At soccer games on Saturday, I’m the dad furthest down the sideline, away from any other parents. I am not chit-chatting with other parents typically, tending to slide in and out unnoticed. While I’m not anti-social, I’m not overly mingle-y during our weekly games. 

It’s not that I don’t like the parents I share virtually every weekend with, but with each passing season, I find myself being less “people-y.” Joining in with the friends-off-the-field type of comradery isn’t me. I guess I’m good with the friends I have and don’t feel a pressing need to make more.    

Most of the time, how friendly I am on the sidelines does not much matter. 

Other times, like on a recent Friday morning, it does. 

With no school because of spring break on Friday, Everett, my 10-year-old, agreed to play in a makeup game across town. My wife and I had work responsibilities that day so we sent our little guy with another trusted soccer parent, Kelly. 

The game began at 10:30 a.m. 

By 10:35, I had missed two calls from Kelly and one from my wife. When my phone rang for the fourth time, I broke from my conference call and picked up.

My wife’s frantic voice didn’t allow me to speak, “You have to get to the hospital now!”

I was confused but assumed whatever was going on centered on the kid outside of our care, Everett.    

“I just talked to Kelly,” she said. “Everett broke his arm and dislocated his wrist. She is taking him to E.R. now. He is in a lot of pain. You gotta go.” 

My minivan had never cut in and out of traffic like it did that morning. As I sped to meet my ailing little boy, my phone rang again, this time from a fellow sideline dad. 

I could tell my son was listening as the other dad began slowly. “Toby, I have Everett right here waiting for a ride to get his arm fixed up,” he said. “He is hurting and scared, so I wanted you to talk to him and tell him that you’ll be here soon, OK?”

For the next few minutes, while speeding down the interstate, this fellow dad and I calmed down my hurting little boy. Then, I heard Kelly’s voice.

“OK, let’s go get you better, Everett. Tell your dad you’ll see him soon!” 

I hung up. My mind raced. 

Mostly, I felt deep gratitude to those parents standing in for me – the same sideline parents I often shun in favor of a quiet patch of grass on the outskirts of the pitch on any given Saturday. These were parents I’d previously stopped short of calling friends. 

Until now. 

Suddenly, the importance of befriending other sideline parents mattered. It mattered A LOT. 

It mattered that the other parents at the field with Everett that day treated him as if he was their own. 

It mattered that they knew how to break the bad news to me and my wife without freaking us out completely. 

It mattered that my son, laying on the ground screaming in pain, could recognize being surrounded by adults he knew and could trust. 

It mattered that I knew he was in good, caring hands when I could not be there.   

This situation has forever changed the way I’ll think about my fellow parents on any team our kids play on. That day I learned any team he plays on needs to have a similar “I got your back” mentality among the parents watching the game. 

That type of sideline comradery does not mean everyone gets along all the time. It does not require getting together socially after the game for beers and wings. Hell, I can even have every parents’ back from my preferred position of solitude on the sideline. 

It does mean, though, that every time our kids take the field, we are there for each other and our children. 

I felt that sense of community after Everett was stable as I stood at the side of his hospital bed. He and I spent the downtime responding to kind texts about how he was doing from everyone on the team. We FaceTime’d with teammates who left the field scared to death at seeing Everett carried off the field crying. Everett reserved a special place on this new, bright red cast for only his teammates to autograph. I felt so proud as he thanked Kelly and that other dad for making him feel OK in my absence.

These are more than fellow sideline parents, each is an extension of us. Making friends with sideline parents doesn’t matter until it does – even for the most non-“people-y” of parents like me.

Photo: © athichoke.pim / Adobe Stock.   

I was second-guessing my decision before the first practice ended. 

As soon as I got home, I told my wife I wasn’t sure if this was going to work.

Growing up, I never played soccer. To this day, I’ve never even been to a game. Sure, I’ll tune in to the World Cup every four years, pull for the U.S. National Team, and enjoy the festivities. But aside from that, soccer is near the bottom of my sports interests.

So, of course, it made perfect sense that I not only sign my 3-year-old son up for soccer this spring, but also volunteer to be an assistant coach on his team.

I had it all figured out. Soccer is the perfect sport to introduce toddlers to athletics. You give them a ball and they run around with their new friends. In my head, this youth soccer experience would be the start of my son’s Hall of Fame professional sports career, and I would be right there on the sidelines coaching him.

Dad excited to coach, his son …

As men, as soon as we find out we’re having a son, we immediately start dreaming up scenarios in which we can have father-son bonding moments through activities we enjoyed growing up, often with our own dads. I vividly remember my dad as a coach for my pee wee football team. When he wasn’t coaching, he and other dads were right there in the bleachers and along the sidelines at nearly every game all the way through high school. It set a precedent I knew I wanted to follow with my own son.

When it was time to start with my child, I was more excited than my son. He had zero concept of what soccer actually was. He just knew we got to go to a park and run around with other kids his age. That was the exciting part for him.

As I attempted to “coach” him, I would soon learn the line between coach and dad would be a hard one for him to understand at his young age. I was Daddy. Who were these other kids I was showing what to do? Why was I talking differently than how I did at home? Why are you even out here? It was interesting to observe.

To his credit, my son locked in when the head coach spoke. It was similar to how he is at swimming class and daycare. He listens to his teachers. But when I’m around, naturally his entire demeanor changes.

