My kids and sports

 It has taken a long time for me to realize my sons aren't really into sports.

They have played sports. I have coached them, and their teams, every year in soccer since they were 3-4 years old. 

My youngest son, Isaiah, is a rising freshman who plays basketball and soccer -- and likely will play both throughout high school.

My older son, Nathaniel, a rising junior, elected not to play soccer last spring, saying primarily he didn't find it fun anymore, although I suspect there's more to it than that. He wrestled last winter, but now is vacillating between playing basketball or wrestling -- or maybe doing neither -- this winter.

To be clear: I have tried hard, really hard, not to be one of those parents who pushes his kids to pursue things that I'm interested in, or to live vicariously through my children, to reclaim some long ago glory that might have eluded me in my own sporting days.

I think I have largely succeeded in that. I tell Nathaniel and Isaiah regularly how important it is to pursue their own interest, to find their own passions, and certainly not to worry about whether it meets some parental approval.

They have charted their own paths so far. 

Isaiah excels in the performing arts. He has played a major character in two high-school musicals already, the only middle schooler to do so. He has been invited to all-state, honor singing performances for the past three years. He plays piano, the alto saxophone in the high school marching band, and the bari saxophone in the middle-school jazz band.

Nathaniel likewise is musically inclined. He has played the trumpet in the high school marching band since he was in 8th grade and has been chosen to play in the high-school's selective jazz band since he was a freshman. 

One of my greatest joys as a father is to sit back, and enjoy watching them perform. I call it the "parental dividend" for getting them to this point, and now, witnessing them succeed in their chosen pursuits.

Their pursuits certainly don't mirror mine. 

I grew up totally into sports. Could't get enough of it. Played football, basketball, baseball as a youngster. I devoured the sports pages of the newspaper every morning, without fail, even poring over the tiny, matrix-like agate that included standings in fringe sports, trades and other miscellaneous items. I watched a lot of sports, which back then, was confined to the three major networks, and you had to be present to watch it live. If I wasn't watching something or reading about something sports, I was outside playing some sport, my favorite being -- and remaining -- basketball.

Sports was about as foundational to my youth as breathing, drinking or eating. It was commonplace, and I liked it that way.

Which brings me back to my own kids. When they were younger, they would adopt my passion for sports, especially my support for the New England Patriots. We outfitted them in Patriots jerseys, they drew pictures at school of their favorite players, and they watched Patriots games with me. During timeouts, they would sprint between rooms as I spiraled a foam football for them to catch. 

Without doubt, my favorite memory was the Super Bowl between the Patriots and Falcons. If you know football – and even if you're not a Patriots fan – you know what happened. By halftime, the game was lopsided; well into the third quarter, with the Pats trailing by more than three touchdowns, I put the boys to bed. I told them, "I'll wake you up if it gets close."

Well, you know what happened, and when the Patriots scored late to put the game within reach, I rushed upstairs to get the boys. They bolted out of bed, clearly not having fallen asleep. Holding hands, we watched with intensifying giddiness as the good 'ol Patriots completed their epic rally and won the game.

As they grew older, they watched less and less sports with me. As I watched soccer more and more to better understand the game (and because I liked the sport), they rarely joined me. They were finding their own things to do, and that did not include sports.

They continued to play, especially soccer, and they liked doing so, but it dawned on me that tbey played only when something was organized, like a practice. Seldom did either go outside and just kick the ball around. That should have been the first signal that perhaps sports would not be the fuel for their engines that it had been for me.

I admit this has been tough to digest from time to time, Sports is so ingrained in me, it's hard to resist projecting it on my kids, to want them to play, to be part of teams, to compete, so I can watch them, like so many other of their peers' parents. 

But that's selfish, and I know it. It's also wholly unfair to them, and I know that, too.

What matters is whether they're happy. Whether they're finding joy in what they do. 

And, for me, to watch and smile.