Being a sports parent is not for the faint of heart. It’s a roller coaster ride of highs, lows, twists, and turns. After 20 years of being a mom to three athletes, I have learned that it is equally rewarding and challenging. It causes as many tears and stress as it does joy and celebration.
I’ve had a love-hate relationship with sports-parenting for as long as I can remember. Those weekends filled with youth sports were both wonderful and maddening. No, I didn’t want to wake up at 6 a.m. to drive an hour to freeze in a hockey rink on my day off, but seeing pure joy and gratification on my kid’s face at the end of the game made it all worth it.
On some weekends, there were nine games to attend between three kids. I gave up my weekends for two decades to shuttle them to their sporting events. I wonder if it was all worth it.
Sometimes, sports brought out the best in me as a mom
The excitement of the competition and witnessing years of hard work pay off for my kids encouraged me to be my best self.
I often stayed up late at night making posters or team shirts for the big tournament. Once, I planned “Survivor” and “Amazing Race”-themed scavenger hunts for my kids’ teams.
But I was at my best when my kids won their games or finally landed a new skill, especially when they overcame hardship. I encouraged them to stick with it because I knew the valuable lessons they’d learn.
And they did. With my encouragement, they learned about sacrifice, compromise, and sportsmanship. As a parent, witnessing kids’ growth, humility, and commitment to their sport and team is beautiful.
Being a sports mom also brought out the worst in me
I distinctly remember all the times my kid wasn’t on the power play or got benched altogether, and I sat there silently, cursing the coaches.
Shamefully, I sometimes wished someone’s kid would get sick so mine could play. I’m not proud of those thoughts.
I can’t tell you how many times I prayed it would snow so that practice would get canceled because I didn’t want to be out at 9 p.m.
On several occasions, I was tempted to tell my son that practice was canceled even though it wasn’t.
It’s a hectic lifestyle, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything
Being the parent of an athlete is wonderful and awful; rewarding and heartbreaking; comforting and scary.
When our kids step out onto the athletic field, a big piece of us steps out there with them. When they get pulled from the game, cut from the team, or experience a season-ending injury, we experience it with them. We win with them and lose with them.
Just as sports test the character of our kids, they test our character, too. I have passed some of these tests with flying colors. Many times, though, I have failed. But with every failed test, I have learned a lesson or two.
These days, I am more aware of the speed at which it all flies by. My second athlete is headed to college in the fall, and my days on the sidelines are numbered. There isn’t any part of me that is happy about that. But my kids will keep playing, and I am joyful for them.
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