Three years ago, when my then-6-year-old son, Lucas, announced he wanted to play soccer, I felt a wave of panic wash over me. I knew this day would come eventually. All his friends were already playing sports, and their dads were right there cheering them on. Meanwhile, I was the odd one out. Unlike many guys, I’ve never had much enthusiasm for sports—there are a few reasons for this. My hand-eye coordination? Not great. I’m also short and stocky—definitely not the fastest guy on the field.
But the core of my disinterest stems from my childhood. My dad left when I was young, and while other boys shared stories of their dads teaching them how to throw a ball or kick a soccer goal, I felt a pang of jealousy. Sports constantly reminded me of that absence—a father figure to share those moments with.
I know how crucial sports are for many men, and my lack of interest has made it tough for me to connect with other dads. This became especially tricky since I work for a Division I athletics program, where I’m the one reminding athletes to get their homework done. It’s a unique twist of fate.
So, when Lucas asked to play soccer, I had to set aside my feelings. I didn’t want him to experience the isolation I often felt. Many parents wrestle with this tug-of-war between their own preferences and their children’s interests—whether it’s a YouTube channel that drives them nuts or an instrument that makes their ears ring. Sometimes, it’s even more complex, like when your child’s interests hit too close to home, reminding you of a difficult past.
I signed Lucas up for soccer, secretly hoping he wouldn’t enjoy it and would want to quit. I was wrong. He not only loved the game but also wanted me to join him. That summer, we spent countless hours on a patch of grass near our apartment, kicking a ball back and forth. Neither of us had much experience, so we were figuring it out together. For the first time, I didn’t think about my absent father. Instead, I focused on my son, reveling in our shared adventure.
I made it a point to attend every practice and game—not just to cheer him on but also to pick up a few skills myself so I could engage with him more. One evening at a local park, as we tossed the ball back and forth, I noticed Lucas’s technique. He would stop the ball, take two steps back, and then run forward to kick it. I suggested he try kicking it while running. We practiced this technique until he nailed it. The look on his face when he finally got it was priceless; he gazed at me as if I were a soccer guru. In that moment, I felt like I was giving him something I had always craved—a solid father figure.
During his next game, Lucas scored his first goal using the technique we had practiced. I was bursting with pride. The first thing he did after scoring was look my way and smile as he sprinted across the field, as if to say, “Look, Dad! We did it together!”
Now that Lucas is 9, he has played three seasons of soccer and even tried his hand at basketball. I’ve had to brush up on my dribbling and shooting skills. Most Sundays, you’ll find us in the front yard, sharing laughs while shooting hoops and making memories. These moments are a second chance for me—the father-son bonding I yearned for as a child.
I doubt Lucas knows about my past dislike for sports. I’ve kept it to myself. But for now, he thinks I’m the best player in the world. He may not say it, but I feel his admiration as he watches me clumsily navigate our driveway. In many ways, I look up to him for giving me the opportunity to experience that connection I missed out on.
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In summary, I transformed my relationship with sports through my child’s enthusiasm. What began as reluctance evolved into cherished moments of bonding, teaching me the importance of stepping outside my comfort zone for the sake of my son.