent are you and what do the other parents do that drive you nuts?
Earlier this summer I randomly ran into an amazing person and friend, Jeremy Tanner. While catching up he mentioned that he would be driving to Utah that night to see a car race and then, after the race was done, driving home and would I like to come. I hemmed and hawd about it while we grabbed lunch and by the time I was throwing the foil from my burrito away I had decided I would join him.
