Kids and Dads and Sports

I’m going to a Pirates game with my dad this week. It should be a lot of fun. I have a lot of memories of watching sports with my dad. Not all of them are memories of actually attending the games, but the best ones are. That got me thinking of how much I’m looking forward to watching sports with my own kids. They really aren’t all that into it yet. My oldest is a little younger than I was when I fell in love with baseball. I would stay up nights, trying to tune into the Pirates games on my clock radio. I figure that it is my duty as a dad to properly induct the boys into sports fandom.

I started both of my kids young. We have pictures of them in the hospital, shortly after they were born, wrapped in Terrible Towels. If they grow up to be anything other than Steelers, Penguins, and Pirates fans, I think a paternity test may be in order. I was prepared when my oldest asked me why all his other friends were fans of our local teams. “Well, son. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t born into our family. Remember, you are American by birth, and a Steelers fan by the grace of God.” I am also ready for the whole second favorite team question, if that ever comes around. “Son.  Real sports fans don’t have second favorite teams. Let me explain it this way. If we are watching a movie, and the hero dies, do we then start rooting for one of the villains? No, we get a little bit sad, and then we wonder why we are watching a foreign film.”

Sports is a great thing for dads and kids to share. But it is more than that. When you enter the world of being a sports fan, you become part of something bigger. You enter a fraternity of sorts. A group of people from all walks of life and cultural backgrounds, who are emotionally invested in one common thing. It’s kind of remarkable. I want  my kids to be part of that. I want them to feel what it’s like to celebrate at a football playoff game in zero degree windchill. To jump up and down, and hug the guy next to you, even though you have no idea who he is and he smells like the whiskey that he snuck into the game. I was driving down the highway shortly after the Steelers won their fifth Superbowl, and the driver in the lane next to me started honking. I looked over, and there was a guy I had worked for a year previously. I hadn’t seen him in a while. We were both Steelers fans.  We rolled down our windows and proceeded to have a shouting conversation about the Superbowl while driving sixty miles an hour. I want my kids to be part of that. Well, maybe not exactly that. That was actually kind of dangerous. Two years ago when the Pirates made the playoffs for the first time since the early nineties, I got to go to one of the playoff games with my parents. They won. The place was electric. I want my kids to be part of that.

It doesn’t matter who your team is. (Unless you are Patriots fan) Sharing sports with your kids is special. It’s timeout from everyday stresses. It’s three hours of bonding and group therapy.