Sports Relationships

For most kids, their first experience with sports is through their parents, whether it be watching a game on the television, a parents' softball tournament, or that first visit to a pro stadium. I, myself, don't remember any time without sports in my life, having been born in the heart of football season to a football coach, who then played basketball, who then played baseball, and then came football season again. When I first mentioned to my dad that I was interested in baseball for my own sake, and not his, he put aside his own plans and sat down with me. "We're going to watch a game on tv," he said, "and you are going to learn what's going on. If you are going to like sports, you are going to understand them."

It was a philosophy I've carried with me my whole life, and when introduced to a new (to me) sport, I soak up all the information like a young child discovering life. It is a philosophy that I want to give to my own children. Like me, they were born into a sports world. When my daughter asked if she could attend Penn State football games with me, I gave her the same speech my dad gave me years ago. It worked. For someone who claims not to like sports, she certainly knows enough about the basic rules.

But it is as a parent to my athletic son where I've begun to see the importance of the parent/child/sports relationship.

My son is an okay athlete. He isn't a superstar, in part because he is usually the youngest kid on his teams and in part because he is tall and skinny and he hasn't grown into his body yet. However, he isn't the kid picked last in gym class, either. What I've discovered is that, while my son's peers can talk a good game as well as play a good game, my son understands the game.

This falls back to the type of relationship we have with each other and with sports. We sit together and discuss what plays we think should be called, why we think certain things worked, why other things don't. The relationship with his father is much different, and perhaps more typical. When the two males in my house watch sports, they sit on opposite ends of the couch, each with food and a drink, and the remote control. They don't speak to each other. They'll grunt, they'll grumble, they'll growl. Once in a while, they'll high five. The most they'll say is, "Some play, huh."

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