I’ve described the soccer experience to date as “up and down.” One practice, he’ll be into it, participating in the drills and such. The next, he’ll be more interested in picking up pieces of grass and playing in the dirt. The irony is that after every practice he says he had fun and immediately asks if we can do it again.

It was clear the problem was not him, it was me.

Adjust and accept

Could I be a coach and be a dad to a toddler who is being introduced to a whole new world? Could I put my unrealistic expectations on hold and let him just enjoy himself?

Initially, I couldn’t. And that was evident at a practice in which my son went into full meltdown mode. Falling out, screaming, and just refusing to cooperate. We’ve all been there. I was stuck between frustration and embarrassment.

I quickly realized I wasn’t angry at him. My anger came from the vision in my head not coming to fruition.

Oftentimes, our vision for what we want our experience as dads to be is smacked in the face by the realities of life. It sometimes just doesn’t work out how we want. This is not to say we shouldn’t have plans and dreams. We just need to be mentally prepared to accept when those plans don’t work out.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but that realization made me step back and look in the mirror. I had to change my approach to what I wanted this experience to be.

Maybe that’s the lesson I need to learn during this soccer experience. When I look at my son, he’s having a blast doing his version of soccer, no matter how frustrating it is for me at times. At the end of the day, this season will be about creating lifelong memories.

That will mean more than any goal he’ll ever score.

Coach dad photo: ©kudosstudio / Adobe Stock.

The ball sailed into the upper corner of the goal and the crowd went crazy. My son’s high school soccer team had won the championship. The crowd rushed the field. I stood in the middle of it, but instead of barging into the hugs he was giving and receiving, I stopped to watch him. Within those seconds, 17 years of soccer memories flowed through me.

Soccer has been a big part of our lives. When I say “our,” I mean the entire family. But it all started with me and my son. I looked at my son’s soccer life as being as much his as mine. From the time he could crawl, I started playing soccer with him. And when he learned to walk, I started coaching him. For many years, we were the first two people on the field and the last two to leave. We were a team within a team.

While coaching him, we faced many obstacles together. We won championships and suffered humbling defeats. There were tears of joy and sadness. Bruises and chipped teeth were frequent, along with an occasional broken bone. And side by side, we took it all on.

Change in leadership, not relationship

But the time came for someone else to coach him. I had passed on everything I could, and it was time for another to teach and guide him. Thus started his life with a club team, where he and the team excelled.

Even while my son was with a different coach, I still felt as though we were a team. I drove him to games and practices, offering little tidbits of advice when I could. Since soccer was our thing for so long, it felt as though it was still our thing.

Then, the ball went into the corner of the goal his senior year of high school and our soccer life ended.

With people celebrating all around, I met my son and hugged him hard. I told him I was proud of him and I loved him. We talked briefly, and I let him rejoin his teammates in enjoying the moment. I was overjoyed, but the realization that our soccer journey was probably over brought about sadness. I wasn’t just letting go of soccer, but I was letting go of my teammate. No longer would we have soccer to bond us.

Finding new obstacles to overcome, together

While sitting around the table some day later, my son mentioned doing a Tough Mudder might be fun. I immediately thought, “That’s it!”

It would be a way for us to take something on and together overcome an obstacle, both literally and figuratively. We could be teammates again, and it could be a way for me to say goodbye to his youth with one last bonding moment before he started the next chapter of his life.

I searched through Tough Mudder’s website. The only event that fit into his schedule was one in Central Florida. I purchased tickets and immediately began searching for workouts I should do to prepare for the event. My son, who has been working out like a madman for months to prepare for a potential life in the Army, was already in tip-top shape. I had been running for over a year but had done little strength training. So, I began working out three days a week and running. I was determined not to let my son down.

We flew from NYC to Florida and settled into our hotel. We went out to eat, watched TV, and swam in the pool. All the while, we talked about his future, our past, and life in general. The next morning, we jumped into our rental and drove to the race. I thought I would be nervous, but I wasn’t. I was pretty chill. So was my son.

Lifting each other

We got our armbands and proceeded to the start. There were some other parents with their teens, but it was mostly friends and teams of adults. After the emcee tried pumping up everyone before the start, he asked everyone to take a knee and remember those that have given their lives for our freedom.

As my old knees descended to the grown, tears welled up in my eyes.

I tried not to let anyone see. Being there with my son, while saying goodbye to his youth and with the Army on his horizon, it was too much for me. It hit hard.

We stood and started the race.

My son and I started at a medium trot so not to get bottlenecked with everyone else. The emotions I had felt passed as the two of us took on the first obstacles. We met each one and overcame them all. Nothing was too hard because we were there for each other and working together. There were times I lifted him and times he lifted me.

We spent the following day lounging around the hotel and the pool. I had booked an extra day in Florida because I thought I would need an additional rest after the Mudder. Turns out, I did. I also needed the day to spend with him. Of course, he didn’t realize it. Much like all those countless hours of coaching him and watching him play, the most important thing was that we were together.

As our time under one roof ends, I’ve started recalling all the obstacles that we faced throughout his life. There were many. Some were more painful than the barbed wire and tasers at the Tough Mudder. But we overcame all of them. I’m proud of the man he is and thankful for the journey that got us here.

Now to witness his life through phone calls and stalking his social media accounts.

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad. Photo: ©Ingus Evertovskis / Adobe Stock. Other photos courtesy of Jason Greene.

