There's nothing quite like watching your children.
They can be doing anything: Eating, playing, coloring. Whatever it is, you're convinced your child is a prodigy and, surely, there are no smarter children of the same age anywhere else in the world.
My boys are both playing hockey now, and let me tell you, that illusion has come quickly crashing down. Don't get me wrong. I still well up a little bit each and every time I watch them skate, but clearly, there are better hockey players out there. I hear my dad's voice: "Son, there will always be someone better than you."
Michael is the slow and methodical skater, making sure each and every motion is done to perfection. His skills are developing but he doesn't have speed yet. Anthony, on the other hand, is all about speed. His form is ugly, and he is known as "crazy legs" in the KOHA learn-to-skate circle because of his complete inability to control most of his body as he jets around the ice at top speed.
They both make me smile and I love them both more than I ever thought possible. Perhaps that's why I'm able to laugh at their shortcomings while revelling in the absolute joy of fatherhood.
It wasn't so long ago my wife and I had the conversation about what kinds of "hockey parents" we'd be. Of course, she was convinced I'd be the dad in the stands coaching his kids, berating the other team and correcting the officials, all at the top of my generous and well-exercised lungs.
Actually, quite the opposite is true. I don't like to yell. I enjoy watching them and smiling... or frowning, if the occasion calls for it. I guess it all boils down to this: I don't need my boys to play hockey. I just want them to find something they are as passionate about as I am about hockey. The tuba, sculpture, cars, ballet or hunting. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as they're passionate about it.
But hockey was a logical place to start, don't you think?
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