Every game? AKA: Is it OK to be an OK "hockey" mom?

I have seen this article link to article posted a few times on Facebook.  I responded to someone last night, and it wasn't a "bad" discussion, but I could tell the person who posted it was a little annoyed by me.

Something about the tone of this article bothers me.  The author does acknowledge, right at the end, that trying matters (I do agree), but most of it makes it sound like the BEST way to parent is to go to EVERY game your kid is in, no matter what. Her parents had "demanding" jobs and THEY were able to do it, so everyone should be able to do it if they just try hard enough.

First, this is SO full of unacknowledged privilege, I can barely handle it, but if I just ignore that large elephant, it still rubs me wrong.  Part of it is the responses I read.  So self congratulatory.  

I am a hockey mom (only one of my twin boys).  I am not wired, by nature, to be a "sporty" mom.  I am working really hard faking it until I make it.  I have partially "made it", but I am also a goalie mom, so I don't know I will ever LOVE the game as the other players' moms---but that is a post for another day. Travel hockey is a part-time job.  I am trying not be resentful of the time it requires.  Last year (first year Squirts), I missed a couple scrimmages and a game (out of about 28 or so).  This year I have missed two scrimmages and probably will not miss any more. Yes, I resented having a tournament on Thanksgiving weekend this year.  Yes, I feel bad for my other son who is not in hockey.  We try to give him attention too and let him get a bigger birthday present due to all we spend on the other one, but it is hard.  Last year, the game I missed was because my non-hockey son was in a play.  My DH and my other son missed the performance due to hockey.  That pretty much sucked all the way around.

I admit, I don't understand people who don't go to any or only one or two games a season (unless they work during that time), but on the other hand, I think it is OK to miss from time to time (or even half the time depending on the life situation).  Kids love to know they are important and you care and this shows it, but they also need to know that the world does not begin and end with them, and I think it is judgmental and unrealistic to put this additional martyrdom on parents. Moderation, moderation, moderation..... 

What are your thoughts on this? 


_____________________________________________________________________

Article: 
When I was growing up, both of my parents had demanding jobs. We lived in the suburbs and they worked in the city — my mom a court reporter, my dad a lawyer. They would endure the usually long and annoying commute back and forth every day, and many nights they'd still have some work to do when they got home. But while I know that now, my sister and I almost never felt that when we were younger. All we knew was that they were there . . . for every single thing.

At every game, I would search for their faces in the stands. When I found them, I knew I mattered. I knew my dreams mattered.

The big sport in my family has always been basketball. My dad played in college, and I pretty much attempted to dribble a ball as soon as I could walk. I begged to be in an endless amount of little leagues, went to basketball camp in the Summer, and played for my school's team in the Winter. When I got to high school, it became my top priority (and also took up most of my free time). And throughout my 15-plus years of playing basketball, my parents were at every single game. Every. One.


While I always loved seeing their faces in the stands, I didn't realize until I got older just how hard it must have been for them to do that. I know they must have had to leave work early a lot, endure long drives to faraway schools, fight their way through notoriously bad Midwestern snowstorms, and forget any personal stress to enthusiastically cheer me on. And since my sister played too, and we sometimes had games on the same day, they would divide and conquer to make sure we both had one of them there. No matter what was going on in their lives, they always, without fail, made being there for us a priority. It could have been the championship game during my senior year or a scrimmage in a just-for-fun Summer league — they were there.

When I look back on it now, having them at every game mattered more to me than I can probably ever explain. I wanted to show my dad that I listened to his tips during our Saturday morning practices in the driveway. I wanted to show my mom that I was as dedicated to the game as I told her I was. I wanted to prove that I was better at hustling down the court than my sister (sorry, sis — love you). I wanted to make them proud.


At every game, I would search for their faces in the stands. When I found them, I knew I mattered. I knew my dreams, no matter how silly or far-fetched they may have seemed, mattered. Whenever I would score points or play good defense, I would look up at my dad for his thumbs-up signal and listen for my mom's slightly embarrassing roar. Just like in every other aspect of my life, my parents proved I could rely on them. And that feeling has stuck with me throughout my life.

I know it isn't always possible or easy to show up and be at every game, but parents, even if you think it's no big deal (and even if your kids say it's no big deal), it matters. And if you can't be there, trying matters. I don't remember a lot of the birthday gifts I got growing up or cookies I ate before dinner, but I vividly remember my mom and dad, in their work suits and jackets, walking into every game I ever played.