“We’re in an ambulance. Don’t freak out. They think Lynden broke his leg.” 

My heart sank. My wife’s voice was calm, though, despite our son screaming in the background.

That was April 23, the last soccer tournament of the spring, two weeks before a full summer of fun was to be had. Gone – just like that. 

Scared and bummed out, I forced myself to focus on the positive, thinking, ‘At least it’s the end of the season, Lynden will bounce back quickly.’

Nearly four months later, Lynden has not bounced back from his injury.

In fact, he is still limping, favoring his previously broken leg and complaining about pain if he attempts any physical activity. Despite being given full recovery status from his doctor, he is, in my view, at half speed.   

My patience with his slow recovery from this injury is waning. My sympathy is quickly turning into disappointment at his lack of grit. I am beginning to wonder if his elongated recovery says as much about me as my son.

Rehab of injury deliberately slow

Lynden’s cast and walking boot came off June 15. ‘Go time,’ I thought, assuming the two months of inactivity would have him itching to start moving again. We had marching orders from our doctors: a list of rehabilitation exercise to complete daily and no limitations on participation. 

Nothing, though, has happened. Lynden seldom does the prescribed rehab exercises.  He has completed short jogs only a handful of times over his summer months of freedom. And, no, he has not attempted to kick a ball with his left foot since the day his leg buckled on the pitch that April day. 

I have tried everything to get him going. From being supportive to helping devise a workout schedule to, now, demanding he complete the assigned injury rehab exercises in the morning each day without exception, I tried.

I can feel my frustration mounting. 

I shouldn’t have to urge him to get off his butt, and get to work, right? 

But I shouldn’t be the one who watches him limp while worrying that soccer practice starts in a few weeks. 

I shouldn’t have to create a workout schedule, another thing I will have to oversee so it is completed daily.

The simple fact may be that he may not want to come back from his injury as much as I want him to.

Does this reflect poorly on me?

Reflecting on the slow pace of Lynden’s return to the soccer field, I am facing a fact that I hadn’t before – I may be experiencing some personal self-worth vicariously through my kids’ activities. After all, many of our friends are connected to our children’s sports. Much of our non-working time is spent attending games, practices or traveling to the pitch. The financial and familial impact of these activities on all of us is all-encompassing.    

I may also be taking an ego hit as Lynden’s slow injury rehab casts doubt on the level (or lack thereof) of perseverance that my wife and I thought we had instilled in him. Our kids need to overcome adversity and, from my view, every limped step Lynden takes tells me that he might need a lesson in toughness.      

So, why do I care so much? 

After all, if Lynden does not return to the soccer team, I benefit – freeing up the time and money associated with keep him on the field. I guess I care because I know he’s capable. I care because I want my children to be active. Team sports, to me, are an excellent way to help our kids deal with diverse groups of people socially. And, somewhere deep maybe I care because all the efforts over the years feels for naught if this is the end of the road.   

My own self-interest is involved, and it should not be. After all, none of this ordeal – not the broken leg or Lynden’s slow return from it – has anything to do with me. 

From this point on, I’m done being frustrated. Everything will work out in due time.

I’m done trying to over zealously attempt to cultivate passions for my kids. I’ll provide the paths; it is their choice to continue or not.    

It has been a slow process for me to learn these lessons. Not, though, as labored, limped, and lethargic as my son’s comeback (or not) to the soccer field.

Injury rehab photo: © Elnur / Adobe Stock.

I’ve seen this before – a half-assed tryout, making the track team and, suddenly, floating the idea wanting to quit before the second practice. Yes, my seventh grader, Lynden, hopes that his subtle hints about leaving the school track team will garner my support to do so. He must not know I value the act of participating more than he does.

“Dad, track is boring,” he mentioned in passing the morning after tryouts.

I said nothing and picked him up from practice later that day.

That evening, on the van ride home, Lynden escalated the quitting chatter, “With everything else going on, track is gonna get in the way of soccer.”

Again, I remained quiet and stoic – taking note of his hope for my agreement wane.

By day three, Lynden resorted to feigning illness to avoid track practice, “Dad, I have a headache. There is no way I to go to track and soccer tonight.”

I’d had enough.

“Lynden, you’re not quitting the team. Nope.”

He shot back, “Why does it matter? You’re not out any money – it’s just the school track team! I’m not even good.”

Sparing him another “it’s not the act, but the principle at work” talk, I kept it simple, saying, “Yes, you’re busy. Yes, you’ll be tired from running at track practice before soccer. But you tried out and took a spot that someone else could have earned. That means you’re sticking it out. Tough. You’re on the team for the season so you better learn to like it.”

Request denied.

The truth is, Lynden quitting the team didn’t have me as annoyed as his nonchalant attitude about being on the squad in the first place.

As I thought about Lynden’s logic, I came around to the idea that he wasn’t technically wrong. The school track team was a free, throw-in for his normal, more expensive, more serious, more inconvenient-to-the-family team activities. This rationale, though, clearly does not value participation as a valuable use of his time. He isn’t alone in the line of thinking, I see the numbers of kids on the field at school reducing universally.

As the act of trying new activities at school has given way to paying-to-play, the quality of middle school sports have suffered. My family has a front row seat to witnessing the plight of the school team fueled by an invasion of uber-serious, uber-expense “travel” teams that do little to fortify friendships and do far too much to allow parents to live vicariously through their exhausted young athletes.

I began unpacking Lynden’s mentality as follows:

• School sports are free and, therefore, not as valuable as the other (ie: higher priced) options.
• School sports are less valuable, so my commitment to the team doesn’t matter.
• Commitment does not matter so quitting the team carries no repercussions.

Parents cannot allow this – I won’t. We must band together to stomp out these flames before they ignite the lacquer of the middle school gym’s floor. Worthwhile commitments must not be dependent on the financial cost of admission or perceived ability level. Having fun is worthwhile!

Maybe some of Lynden’s “quitting doesn’t matter” way of thinking can be traced back to the way parents have devalued the act of participating. The rush to disavow the “participation trophy mentality” may have inadvertently discouraged kids to try anything new. Our kids would rather sit out than entertain the idea of making an ass of themselves in front of classmates, friends and family by giving a new activity a shot.

But, not Lynden, not this time. By making him stick out the track season, I hope to change his view of what is important (and not) – and, potentially, test my own biases about the importance of participating.

Picking Lynden up after his fourth track practice, I explained to him my point of view — that his bellyaching to quit the track team was about something bigger to me. Sure, the most obvious lesson was about perseverance and integrity. Less obvious, though, are lessons about value – looking for intrinsic worth through friendships and owning the courage to step outside of a comfortable zone. These lessons are about placing more value on systems that care little about the quality of play relative to the qualities developed by simply taking part. These lessons require participation.

Kids cannot quit on school activities. Let’s tell our kids that trying is OK. In fact, participation is what it’s all about – absent the trophy, of course.

Photo: ©Anneke / Adobe Stock.

I’ve been wrong about something. There’s not much unusual about that but, sadly, I was judgmental in my wrongness. I probably even judged you.

First, a quick story – which for me is oxymoronic – but I’ll try …

The Cincinnati Reds are in the World Series and it’s the night of the fourth game. These are the 1990 wire-to-wire Reds and they are putting the whomp on the A’s. I am working tables at a high-end restaurant on the second level of a downtown Cincinnati hotel. Delmonico’s at The Westin, or Del’s as everyone calls it, has floor-to-ceiling windows that look down upon our lovely downtown square with its sculpture fountain, cleverly (and with Midwestern practicality) called Fountain Square. The dining room itself is tiered so most every table has a view.

I am a “captain” on this night; my buddy, John, is my back waiter. We are assigned the coveted bottom tier station right on the window. It is a crazy night, and everyone wants a table on those windows. Needless to say, I am not keeping track of the game, but I do have an unprecedented view of the crowd outside growing and growing. The box score is on a big screen in a corner of the square I can’t see. All I can make out is a sea of red and I can hear the occasional roar when our team makes a play.

Around 11 or so we are winding down. A few tables are left watching the crowd and lingering over coffee. I decide to go downstairs to get a drink while John watches the tables. Are we allowed to do this? Well … let’s just say we all did.

The bar is called The Corner Bar because it is, well, on the corner of the hotel facing the square and the main street that led down to the colossal Riverfront Stadium, home of the Reds. I take the service elevator to first floor and head to the bar which has an entrance from the hotel atrium. It is important to note that I am wearing tuxedo pants and shirt — with studs — a black bowtie and a white waiter’s jacket and a long white apron, French bistro style. I look good and professional.

The hallway I walk down is angled a bit and I can’t really see into the bar although it is noisy, which I expected. I turn to walk in and, just as I cross the threshold, the whole place busts out in madness. Several tripods of camera lights flash on and a camera is pointed right at me as I enter. Next to the door is a reporter and he is saying something about the hometown crowd and “live from downtown Cincinnati …”

Yep, I’d blundered right into the live feed of the local crowd on the nationally televised game in Oakland. Literally, as they opened the feed, there I am in my full waiter regalia, nametag and all. I got calls for days about it. The first guy anyone sees in Cincy is a local waiter trying to get himself a drink.

I quickly duck toward the service bar, also ducking the reporter who was looking for someone to interview. Seeing as how I was on the clock, in uniform and all, that seemed like a good idea. I order a couple of Black Russians, put them on a tray and duck back out.

John and I spent the next hour or two watching and waving at the crowd. Even though I’d recently left New York City where I’d worked in bars and restaurants for the past four or so years, I’d never seen this level of fandom. People were so happy, marching triumphantly nowhere, jumping up and down, drinking and cheering. It was unforgettable…

I’ve told this story over the years a number of times, the focus, of course, being on me and the surprise and all of it. But recently when I told it to a buddy I hadn’t be in touch with for some time, something weird happened. The crowd looked different in my memory.

Where I’d seen chaos and a sort of madness before, now I saw the joy and unbridled excitement of the win. Where once I’d seen homemade banners and brooms (it was a sweep, remember?), I saw folks making those banners, lettering a bedsheet in there sleepy suburban home, and bringing it down to the big city. I somehow saw people stopping at a hardware store for a broom, or a liquor store for a flask.

In this most recent remembering, I saw the families. There were kids and teens everywhere, breathing in the wildness and screaming their hearts out. I saw high fives between dads and sons, hugs and kisses for the littles. I’d forgotten that.

What has all this to do with me being wrong and judgmental? When the world shut down in March because of COVID-19 and it became clear there would be no baseball Opening Day, no parade, no rallies, I was initially sad but quickly came to see that it was best and I didn’t miss the games that much. And then … the season began again, truncated and limping, and I was happy to see the games again.

