Friday, July 15, 2022

The Dreams of Their Fathers and Mothers

Many things in life are much more important than sports, of course, but not necessarily in the minds of children at certain ages. My own kids competed in one sport or another, some of them in multiple sports, and a few of them at relatively elite levels.

So it was that eleven years ago this week one of my sons was in Denmark celebrating with his soccer teammates after they'd won a championship in their division in the Dana Cup. It's one of the world's largest futbol tournaments and it has been hosted in the North Jutland town of Hjørring ever since 1982.

For a kid playing soccer, it’s like a World Cup.

It also was my 16-year-old's first trip to Europe and his longest time away from home up until that time. I tried to follow his team's progress from afar, which proved to be difficult due to the time differences and the inconsistent communications we received from the kids and their coaches while they were traveling.

But the results of each match were to be posted on a page of the tournament website soon after a game was completed, as well as information about the time of the team's next game.

Most nights I was up at 2 pm, 3 pm, 4 pm, checking on the scores and then emailing a list of other parents information about how our boys were doing on the other side of the world. When they won the championship I screamed with joy into the night into my otherwise empty apartment.

I hope I didn't disturb the neighbors.

My son was living out one of his dreams, it's true, but he was living out one of mine as well. I never got very far in sports as a kid thanks to rheumatic fever and a heart murmur. But that didn't stop my childhood dreams from recurring decades later in the form of rooting from the sidelines for my kids — in baseball, soccer, basketball, track, swimming, etc.

None of them went on to professional careers in sports; very few young people ever do. And they are all grown up now, some of them with kids of their own who play sports and compete for championships. Like my grandson Oliver.

So these days my role is to be there on the sidelines cheering for him, which I will be doing today and tomorrow.

It's a simple proposition -- if they win we are happy, if they lose we are sad. But at these games I see the dads of kids pacing on the sidelines nervously. I see moms wearing the team colors and screaming their support. Younger siblings race around the stands, oblivious of the score.

Hearts get broken out there when dreams don't come true. But the games go on, win or lose, the kids keep growing, and eventually just about all of them will leave these youthful pursuits behind as they adjust their sights on other goals.

That's the way it goes. But for now, these dreams for the parents as much as the kids are paramount. For a grandpa too.

A different version of this essay appeared on my personal blog and Facebook last year.

LATEST LINKS:

 

No comments: