About a year ago, I wrote about how my younger son went out for rugby and how it knocked me out of my comfort zone. He and his older brother had been soccer players almost as long as they'd been able to kick a ball (an affliction they'd inherited from me), and I'd relied on the lessons the game teaches to help them navigate the world.
There are a ton of concepts that translate well from the pitch into real life, and the fact was that I'd been using that as a crutch. It was easy because I knew what I was talking about and could quickly translate it into whatever life lesson I wanted to teach them. With a new sport came new parents, new rules, and new frontiers—exciting stuff for him, maddening for me.
How do you root for your kid when you're not even sure how the game is played?
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