Why it doesn’t matter that my dad never came to any of my games

As a parent of three boys, and as I walk with many parents in their journey of raising children, it seems that “being at all our kids' games/recitals/events” is a key priority. It’s almost like for our generation of parents, this priority is supposed to act as a key signal to us, to our kids, and to everyone else, that we are good parents.

Make no mistake, quantity of time with our kids matters, just as much as quality. So yes, showing an interest in the things our kids are interested in, and being physically present with them at key moments of victory or defeat, star player or bench-warmer, is important. 

But can I just suggest that there is far more to parenting than that? In fact, there may be other more important things we need to do for our kids than show up at all their events. At the risk of projecting my experience onto others, here’s what I mean:

I cannot remember my dad coming to most, or any, of my baseball games growing up. I mean, maybe one or two, but usually I biked myself there and back. Truth be told, I was no prodigy. My baseball games were - ahem - forgettable. Maybe that had something to do with it? Unlikely. He wouldn’t have known either way. We played catch in the backyard a lot, but in terms of game attendance, he was rarely present.

But here’s what he did all the time that I’ll never forget. Not just because it happened so frequently. But because these things truly shaped and changed my life, FAR MORE than his attendance at one of my house league baseball games could ever have. And because of these things, I have never once questioned his love and commitment to me. And He set an example I have aspired to emulate.

Every night, from the time I could remember, he sat on the edge of my bed, prayed blessings over my life, kissed my forehead and told me he loved me. Every night. For a left-brain nuclear engineer raised by stoic Indian parents in a New Delhi suburb, he was blazing new trails, no doubt.

Virtually every evening we ate dinner together as a family. Getting a “nuthin” from me in response to his question about how my day was didn’t seem to deter him one bit from asking it again the next night. He cared about what was going in my life.

Every day he told my mom that he loved her. Even more after they had argued. I never heard him speak an unkind word to her, and I don’t ever remember him raising his voice at my sister and I, even though we did on the regular.

Every week I saw him vacuum and wash dishes as my parents hosted people from all walks of life for Friday night dinners. This man who had graduated top of his class from IIT (in Delhi) and then went on to crush a Masters in Fluid Mechanics and Heat transfer at Boston’s prestigious MIT loved to listen to and walk with anyone who had a relational, spiritual or emotional need. 

And while he chose to leave a career that paid quite well for non-profit work, he neither carried a scarcity mindset nor a stingy one. My parents regularly gave whatever they had to people in need, trusting that God would have their back when they were in need. Which He did.

And in the many times of my own need for emotional or spiritual support, He was always available. To this day.

I say all this to remind myself and other parents like me that physical presence is one thing. But words of love and encouragement, regular practice of generosity and service, and visible demonstrations of faith (vs. fear) are another thing entirely. These things shape a life and leave a decades-long impact. 

Take a moment to reflect on this (whether in the context of parenting or any key relationships):

• Are words of love and affirmation readily spoken and heard in my home?
• Do my actions demonstrate a willingness to serve others ahead of myself?
• Do my kids (young or adult) see me taking risks or living with a scarcity mind-set?
• Am I in relationships with people of different socio-economic, education or ethnic backgrounds?

Brad Pedersen

Vijay Krishnan

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