Confessions of a Hockey Dad

I have two boys—a 2014 and a 2017. Notice how I didn’t say their ages, but their birth years instead? That’s just how it goes in youth hockey. The first thing that matters isn’t how old they are, but what year they were born. That number decides what team they’re on, who they play with, and who they play against for years to come.

Maddox, my 2014, started skate lessons at three years old. Today, he’s playing 12U AA. Looking back at his early days, I can laugh at how much I didn’t know as a hockey parent. Like a lot of moms and dads, I used to yell from the stands during his 8U games—“Skate!” “Go!” “Get the puck!” I thought I was helping, or at the very least showing support.

But he secretly hated it.

One day, when he was seven, he turned to me after a game and said, “You don’t have to yell at me.” Just like that. Seven years old and already teaching me something I didn’t even know I needed to learn. From that day on, I haven’t yelled while the puck was in play.

Parenting has a funny way of humbling you like that. We spend so much time teaching and guiding our kids, that we sometimes forget they’re also guiding us—just in quieter ways.

I’ll never pretend to know the X’s and O’s of hockey. I’m not a coach, and I don’t try to be one. What I do talk to Maddox about are the things I know will last longer than a season: effort, focus, and being a good teammate. To me, those three things matter more than goals or wins. They’ll carry him far, not only on the ice but in life.

Being a Hockey Dad has already taught me more than I expected—not just about the game, but about being a parent. The best part is there are a whole different set of lessons I’m learning from Miles, my 2017. That I will share in the future.