Anyone who knows me knows I know baseball’s the best sport. I am quick to point out what I see as the flaws in football and basketball, hockey and soccer, and many other sports. Ipso facto: Your enjoyment of your chosen sport is inferior to mine.

But as golf and the NBA and the NHL began playing again this summer, I saw how much it meant to the fans of those sports. Here’s what I am most sorry about — missing the fact that all these sports bring great joy to families around the world.

Yours is not a failed attempt at mine, and vice versa. I shouldn’t question your choice of sport, your level of fandom. A friend of my wife works in the front office of the champion Bolts down in Tampa. He recently posted an image of his him, his wife and two young daughters posing with that big ole Stanley Cup won this pandemic season, they look so happy. Another buddy is an avid fan Manchester United and gets up early in mornings to watch the English soccer games; it makes him happy. A buddy in L.A. watches endless golf matches even though he has never held a driver in his life.

The sports thing — and the music thing and the art thing and the movie thing and, well, all the stuff folks love — it brings us together. My twin boys, pushing 16 now, are getting the short stick on this one this year. There’ve been no Friday Night Lights to get wild at this year; they’ve missed that. Even though some sports play on to limited crowds, there is no theater this fall, no music concerts, no quarterly art show. Clubs are not meeting, no debate, no chess or after school diversity programs.

I am sorry for them, sorry for us. I forget, my being a bit introverted, how essential “others” are to us, to them, to society writ large. Every day during this ongoing pandemic I see these kids get screwed and I wish something could be done for them. So, we’ll watch the World Series on TV together and I’ll tell stories and we’ll try to create community, remembering that in households across our home town and the country and the world, you all are trying to as well.

Hopefully, soon, we’ll all be able to rally at the fountain square or watch a sports game at the corner bar. We’ll meet you there, all right?

About the author

Bill Peebles left a 30-year career in the restaurant business to become a stay-at-home dad to twin boys. He writes a blog, I Hope I Win a Toaster, that makes little sense. He coaches sometimes, volunteers at the schools, plays guitar, and is a damn good homemaker. He believes in hope, dreams, and love … but not computers.

Sports crowd photo: ©Jason Stitt / Adobe Stock.

We were a team, a collective. We had an excellent coach (Vincent Pandoliano), and gave everything we had to each other and to the sport. Our game was passionate, honest and exciting. We always got the same feel from the sidelines – loud and proud support.

That explains some of the heartfelt disappointment felt by me and my son, now 14, with his youth soccer academy here in New York.

No skill but lots of spirit

We relocated here from Hong Kong in July 2017. Years before, my son picked up soccer over there. His first team sssssssucked! They lacked basic skills, individually and collectively, and got punished for it repeatedly.

What struck me, however, was the camaraderie among the boys on the team. They did everything together. The sport connected them and, little by little, they improved. Because of this strong team spirit, my son was eager to go to practices, learn soccer skills, and support the team as well as he could – in losses and wins.

He eventually landed on a team at the Hong Kong Football Club. It was his earlier perseverance that helped him get selected out of a group of more than 30 boys. He experienced failure early on, learned from it, and relentlessly worked on his skills. I was superbly proud.

This new team was wonderful: great coaches, friendly and talented players, amazing team spirit. That team spirit carried them to several unlikely victories and, ultimately, to season’s championship. Notably, the boys didn’t really care about individual accolades. They, instead, made numerous rounds of congratulating one another – something no parent was expecting from a bunch of seemingly selfish teenagers. I felt like I was reliving my volleyball days. It was heartwarming.

Smirks, scorn and youth soccer players

This is why both of us were so terribly disappointed when he started playing on his current youth soccer team in NYC.

We took the risk of committing to this program because there were literally no other similar options available given the timing of our arrival in the city (all tryouts and selection are completed in the spring). The uniform and related gear took more than three months to arrive – all because the academy made an agreement with an incompetent “mom and pop” vendor and didn’t have reserve stock. My son ended up borrowing bits and pieces of the uniform from fellow players – only to receive smirks and occasional scorn from them. Smirks and scorn! I kid you not.

Smirks and scorn very quickly became a team trademark of sorts. My son would often return from practices bewildered and sad. Why? Teammates chastised him for making mistakes. The coach seemed to either pay no attention to or encourage this behavior. He’d appear right before the practice and disappear immediately after. No feedback, no individual attention, no care. To date, he hasn’t responded to a single email I’ve sent requesting a meeting.

The clique culture on the team was most disheartening. Boys were friendly only in small groups of 3 or 4, and this was evident in their game on the field: “passing to friends.” Before games, players wouldn’t even greet all of their teammates. I was completely blown away when my son told me that one of his teammates called him “the worst player on the team” after “taking a poll.” When I shared this issue with the program director and asked for a meeting he told me he was “going on vacation” and delegated the task to the head coach. The head coach’s reply was generic and bureaucratic.

My wife and I are very lucky to have a resilient boy. He is able to find joy and friendships in various places if not on the soccer field. What’s more, to his teammates’ and coach’s surprise, he shined in an indoor 5-on-5 tournament recently, helping his team win first place.

What about kids who are not as resilient? How would they be affected? What would they learn in a year’s commitment? Will this atmosphere defeat their aspirations in this sport?

Recently, my son’s friends who play on other academy teams started asking him to try out and join them. I’ll be very happy when he does. He still loves soccer.

