Why Your Kid’s Hockey Journey Isn’t About Your Hopes and Lost Dreams (and That’s Okay)
There’s a sacred moment in every hockey parent’s life when you stare into the chilly void of a rink at 6:15 AM and wonder, “Why the hell am I here? Is this… for them or me?” Maybe your caffeine hasn’t kicked in. Maybe the Zamboni fumes are making you goofy and sentimental. Or maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to realize that your child’s hockey “career” is not a reboot of your own broken dreams on the blue line.
Take a breath. Hug yourself. It’s okay. You’re not alone.
1: The Echo of the Missed Breakaway
Let’s be honest: Some of us parents once played. Maybe we peaked at 14. Maybe we rode the pine on JV. Maybe we crushed it at the Prep School level. Maybe we were “this close” to making juniors before a shoulder injury, a girlfriend, or a sudden fascination with Metallica or Smashing Pumpkins derailed us. Regardless, that past life lives on, deep inside, like a nostalgic VHS highlight reel that you can still hear the sound of the rewind—one you often cue up mentally while watching your kid skate.
So when your son misses that pass you know you would’ve blasted into the back of the net over the goalie’s glove in your hay days, or your daughter hesitates on a breakaway, a tiny voice whispers:
“She needs to work harder. She’s not being aggressive enough. She’s wasting her shot.”
That voice is your past. That voice’s your childhood. And it wants a do-over. But here’s the deal: this isn’t your revitalizing tour. Its not another reboot of New Kids on The Block. It’s their journey.
And journeys are supposed to be rough, tough, and messy.
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2: The “Mini-Me” Myth
It’s easy to believe our kids are little extensions of ourselves. They’ve got our last name on the back of their jerseys, after all. But here’s where things get slippery: they’re not you. They might share your eyes, your wrist shot, even your terrible habit of not tying their skates tight enough—but they are entirely their own person.
Let’s say you were a grinder who loved blocking shots and throwing bodies. Your kid might be a finesse skater who prefers toe-drags over toe picks and truck stops. That doesn’t mean they’re soft. It just means they’re them.
Your role isn’t to mold them into the player you were—or the one you wished you were—it’s to help them discover the player they’re becoming. And spoiler alert: it might be someone completely different than you imagined.
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3: The Car Ride Trap
If hockey had an unofficial fifth period, it’s the car ride home.
Ah, the car ride: equal parts post-game interview, performance review, and, occasionally, emotional hostage situation.
We’ve all been there:
• “What happened on that turnover?”
• “You weren’t skating hard in the third.”
• “You’re better than that kid who scored twice.”
Here’s the thing: your kid already knows if they played well or not. They don’t need a debrief. They need space. They need a juice box. They need silence or a dumb playlist or even to rant about their coach being a “goalie hater.”
For a more in-depth look into what the car ride should look like, see my previous article.
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4: The Trophy Shelf Illusion
Youth sports can trick us. Tournaments hand out banners. Instagram feeds get filled with medals. And it’s easy to start thinking: If we don’t get a scholarship out of this, what was the point?
But here’s the secret:
The point isn’t the scholarship. It’s the journey. The point is who they become, not what they win.
It’s the friendships in the locker room, the resilience after a tough loss, the ability to lead a team, the humility to sit a shift, the discipline to juggle school and sports, and the ability to handle pressure when every parent in the bleachers is yelling “SHOOOOT!” Or “SKAAATE!”
It’s not about the stats. It’s about the stuff you can’t measure.
And frankly, if they’re having fun, they’re learning. If they’re learning, they’re growing. And if they’re growing—you’re winning. Even if the trophy shelf is bare.
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5: But What If They’re Actually Really Good?
A fair question. What if your kid actually is a phenom? What if they genuinely have “next level” talent?
Awesome. Now take ten steps back.
Because the more serious the path, the more important your restraint becomes.
You’re not their agent. You’re not their publicist. You’re not their scout.
You’re their parent. The one who remembers when they wore their shin pads on the outside of their socks. The one who wiped their tears when they got cut from the spring team. The one who should always be a source of unconditional support, not added pressure.
Let the coaches coach. Let the player play. You—just love ‘em through it all.
Even Connor McDavid had to be driven to practice. His dad didn’t yell over the glass. Be like McDavid’s dad.
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6: Coaching Without a Clipboard
You don’t need to wear a whistle to be a great coach to your kid. The best “coaching” often happens off the ice.
Teach them life through hockey:
• How to shake hands win or lose.
• How to own their mistakes.
• How to show up early, work hard, and still have fun.
• How to advocate for themselves with respect, not ego.
• How to treat teammates who are struggling.
None of those things come from statsheets. They come from the quiet example of you modeling character when the going gets tough. Be their lighthouse, not their storm. It takes way more energy to be a jerk than it does to be nice.
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7: The Re-Do Temptation
Look, it’s human to want a second chance. When your kid is on the ice, it can feel like redemption for that playoff loss you never quite got over. It’s normal.
But if your inner child is louder than your actual child, you’re out of balance.
Ask yourself:
• Am I more upset than they are after a bad game?
• Do I care more about their ice time than they do?
• Am I framing their experience around my expectations?
If the answer is yes, it’s time to reevaluate. Their hockey life should be a blank canvas, not one painted over your old sketch.
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8: How to Support Without Smothering
Here’s a cheat sheet to supporting your hockey player:
• Ask: “Want to talk about the game, or want me to shut up and buy you a burger?”
• Say: “I love watching you play,” instead of “You should’ve scored on that breakaway.”
• Remind: “I’m proud of your effort,” not “I wish you hustled more.”
• Offer: rides, laughs, and snacks. Keep the advice on ice unless they ask.
Sometimes, the best support is just being present—coffee in hand, quietly cheering, resisting the urge to coach from the stands.
(And for the love of whatever you believe to be holy, no air-coaching with hand gestures. Your kid sees you.)
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9: Letting Go of the Outcome
Your child might not play college hockey. They might not make AAA. They might switch sports, lose interest, or just decide that they like being a rec league warrior.
And that’s okay.
Your job isn’t to write the ending. It’s to walk alongside them while they write their own story.
Whether they skate off into the NCAA, the beer league, or the marching band, if they leave youth hockey with a love for the game, lifelong memories, and a strong sense of self—you’ve done your job.
The game might end, but the lessons last forever. Ultimately, if you did your job, the game truly never ends.
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Final Thoughts: From the Bench to the Heart
At the end of the day, your kid doesn’t need a sports psychologist in the stands. They need a parent who claps when they score, high-fives when they fall, and buys the post-game pizza whether they won 7–1 or lost 12–0.
They need you to remember that this is their journey. Not your redemption tour.
Let go of the ghosts of your old games. Cheer for the now. Celebrate their present.
Because one day, the gear will be too small, the bags will go into storage, and all you’ll have left are the memories. Make them good ones.
With love, coffee, and the occasional broken stick,
A Fellow Hockey Parent
