Living Through My Sons

I don't want my kids to feel pressure to make the cover of Sports Illustrated.  But it would be nice, you know?  And I'm obviously not talking about the kind of covers involving scandals or Heisman trophy winners who turned out to be busts.  I'm talking about Sportsman of the Year covers.  No pressure, though.  I'll still love them if, during their entire professional athletic careers, they never appear on the cover of Sports Illustrated.  Would I be disappointed if they didn't make the cover?  What parent wouldn't?  But I'm fully aware that my children won't have editorial control of who goes on the cover.  No, all they can do is train harder, practice longer, and simply be the kind of athletes who deserve the cover.

I used to think that I'd someday make an SI cover.  But that dream was destroyed at the age of 30 when I realized that I did not then, nor did I ever have, any athletic ability whatsoever.  While it's still too early to tell, unfortunately for my kids, they may have inherited my athletic (in)abilities.  Anyone who has ever suffered with me as a teammate would agree that the gene that controls my athletic ineptitude is most likely a dominant gene, and a damn dominant gene, at that.  Stellar athletes do not--and I repeat DO NOT--try to catch a baseball with their teeth.  Stellar basketball players do not miss 99% of their shots.  There may be unfriendly rims, but they're usually unfriendly to everyone, not just you.

Earlier this year, when Jackson played his first season of soccer, I was pretty excited to see how he'd do.  His coach was a girl, which I was okay with because I'm a modern sort of guy and, besides, she was cute.  Jackson did pretty well when he wasn't distracted by the coach's daughter.  But when he was distracted, the ball would roll right past him and he had no idea it was there--he was too busy making silly faces, trying to impress the coach's daughter.  That's what someone told me, anyway.  I didn't notice because I was too busy making silly faces, trying to impress the coach.

Jackson will be playing football soon, and Ethan will be playing T-ball.  Charlie is only two, so he'll naturally be busy trying to run onto the field to play with his brothers.  I'm happy that they'll be involved in sports soon because there are so many important life lessons that sports teach children, such as the value of hard work, the value of teamwork, and how to talk trash.  

But what happens if my sons hate sports and their interests are elsewhere?  As I was about to answer that question, I checked on my boys (it's night, and they're sleeping).  Jackson was on the edge of his bed, about to fall off.  I slid him towards the center of his bed and he yelled "Time out!"  I have a feeling he'll play sports.

But what if they hate sports?  I am, quite simply, my sons' biggest fan.  There are times that they misbehave and get in trouble, and when that happens, I do my best to correct their behavior.  In my heart, though, they can do no wrong.  So as long as my sons are true to who they are and pursue their dreams unrepentantly, my heart will rejoice and I will feel that I have succeeded as a father.  Sports Illustrated can keep its Sportsman of the Year.

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