This post: My son hates sports, and I’m okay with that
When my son was young, he wasn’t one of those rough and tough boys who was hellbent on defying gravity by jumping off of… well, everything.
You wouldn’t find him climbing trees, building a ramp to take his bike airborne, or skinning his knees left and right.
By the time he was in elementary school, it became blatantly clear to my husband and me that he was far more low-key than most boys.
While other boys were running around outside after school kicking around a ball or pedaling their bikes at rocket speed, my son was content hanging out in his bedroom playing on the computer, building a model airplane or diving into a book about how to build a rocket.
As quiet and reserved as he was (and perhaps because he was so quiet and reserved), we felt it was in his best interest to get him involved in some sort of sport. As a previous gymnast myself and with my husband attending college on a golf scholarship, we both knew the profound benefit of being part of a team, of having that strong sense of camaraderie with other kids, and learning how to work together toward a common goal.
Convinced we were doing the right thing for our son, (after all, all boys play sports, right?), my husband and I tossed the poor kid from sport to sport hoping he’d develop a passion, hoping he’d find his niche, hoping something would click with him.
Basketball, football, soccer, swimming, baseball, golf – despite his lack of enthusiasm, he was a trooper and tried them all. Nothing sparked his interest.
In fact, the more we gently urged him to try “just one more sport,” the more despondent and frustrated he became. Rather than boosting his self-esteem by encouraging him to try new sports, our efforts were only deflating it.
Other parents would ask me, “So, what sport does your son play?”
“Is your son trying out for the football team next year?”
“Really? Your son doesn’t play any sport?”
As if, somehow, his lack of interest in playing sports made him less of a boy, less masculine and, let’s not forget, less likely to fit in with the “sports” crowd. Although not true, that’s how it felt sometimes.
All his friends played sports. It was how they spent their afternoons after school and how they spent their weekends. In fact, nearly every parent I knew spent the better half of their weekends on the bleachers watching their son play some sport.
And, every Monday I’d hear about how their son scored the winning touchdown, how he made that last-minute goal or how their son’s team made it to the playoffs.
Despite our good intentions, we weren’t doing our son any favors. The bottom line was, he had absolutely no interest in playing sports at all. I mean, sure, he’d hang out with his dad on a Sunday afternoon and watch football and he and his friends often ventured downtown to catch a baseball game at the stadium. But, to him, watching sports was far different than playing sports.
I came to the realization that if I wanted to connect with my son in a meaningful way, I needed to understand, accept and appreciate the things he loved and enjoyed. My son hated sports and although it took me a while to let the notion sink in, I finally came to grip with the fact that I was inadvertently compromising our relationship merely so he could follow a path that I thought was best for him.
When our kids are born, whether we realize it or not, we have preconceived notions of what they’ll be like. Fantasies, if you will, of them being like us – sharing our strengths, interests and passions.
It’s not necessarily a bad thing. We simply want to share what we know and love with our kids and use those connections to build a bond.
But, at some point on our parenting journey, we need to let go of the vision of what we thought our kids would be and just let them be them. Rather than have them grow up with the feeling that “I’m a disappointment to my parents because I’m not following in their footsteps,” or worse, making them feel as though they have to follow in our footsteps to gain our acceptance and love, we need to back off and give them the reins.
Deep within each child lays a passion – a passion that’s truly inherent. As parents, we just need to offer them opportunities to unveil that passion. We need to inspire them to try new things (even if it scares us). We need to encourage (and sometimes push) the rebel inside them to venture into new territory, just to see where it takes them. We need to take a step back and let them decide.
Looking back, I now realize that I was the problem with my son. In his own way, he was trying to tell me something and I wasn’t listening. I was the one getting in his way. He needed me to accept and love him exactly as he was without provisions. Once I did that, my son really began to flourish.
Finally given the freedom to pursue his own interests, he found his passion. Aviation. After attending aviation school since the age of 11, he earned his private pilot’s license on his 16th birthday.
He now flies all over the country. Just a few months ago, he and a group of his pilot friends flew to New York for the weekend. (By the way, if you’re wondering if my heart skips a beat every single time he takes off in that plane, the answer is yes!) But, he’s doing what he loves.
Our society puts tremendous pressure on our kids (especially boys) to be rough and tough and to play sports. But not all boys like sports. Not all boys are good at sports. Not all boys are cut out for sports.
In my case, if I hadn’t made the effort to learn about my son’s interests and passion, I feel certain our relationship would be much different today. Taking part in what he loves has brought us closer together. Yes, I had to let go of the twinge of sadness I once felt when my son didn’t share my husband’s and my interests, but the beauty of loving my son for who he is and having a front-row seat as he blossoms into who he’s meant to be, more than makes up for it.