House rules in our joint dictate that barring any broken
limbs, if you start an activity, you finish it, and if you don’t want to go
back next year then you don’t have to. You can deal with any post-traumatic
stress and repressed emotions in your 30’s like the rest of us. Bear witness to
house league soccer, rep soccer, karate, piano lessons, power skating,
lacrosse, terrain park skiing and mountain bike camp to name a few. All cast aside to make room for the promise of
more exciting pursuits. At this rate, we’ll be looking at purchasing a wing
suit and base jumping lessons just to keep this child’s adrenalin up to
acceptable levels.
Letting kids find their thing often seems to be harder on
the parents than any of the kids who are actually doing the thing. After going
through a heartbreaker with lacrosse one year, I realized how easy it is to
turn into an overbearing tiger-mom. Case in point: boy picks up a lacrosse
stick for the first time at a skills camp in March, starts the season in April
and by July is among the league leaders in points. He’s making the players
around him better, he’s seeing the floor in a way the others aren’t and
seemingly scoring at will. Then he goes to lacrosse camp in August and wins the
coaches award. Well that was all the encouragement I needed.
In my mind, we’re just 8 short years away from a full
scholarship at Cornell University. I can see him now, number 11 out on the
field among the storied Big Red lacrosse team, smashing those pesky Princeton
Tigers to smithereens. Mrs. Rock and Roll Librarian and I will come down on
weekends to watch games and bask in the social elitism only an Ivy League
school can provide.
Instantly I knew we needed to get him into field lacrosse because
that’s the American game. This is where I was cut off at the knees.
“Dad, I don’t think I want to do lacrosse next year”
“What? Why not? You’re awesome at it.” I say through the
tears. My tears I mean.
“It’s too rough. I don’t like all the slashing and getting
hit from behind.”
“But…how will I ever get to Cornell?” I’m really crying now.
I had hoped perhaps I wouldn’t pass the sissy gene on to the
boy but no such luck. Getting cross checked into the boards is not my idea of a
good time either, but I thought maybe he would be tougher than me.
“You know, field lacrosse is not nearly as rough as box
lacrosse” I say weakly, knowing my dream of living vicariously through the boy is
about to evaporate before my eyes. That was a tough one to let go, however
briefly it tempted me.
And now, a long basketball season is winding down and spring
ball hockey is ramping up, creating an inevitable showdown that threatens the tenuous
balance between the two sports. Fate has cruelly intervened to complicate things as the two activities fall on the same night. To make matters worse,
the boy is captain of the basketball team, and as such, he needs to be at every
practice to demonstrate his commitment and leadership skills. Problem is that
we have reached basketball saturation and have become giddy with anticipation of
a fresh ball hockey season.
“Do I have to go to basketball practice?”
“Yes. You only have two practices left, and then you can
concentrate on ball hockey.”
Cue mumbling under breath, eye rolling and dramatic slamming
of objects. I know it’s immature of me, but it’s the only communication they
understand.
What we don’t want is for one activity (in our case, basketball)
to drag on so long that it becomes a chore. It’s a balance of finding the fun
and still showing your stick-to-it-ness. If the kid really wants it, then
presumably, they’ll roll with the ups and downs and do it. If they want to move
on after the season is over, then in my books that’s fine. I guess that’s how
you get well-rounded offspring who can go from band practice to swim practice
and all points in between.
So far, we’ve been lucky in that he hasn’t shown any
interest in the drum kit that resides in our basement, or asked for bagpipe
lessons. I’m sure I can handle driving to tournaments 2 hours away better than
I can handle the screech of the pipes.
Don’t get me wrong. Every day I count myself lucky to have a
great kid who is athletic and smart and interested in a multitude of things,
including the not so desirable stuff like video games and junk food. So what if
he has dashed my dreams of being the dad to a Cornell student? At least I’m not
the dad to a mid-season quitter.
