Over breakfast this morning before getting on the bus, my son casually mentioned that he planned to try out for his middle school’s lacrosse team in the spring. He’s been avoiding playing this particular sport for a while, and we haven’t pushed it because that’s what his dad coaches for his career. So, I try to ask nonchalantly why there was a change of heart.
“I am sick of the awkwardness whenever someone asks me if I play like my dad did.”
My heart immediately sank, but I can’t say I blame him. I’ve been dodging and passing off this question since the moment we announced it was a boy in my belly 13 years ago. It’s exhausting how everyone assumes the same scenario. The conversations tend to all go the same general way . . .
Them: Your son must always have a stick in his hand!
Me: No, not really.
Them: Oh, well, who does he play for since your husband probably doesn’t have the time to coach him too?
Me: He doesn’t play lacrosse. He’s into basketball and, more recently, football.
Them (with a blatant look of shock on their faces): He doesn’t play?! Oh, that must be devastating to your husband.
Please, don’t get me wrong, I know it comes from a place of genuine good-heartedness because who doesn’t love a good father/son story? But I’m not raising a miniature version of my husband. I am raising my son to be who he wants and do what he enjoys—even if it’s something I don’t particularly understand.
So, first and foremost, I reassure my son that he doesn’t have to make other people comfortable because they don’t understand his decisions.
Secondly, my husband’s response, which in all reality carries more weight for my son, is the same. “I don’t want you to play unless you really want to play. I don’t care what everyone else thinks.” He’s also been known to say, “I’ve lived my life, and I am satisfied with everything that I’ve accomplished. I don’t need to live vivaciously through my son.”
So, it seems my husband is also not raising a miniature version of himself. He’s raising his son to figure out who he is meant to be for himself.
Are we able to really communicate that to anyone asking the same old question, “Your son doesn’t play?” Not really. They never truly hear our answer. But that’s okay because our son did. We will repeat it nonstop to him even if he does end up playing the sport his dad coaches.
And I’ll say it again for the ones who may not have understood it all the other times. We are not raising a miniature version of my husband. And that’s okay. We have seen it enough times to know that by the time kids get to us, at the college level, and finally experience independence, they realize they no longer have to do something just because their parents wanted them to. They start to make their own decisions. And most of the time, it’s in the complete opposite direction.
So, as of right now at least: No, he doesn’t play my husband’s sport. And yes, we are totally okay with that. Even if he does try out, he’s picked the other side of the ball anyway. We are raising our son to find his own path. Because he eventually will anyway.
by Valli Vida Gideons 