Learn from my mistakes

A few takeaway points for parents looking for youth soccer or other sports programs:

• Don’t just seek general feedback from other parents and community members about a particular sports program before you sign up. Most don’t monitor the actual team dynamic and other important nuances in organization and coaching.
• Interview the head of the program, head coach, and the specific coach who will work with your child when possible. Ask to observe a few practices and pay attention to interactions on the field (from the coach and among players).
• Talk to your child in advance about various tactics of dealing with pressure and conflicts. Monitor their moods on the field and after practices or games. Be present with your unwavering support.

Youth soccer photo by Isaiah Rustad on Unsplash

September 6th 2017 Note: I’ve updated this post to include my own experiences with four teams; the Texas Marshals, the Texas Legends, the Dallas Wings, and the Dallas Sidekicks, as well as the annual Frisco College Baseball Classic. I also want to highlight the benefits of getting Pogo Pass*, which gets you into several RoughRiders, Wings, Legends, and Revolution games each year, as well as many other DFW area family attractions. If you go to more than one game a year, the pass will be very cost-effective for your family.

If you’re a sports fan like me, you’re probably also raising your kid(s) to love sports. With a team in each of the major professional sports leagues, the DFW area is an incredible place for us sports lovers. Going to a Rangers, Mavs, Stars, or Cowboys game is a great time, but they’re also expensive and sometimes not as kid-friendly as they could be, especially for younger kids.  However, if you’re looking for something more cost-effective with the same fun factor for your young sports fans, here is a guide to the many options the DFW sports scene offers:

For any sport: For both boys and girls teams, your local high school is a great place to start. You’ll be exposing your young ones to school spirit early, and in our area, many schools have players who will end up on division 1 college teams, so there is no lack of talent. For football, in addition to the game, your kids will also get to see the marching band. My son loves this as much as the game. We also go to see basketball, baseball, and soccer. There will be mistakes made at this level, so for kids learning the game, these can be used as teaching moments.

For baseball:

1) The Frisco Roughriders seem by far the area’s most popular minor league attraction. They are the Double-A affiliate of the Rangers and all of the team’s top prospects will end up playing for the Riders at some point. It’s also a great way to catch Rangers players on rehab assignments. We got to see Josh Hamilton and Yu Darvish at past outings. You can use Pogo Pass to get into two games each season.

2) The Texas Airhogs (formerly Grand Prairie Airhogs) is a smaller, cheaper option than the Riders. They are not affiliated with a major league team and therefore you won’t be seeing top prospects, but it’s still pro ball and it’s still fun.

3) The Texas Marshals of the Texas Collegiate League is a team of college baseball players looking to continue to play competitively throughout the summer. Admission is $5 for adults and $3 for kids. They have a small concession stand, and you can bring your own food and drinks. They play at the Prestonwood Christian Academy and it’s a great way to see competitive baseball up close. The crowd is small and tends to be mostly parents of the players, and this past summer I ran into a hall-of-fame parent of a player on the opposite team, Greg Maddux! And if you were wondering, his son is just as crafty as he is.

4) In early March, check out the Frisco College Baseball Classic. It’s a four-team round-robin style event with a doubleheader each of the three days. Played at Dr. Pepper Ballpark, they bring in top teams and you get to see two games each session.

5) Other local college baseball: TCU is usually very competitive nationally. For folks in greater Fort Worth, it’s a great way to see quality ball without having to make a long drive. Likewise, Dallas Baptist also fields competitive teams.

For basketball

1) The Texas Legends are the NBA developmental league team of the Dallas Mavericks, who play at the Dr. Pepper Arena in Frisco. There’s not a bad seat in the house, and they have a kid zone behind one of the baskets with some inflatables for kids who need a break from sitting. For a small arena, it’s a great atmosphere to catch a game, and the players play hard every night, trying to earn a call-up to the NBA. You can use your Pogo Pass to get into a couple of games each season.

2) The Hoop City Dallas Pro-Am summer league features teams made up of players who have played in the NBA, NBADL, professional leagues in foreign countries, and top NCAA division 1 programs. It’s a very inexpensive way to see pro-level talent in the intimacy of a high school gym.

3) Local Colleges: SMU is having lots of recent success and therefore can be a tough ticket to get. They are in the same conference as UConn, so go see the UConn Women’s team for some of the best basketball you’ll ever see.  TCU is historically not very competitive in the Big 12, but they host Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas each year.

4) The Dallas Wings experience is relatively inexpensive and family-friendly. The area’s WNBA team includes Skylar Diggins-Smith, one of the game’s most talented and exciting stars. The games are played at UT-Arlington’s arena, creating an intimate experience without a bad seat. Don’t be deterred by their advertised ticket prices…use Pogo Pass to get into up to 3 games per season, or look for deals on Groupon.

For Soccer:
1) FC Dallas: I’m including them here even though they’re a major league team because you can get good seats for minor league prices. Toyota Stadium is a great venue, big enough to draw a loud crowd, but small enough that you can buy the cheapest ticket and you won’t be up in a nosebleed seat.

2) Dallas Sidekicks: I’m not a soccer fanatic, so when I first heard about an indoor professional soccer team, I was skeptical, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. We got a chance to have a group outing last season, and it was incredibly exciting. Because of the small playing area, the ball moves fast and the action doesn’t stop, creating an intense, high-energy atmosphere. Between the two teams, we saw 18 goals scored. I was also surprised at how physical the game was. I’m not sure I’d watch it on TV but was extremely fun to be there.

