From Cuddles to Courtside: Baby Steps into the Sports Arena

"Open your eyes, ref!", "Referee kayu!", "That was a foul, ref!" These were the words that involuntarily escaped my mouth as I stood courtside, watching my daughter represent her school in the recent MSSD Petaling Perdana Under-12 Handball tournament. It was her debut in a team sport, and let me tell you, the rollercoaster of emotions was in full swing. With each goal she scored (three in total, to be precise), my pride swelled like an overinflated balloon. But alas, her school's journey came to an end in the group stage, winning one game and losing three. 

As the tournament approached, I found myself in an interesting predicament. You see, I knew next to nothing about handball, apart from what I gleaned from sporadic TV viewing, usually during the Olympics. But armed with memories of my father, or as I affectionately call him, Papa, and his tenure as my field hockey coach, I ventured into coaching territory. Hey, sports are sports, right? So, I borrowed whatever I could from his coaching techniques, hoping they would magically transfer to the world of handball. It was a case of trial and error, sprinkled with a healthy dose of wishful thinking.

Now, let me tell you a bit about my dear Papa. He was a man of many talents. Not only did he work a full-time job, but he also dedicated his evenings to coaching his boys' and girls' hockey teams. It was like witnessing a one-man show, complete with a whistle, clipboard, and a seemingly endless supply of enthusiasm. He was a disciplinarian through and through, showing no mercy on the field. If you were good enough to play, you played, regardless of colour, race, or religion. Papa was an equal-opportunity coach. I'll never forget the time a star player, who was already representing the national junior team, showed up late for a school game. He strutted over to my father, asking with an air of entitlement, "So coach, where's my position?" Without even flinching, Papa pointed unapologetically to the bench, and that's precisely where the star player remained for the entire game. Ah, the sweet taste of humility!

Now, when I think about following in Papa's coaching footsteps, I have to chuckle. Could I ever be like him? The answer is a resounding "no." Why, you ask? Well, my dear reader, my father had a knack for allowing his children to carve their own paths in life. He never pushed us to fulfil his unfulfilled dreams or forced us into pursuits we had no interest in. And that's the very same lesson I aim to pass on to my daughter. It's easy for us parents to get caught up in the desire to live vicariously through our children, nudging them toward the activities we wish we could have excelled in ourselves. But as Christians, we are called to surrender to God's guidance and let the Holy Spirit be their compass.

So, in the wise words of my beloved Papa, always be prepared to "cari lorong" (find your own paths) and, most importantly, open your eyes! Life is a constant series of choices, and we must encourage our children to explore their own passions and discover their own unique journeys. Sometimes, we have to step back and allow them to make their own mistakes and learn from them. It's a delicate balancing act between guidance and independence.

As I reflect on the recent tournament and my role as both a coach and a parent, I realise that I can never truly step into my father's shoes. And that's perfectly alright. Each of us has our own path to forge, including my daughter. As much as I adore my Papa's coaching legacy, I understand that my daughter's journey is entirely her own. My job as a parent is to offer support, guidance, and, of course, the occasional humorous outburst from the sidelines. It's about finding that delicate balance between nurturing her growth and allowing her the freedom to discover her passions on her terms.

In conclusion, my fellow sports parents, let's approach this wild ride of parenting with a healthy dose of humour. Cheer on our children, laugh at our own overzealous outbursts and embrace the joy, tears, and occasional absurdity that comes with the territory. It's a marathon, not a sprint, and our role is to be their biggest fans and loudest cheerleaders. So, as we navigate the unpredictable world of sports parenting, let's remember to open our eyes, support our kids, and enjoy the hilarious journey. And who knows, maybe our sideline antics will become the stuff of legend, providing laughter for years to come. Cheers to surviving and thriving in the adventure of sports parenting!