Not-so-Angry Birds
On Sunday, we were Eagles.
Philadelphia Eagles, that is.
In the afternoon, Myles and I each donned our Eagles apparel ahead of the evening game featuring Philly against the rival New York Giants. And it seemed that Myles couldn't be more excited to sport the midnight green of Daddy's favorite team.
And that prompted anew some thoughts I previously entertained regarding passing sports fandom onto another generation.
As fun as it was to see a toddler's unbridled enthusiasm — an apparent "Proud Papa" moment to see my boy getting fired up about the same team I like, even if he doesn't fully realize who the Eagles are — it stirred some worry within me.
When he was still tiny, I made up my mind that I didn't care what teams he ended up calling his favorite — and I also don't care if he never likes sports. It doesn't matter to me if he likes teams that I don't like; I'm more concerned about things like his spelling ability.
I wish I could say I was always either happy or calm while watching sporting events through the years. I wasn't, and youthful energy often was channeled into anger, making things unpleasant for anyone else in the house. Nobody was physically harmed, but it couldn't have been a good experience for those around me.
Youthful angst is a given in life, and it will probably be manifested through one activity or another. I just feared my boy getting worked up about something that I've come to realize in recent years isn't very important and has no tangible effect on my life in the grand scheme of things.
And then I thought, well, that's part of what growing up is about. When you're very young, there are minuscule parts of the world that, to you, are the world. Then you grow, and you gain perspective, and you might feel embarrassed or guilty about how much emotion you invested into certain pursuits, and whom you might have hurt by doing so.
So the first instinct as a parent was to not want my child to get all wrapped up in this silly, violent game of American football. The irrational things that sports fans are capable of doing present too much of a natural temptation to fall into. Let him collect stamps or something inherently harmless.
Night fell. The Eagles won. Monday morning came.
I was getting ready for work when Cindy came in the room and said, "You have to see this. He's spiking your Eagles football and dancing!" (The Eagles football, when thrown to the ground, says "Touchdown Eagles!" "E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES!" and plays the Eagles fight song.)
I peered into his room, and when the ball said "Touchdown Eagles!" he repeated it with joy. When it played the fight song, he danced around the room with his contagious smile. He was having a blast.
And that's all that mattered. What he was doing at that moment was making him happy, and it wasn't worth my worries about him becoming a riotous, reveling sports fan. He'll grow, he'll learn, and he'll follow his heart with what makes him happy.
Whatever lifts your wings, buddy boy :)
Philadelphia Eagles, that is.
In the afternoon, Myles and I each donned our Eagles apparel ahead of the evening game featuring Philly against the rival New York Giants. And it seemed that Myles couldn't be more excited to sport the midnight green of Daddy's favorite team.
And that prompted anew some thoughts I previously entertained regarding passing sports fandom onto another generation.
As fun as it was to see a toddler's unbridled enthusiasm — an apparent "Proud Papa" moment to see my boy getting fired up about the same team I like, even if he doesn't fully realize who the Eagles are — it stirred some worry within me.
When he was still tiny, I made up my mind that I didn't care what teams he ended up calling his favorite — and I also don't care if he never likes sports. It doesn't matter to me if he likes teams that I don't like; I'm more concerned about things like his spelling ability.
I wish I could say I was always either happy or calm while watching sporting events through the years. I wasn't, and youthful energy often was channeled into anger, making things unpleasant for anyone else in the house. Nobody was physically harmed, but it couldn't have been a good experience for those around me.
Youthful angst is a given in life, and it will probably be manifested through one activity or another. I just feared my boy getting worked up about something that I've come to realize in recent years isn't very important and has no tangible effect on my life in the grand scheme of things.
And then I thought, well, that's part of what growing up is about. When you're very young, there are minuscule parts of the world that, to you, are the world. Then you grow, and you gain perspective, and you might feel embarrassed or guilty about how much emotion you invested into certain pursuits, and whom you might have hurt by doing so.
So the first instinct as a parent was to not want my child to get all wrapped up in this silly, violent game of American football. The irrational things that sports fans are capable of doing present too much of a natural temptation to fall into. Let him collect stamps or something inherently harmless.
Night fell. The Eagles won. Monday morning came.
I was getting ready for work when Cindy came in the room and said, "You have to see this. He's spiking your Eagles football and dancing!" (The Eagles football, when thrown to the ground, says "Touchdown Eagles!" "E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES!" and plays the Eagles fight song.)
I peered into his room, and when the ball said "Touchdown Eagles!" he repeated it with joy. When it played the fight song, he danced around the room with his contagious smile. He was having a blast.
And that's all that mattered. What he was doing at that moment was making him happy, and it wasn't worth my worries about him becoming a riotous, reveling sports fan. He'll grow, he'll learn, and he'll follow his heart with what makes him happy.
Whatever lifts your wings, buddy boy :)
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