For Hockey:

1) Allen Americans – An affiliate of the NHL San Jose Sharks, this team draws top talent and has been at the top of the standings the last few seasons. If you’ve never seen live hockey from close seats, definitely give this a try. In my opinion, of the four major sports, the action of hockey translates the worst to TV, so seeing it live will be a whole new experience for those who have never been.

2) Lone Star Brahmas – this is a team of 18-20-year-olds who are hoping for college scholarships and attention from pro scouts. Several of their players end up on top division 1 NCAA hockey teams. Their arena is very small and it’s a great and low-cost way to watch quality hockey live.

For Football:
1) I’ve never seen indoor football before, so I asked group member Josh Graziani to guest-write about the Texas Revolution, who play in Allen: “The Texas Revolution indoor arena football games are intimate and action-packed. You get close-up experience of America’s favorite game and the team does a lot of giveaways and entertainment between quarters. The kids love it and the fans get into it. All of the games have great attendance and energy.” You can use Pogo Pass to get into some Revolution games each season.

2) College Football: This is a hard one to summarize.  If you go to see TCU, particularly against a big 12 rival, neither the game nor the impact on your wallet, will seem minor.  UNT and SMU would be more cost-effective choices but can be pricey for certain games.  There’s a lot of variances depending on who the opponent is.

Lastly, Some General Tips:

1) Before the game, go online and look at the rosters to learn the names of a few of the team’s key players.  When you’re there, point them out to your kids. They will feel more involved if they can cheer for the players by name.

2) Look at the promotions schedule before choosing the game you will attend. Many teams have days they give out free souvenirs such as jerseys, bobbleheads, etc. Your kids will get something cool and it won’t cost any extra. Some teams also have food deals like dollar hot dog nights.

3) Get there early.  Find a staff member to ask if there are any ways your kids can be involved. Some teams pick a kid to say “play ball”, announce a player, ride the Zamboni, or bring out the ball to start the game. Even if your kids don’t get to do any of those things, they can watch pre-game practice up close, or head to the area where players come on and off to get high fives.

4) Groupon and other similar websites can be your friend. Many of the local teams mentioned here run deals that can save you extra money.

*5) As mentioned above, Pogo Pass gets you into several games a year. Dallas Dads Group is an affiliate member of Pogo Pass.

The whistle blew three times causing my kids to jump in exuberance while their faces lit up with joy. By “my kids,” I’m talking about a soccer team that I coach. I have been a part of their lives for seven years. That’s 14 seasons of soccer — fall and spring. I would love to do the math and answer how many practices, games, and hours that I have spent with these kids, but I’m too tired right now to crunch numbers. Let’s say I’ve put in a lot of time. And so have they. After all this time, they are not just my players. They are my kids.

Back to the game …

The whistle blew and my kids ran around and hugged one another. Suddenly, water poured down my back and in my face. My first thought was, “They need to drink that water instead of wasting it.” I was afraid they would cramp up because they were running around in the hot sun. But, I went with the celebration.

At the start of the game, I shook the other coach’s hand and high-fived with the opposing team. We wished one another “good luck” and then I regrouped with my team. After pumping them up with excitement and doing my best Vince Lombardi impression, I released the kids to play their game. Playoff games for any age and sport are always emotional and difficult to keep in check. So I was prepared for a heightened game.

The refs started the game and a clash of 6^th graders began. My kids played their hearts out right from the get-go. The refs were letting the kids play, which in soccer means a lot of grabbing, shoving, and forearms. Calls were missed and made against both teams. Parents of the other team yelled at my kids and the refs. Curses flew across the field. My kids continued to play … and play hard.

Soccer parents gone wild

One of the opposing soccer parents, (I call him “angry bald man in blue shirt”) could not control himself. He shouted with hatred throughout the game. Another man, (I call him “angry man in baseball hat”) joined him in his hatred. I challenged my team to not be distracted and continue to play hard. A goal that should have counted for my team was called back. It went through the net and from where the ref stood, he didn’t see it go in. Since the ball went out the back of the net, he ruled against the goal. Actually, it was a goal. A parent has it on video. Anyway, we lined back up in positions and played hard without letting the missed call get to us. Finally, we scored a goal. Another half came and went and the whistle blew three times. We were champions.

After jumping around and after the dousing of water, we walked up to the line to shake the other team’s hands. Half the kids congratulated us and half said nothing. The coach was gracious and offered his congratulations. Some of the assistants shook my hand without saying a word. I turned to head over to where my son was celebrating so we could have a special father/son moment, when I heard shouts from the angry parents.

Angry hat man was next to a player that didn’t even play that much and shouted in his ear, “You don’t deserve this!” Stopping in my tracks, I walked over to him. His actions lit a fire inside my stomach and I yelled back, “Don’t talk to my kids, you talk to me!” He stared at me with hateful eyes and yelled again at my kids. I stepped closer knowing I had many little eyes and ears all around and spoke quietly, “If you have something to say, say it to me. Don’t you ever talk to my kids again.” A couple seconds passed before I joined the champions.

After celebrating and handing out trophies and taking pictures, I said goodbye to my kids and congratulated them on a great season. One kid that I have coached since the beginning, but doesn’t play often walked over to me and gave me a hug and said, “I love you Coach Jason.” I bet he would have done that even if we lost.

