I almost blurted it out. Under a weighty load of frustration my fatherly resolve was nearly crumbling.

The words came out in my head. “You’re wasting our time!” echoed between my ears, reverberating off of my skull as pursed lips held the mess of emotion that stewed within.

With great effort I swallowed a lump of aggravation and looked onto the skating rink where my son laid face down, swishing small mounds of shaved ice in his glove, oblivious to his instructors and indifferent to the circumstances of his class. Not a drop of sweat permeated from his brow. On this particular evening he hadn’t the faintest interest in participating in the activities at hand: simpler things distracted him.

The frustration I felt was new. It was helpless and confined by the boards in the arena. For the first time as a parent involvement in my son’s activity was beyond arms length, out of reach from my guiding hands. I would not get the satisfaction of addressing his behaviour. It was a minor loss of control but I felt like I was flailing. Deep down I knew that this was normal. It would make me a better dad and that evening I would grow more than he.

Why was he just laying there, drawn to the inanimate frozen surface? In the horizon of his narrowed view were buzzing kids laughing, playing and learning.

My frustration settled into a perplexed state, that upon reflection had nothing to do with my son. I was accommodating to his interest in sport. I was supporting him with my time and directing resources toward his desire to play hockey. Why would he take that for granted?

I knew he didn’t.

It wasn’t a proud moment.

My parental composure was exhausted.

Maybe he wasn’t prepared for the parameters being placed around his play? Or perhaps he was JUST SIMPLY TIRED.

After his practice I mustered up my remaining cool. I took a deep breath and explained the importance of participating; the value in giving it a shot; the benefits of listening to instruction.

I feared that any hint of disappointment would have ruined him and stifled his willingness to give a sport he expressed interest in a fair shot. If there were to be disappointment that evening, it would be my own.

Although it may have been difficult at the time, I needed to remind my son that I enjoy providing him opportunities to participate in sport, or any other activities, and that there are no strings attached.

Yes, he should appreciate these opportunities, but must not be made, even unintentionally, to feel guilty about them.

Collectively, we need to recognize that sport is not about parents but it’s about kids. Every interaction, activity or experience will have a lasting affect on their lives, whether positive or negative, and will help shape who they are. Children should never be made to feel bad about not liking an activity; they should be commended for having the courage to try something new.

There will many points of frustration throughout my son’s involvement in sport. Reflecting on my recent experience, I am happy that I made the effort to consider how I was feeling and how I would communicate my filtered emotions.

We want what’s best for our kids. We want them to have fun, to have experiences, to be subjected to opportunities. But this will sometimes come at a cost. There is a fine line between encouragement and pressure that is often shrouded by a selfish desire to see our kids succeed.

The best we can do for our kids is to remind ourselves to err on the side of encouragement. Because it’s not our job to tell them what sport they will love or to impose lofty expectations on them. Our job is to take the time to listen to what their goals are and do our best to help our sons and daughters achieve them.