How 32 Seconds with My Dad Reset My Parenting Perspective

“Every parent should have to do that at least once.”

I don’t remember exactly what year it was, but I’m guessing I was about a Junior or Senior in high school at the time. We were visiting my grandparents on a holiday break, and my dad and I scaled the fence of a local high school track early on a Saturday morning so I could get some speed work in.

When we traveled, my dad usually accompanied me on my adventures, sneaking out onto tracks for workouts. He would time me, cheer me on, and be a lookout for me if it looked like someone was coming over to ask us to leave.

My plan on this particular morning was to do 16 x 200-meter intervals at 32-34 seconds each. I don’t remember my rest between intervals, but it was likely either a 1-minute standing rest or a 200-meter jog.

I was about halfway through my 200s when my dad felt inspired.

“You know, I want to try one or two of these with you to see what I can do.”

To be clear, Dad and I weren’t necessarily training partners in the traditional sense. He was more strength-oriented. I was lean and more endurance-minded. Physically built very differently. Outside of the one time we both ran a local 5k together and he outsprinted a woman pushing a stroller on the final stretch, we never really ran together. Dad would either serve as a cheerleader/coach on track workouts or pace me on a bicycle on longer runs.

My pace on the 200s this particular morning wasn’t all out at all. After all, I had to do a lot of them without dying off. So on the next interval, my dad toed the line with me at the 200-meter mark, and off we went.

To his credit, he hung with me most of the way. His speed was pretty good for someone who hadn't really ever done this! I was a high school boy and, not missing the opportunity to beat my dad at something, I picked up the pace a little at the end, hitting a second or two faster than my target pace. Fast enough to beat him but not ruin my workout.

I felt loose and good. Dad had done one interval at the pace I had held all morning and was gassed. I did a few more intervals, and dad joined me for one last one. Being at the end of my workout, we both went all out. I ended my workout with a 28-second split or so, with dad following up with something in the low 30s, a shade slower than the pace I had held for my full workout.

He and I were both doubled over at the finish line. As we caught our breath, he looked at me and said, “I have way more respect for what you all do after that.”

At this point in time, Dad had seen me join my teammates in raising a state championship trophy over our heads - multiple times. He’d seen nearly every race I’d ever run and knew the splits of most of my workouts. However, it was in that moment of actually feeling what I felt daily, going through that pain cave and finding my way out again, that everything really clicked.

“Every parent should have to do that at least once.”

That moment changed both of us. It changed how he saw me run. It changed how I watch my own kids do their thing today.

Not Being That Parent

If you’ve been to any youth sporting event, you know what I’m talking about. It’s one thing to be vocal and hype up your kid and cheer for their effort. It’s another thing to micromanage their performance all the way through. Being all over their kid every time they make a misstep or fall short of whatever imaginary expectation their parents have. It was even prevalent in cross-country, where some parents would jump all over their kids for having an off day, not empathizing with how brutally hard that sport is.

Dad was all too familiar with those parents, which likely prompted his post-workout comment.

Building that empathy gland is one way I’ve tried to avoid being that parent. I joined an over-30 soccer league to understand what it’s like out on the field for my youngest (Ford).

I never played soccer growing up. In fact, the first real soccer game of my life was last year! However, going through the motions of chasing people up and down the field, taking hits, and continuously doing what I consider a “shuttle run from Hell” while still maintaining foot-eye coordination makes me respect what Ford does in his games more. I hope to never have him yell at me (like I saw one kid yell at his overly-vocal mom after he had enough in a soccer game once):

“You come out here and do it then!”

This past New Year’s Day, we joined our oldest daughter at her karate dojo for a morning of working out, doing many of the same exercises on the hardwood floor she does several times a week. While I also did karate at her age, joining her on her floor and experiencing it as she did made her endeavor more relatable for all of us.

Changing the Feedback Loop

Building empathy, trying to put myself (literally) in my kids' shoes in their sports, has also impacted how I cheer for them on the sidelines. We don’t jump on them when something doesn’t go their way. I try to cheer hard for them, not just when they do something well, but when it’s obvious they were making the right effort, but just fell short of what they were trying to do. I feel like verbally rewarding that effort makes the game more fun and also keeps them from being so risk-averse, out of fear of failure, that they never grow.

After games, Megan and I both usually ask, “Did you have fun?” before anything else.

I never give Ford pointers because, at this point, his domain expertise in soccer far exceeds mine. Who am I to tell him anything? Most of the time, after a game, he just wants the next snack and to chill. He leads the conversation on whether we should talk about the game.

With Campbell, especially in basketball, our feedback loop is led by Campbell. She just started her season recently, and on the way home from practice or a game, she’ll proactively ask, “What is one thing you saw that I could do better?” Coming from an elementary school girl, that’s a huge desire for growth. It also invites conversation and doesn’t require me to share unsolicited opinions.

All of that, my mentality to youth sports and expectations for my own kids as they play, stems from that one moment with my dad that cold morning out on the track 20+ years ago.

“Every parent should have to do that at least once.”