My kids … That’s who they are. And I love them. And apparently, they love me. I wonder if coaches who swear at their “players” receive and give the same thing. The same goes for the soccer parents on the sidelines.

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad.

You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but our favorite professional baseball, basketball, football, hockey and soccer players have a ton in common with wee toddlers. How so? Let us count the ways.

Almost immediately following his rookie season, former football player Keyshawn Johnson, stirred quite the controversy when he published an autobiography titled Just Give Me The Damn Ball in which he called one teammate a “mascot” and complained that his then team, the New York Jets, didn’t throw the ball his way enough. Many sportswriters ripped Johnson for having the gall to make such a demand, especially with just one season under his belt. Plenty of other ballplayers complain about playing time or get accused of hogging the ball (particularly in basketball). Now toddlers, they sure are ball hogs. Should a bunch of them have a ball you can almost guarantee there will be arguments about not sharing as well as tears and wails. At least they’re too young to write books.

2) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They break rules they know they’re not supposed to break.

Professional athletes break rules all the time, everything from skipping practice to blatantly injuring another player to taking performance-enhancing drugs. Former basketball player Allen Iverson had an infamous press conference in which he constantly used the phrase “We’re talking about practice!” when it leaked to the media that he kept missing mandatory Philadelphia 76er practice. He kept testing his then-coach, Hall-of-Famer Larry Brown, on the subject. He tested the media. He tested the Philadelphia faithful. Toddlers consistently test their boundaries with their parents. They know well enough not to climb on bookcases, but they do it anyway … again and again and again. Athletes receive punishments for rule breaking such as suspensions and fines. Toddlers receive timeouts or trips to the “penalty box” just like hockey players commit slashing penalties.

3) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They refuse to accept blame or admit mistakes.

How many times have you seen a football player cause an obvious penalty and then get up and act as if the referee were blind or had it in for him? “Me?? I didn’t do anything!” And how many times have you asked your toddler if they smeared ChapStick all over the television only to hear an unabashed “No!” For years cyclist Lance Armstrong denied using steroids despite piles and piles of evidence against him. He even destroyed people’s lives in order to protect his image. Meanwhile, toddlers break things; hit, kick or bite other kids; and destroy precious items and blame it on either siblings or imaginary creatures. Both professional athletics and toddlerhood are rife with the blame game and constant “I didn’t do it.” While all we can do is sit back and hope our ballplayer heroes stay clean, it’s our job as parents to teach our toddlers that admitting mistakes is OK and accepting blame is a part of life.

4) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They have a sense of entitlement.

As demonstrated above with Keyshawn Johnson and Allen Iverson, many professional athletes are egocentric and believe the world revolves around them. They also feel above the law as evidenced by hundreds of professional athletes getting arrested for DUIs or worse. Luckily toddlers aren’t going to commit crimes with the exceptions of occasionally unwittingly shoplifting a candy bar (it’s up to us parents to give it back) or stealing another kid’s property, but they sure are egomaniacal. How dare Mommy or Daddy go to work? How dare we say “no” to their demands to use a serrated knife by themselves? Unlike athletes who should know better, toddlers are pure id and it’s our job as parents to teach them right from wrong, instruct them on the importance of sharing, and explain why it’s important to keep those candy bars on the rack.

5) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They speak of themselves in the third person.

Speaking of egocentrism, how often have you heard an athlete say something ridiculous like,” Kobe Bryant needs to figure out what’s best for Kobe Bryant?” It seems like almost every athlete has forgotten “I” and instead goes right for the third person. Toddlers too skip “I” in favor of things like, “Sienna’s toothbrush!” or “Sienna’s hair!” but toddlers can be excused for such self-absorption since we’re repeatedly using our kids’ names in front of them so that they learn who they are and can distinguish themselves from others. Athletes have no such excuse, though you can blame the media which perpetuates this annoyance by asking stupid questions like, “How does Peyton Manning feel about playing for the Denver Broncos?”

6) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: Many of them have rituals.

Whether it’s Hall-of-Fame baseball player Wade Boggs’ infamous eating of chicken before every game or basketball star LeBron James’ throwing pre-game chalk-throwing, most athletes attend to some sort of ritual to assure good luck and performance. There are so many rituals in sports that it’s impossible to count them all. Some are superstitions; some are just embedded in the game’s culture. Toddlers also have rituals, particularly at bedtime. My daughter’s night-night liturgy includes: milk; a pink firefly that sprays blue stars across the ceiling; an often unintelligible conversation with a Hedwig puppet (Harry Potter’s owl); daddy and daughter singing “Rainbow Connection”; Kermit the Frog wishing her goodnight, telling her all her stuffed animal friends will watch over her during the night, and asking for a kiss and a hug; and finally a kiss goodnight and reinforcement of love from Mommy, Daddy or both. The night-night ceremony helps our daughter feel safe. Rituals help athletes feel focused. So long as something crazy like human sacrifice isn’t involved, it’s all good.

7. Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They like to make up funny dances.

I still need to capture some of the hilarious moves my daughter makes to things like “Billie Jean” and the Alf theme music, but football players are known for wonky post-touchdown dances and thankfully you can find Jimmy Fallon’s “Evolution of End Zone Dances” on YouTube. Enjoy!

I’m sure I’m just at the tip of the iceberg. What other ways are professional athletes like toddlers?

A version of this article first appeared on Raising Sienna. Main photo by jesse ramirez on Unsplash