Bye-bye, bleachers: Life as a sports parent comes to an end

After 20 years, my career as a sports parent is over.

A journey that took me to playing fields and gymnasiums in 35 cities in Kansas – and two in Missouri – ended quietly in a gym at Maize High School last Saturday. A determined – but slightly overmatched – Wichita Northwest volleyball team lost to Maize in the Class 6A substate finals.

So that’s it.

No more uniforms hanging in the laundry room. No volleyball backpacks, adorned with green and pink ribbons, lying in the hallway.

No trips to Hesston in the dark for a volleyball tournament. No trips home from Hesston in the dark after a volleyball tournament.

No more tears from poor performances or not enough playing time. No more smiles after a big win or a nice play.

I have always enjoyed sports. I played basketball, baseball and hockey in my youth with great enthusiasm, but not much skill.

I’m probably the only student at my high school to get cut from the baseball team three times. It probably would have been four had the coach, noting my work at the school paper, not subtly hinted that journalism might be a better use of my time. Turns out he was right.

I was a sportswriter for The Eagle for nearly seven years, and later sports editor. So it was easy for me to quietly watch my three children play because one of the commandments of sportswriting – no cheering in the press box – remained deeply ingrained, even though I was now sitting in the bleachers.

I tried to watch games like a sportswriter, and then later, when my children got into high school, like a grandparent: Just happy to watch them play and enjoy the moment together.

I also had simple rules for my children when they participated in sports: play hard, have fun, be a good teammate. I figured that might also serve them well in future endeavors off the playing field.

Now, having said all that, did I want them to win every game they played? I did. And did I always diligently watch the scoreboard and occasionally remind the person in charge of it when the score was incorrect? I did, sometimes loudly.

But I only got reprimanded once by a referee when I was coaching (I coached all of my children in at least one of the six sports they played). He was having trouble with a rules interpretation, and I was trying to help him out. Really.

And I never asked for divine intervention in the outcome of a game, figuring the One Great Scorer had bigger concerns than whether the Sting beat the Wave. I did, though, wear my late father’s watch to most games, so I had a heavenly pipeline just in case.

So come next fall, I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself. I’m sure my wife – who rates sporting events on the quality of the nachos served – will have a couple of suggestions.

At times – especially when you’re sitting on unforgiving bleachers in Towanda watching a ragged display of basketball early on a Sunday morning – you think your life as a sports parent will never end.

But that window will close, just like so many others in your child’s life.

Enjoy all the moments you can while the window is open. And keep a close eye on the scoreboard.

This story was originally published October 28, 2014 at 3:58 PM with the headline "Bye-bye, bleachers: Life as a sports parent comes to an end."