That other moment of pride in my son

I’m so proud of my little boy.

Today, he went to his first (and only?) summer hockey practice. He didn’t know anyone there. He’s hardly an all-star player. It was hot.

Despite a bevy of reasons to go and just kind of mail it in, he went out and represented himself well.  He tried hard. He was polite, respectful, and attentive. He made mistakes, but he learned from them. He did the little things like waiting until the right times to take a water break, and the big things like being friendly and outgoing with his new teammates. He did everything I could have hoped he would, and most importantly he got in the car afterward and said “Dad, I really liked hockey today. I had a lot of fun.”

I hope that when I told him today (and every day) how proud I am of him – he felt only joy and never worries about letting me or anyone else down, ’cause that’s an awful feeling I would never wish on anyone.

For some reason, this little boy thinks I’m the greatest person in the world. Every time he tells me so, I feel a mix of joy, agony, and anxiety – joy that he loves me so much, agony knowing that the real me falls far short of his perceptions, and anxiety about the day he figures that all out.

My son, though, he’s the real deal: a good person with heart, compassion, and empathy for anyone and everyone. And I’m very proud of who he is and what he does – today, and every day.

Contributed by: Scott Copperman


Leave a Reply