One for all, all for one!
You often only realise what is important in life when you have children. Then a canon of values that was previously well hidden in the innermost chambers of your subconscious suddenly makes its way into your life. For example, it was important to me that my children played sport. And team sports at that. «But why?» my wife asked. (If it were up to her, our children should be going to the boys' social club three times a week rather than training).
Yes, why sport? Am I secretly harbouring dreams of my offspring pursuing a top-class sporting career? Am I one of those people who believe that physical training builds character? Or will I end up passing on my own rather modest sporting career to my children?
While puberty was like a never-ending nightmare for many, I enjoyed my time growing up.
A little of all that, I guess, but there's another reason I force my kids into team sports; the memory of what was in many ways the best time of my life: my youth. While for many, adolescence was a never-ending nightmare, I enjoyed my time growing up.
That also had to do with my handball club. Every Monday, every Wednesday and every weekend, I entered a parallel world, without classmates, without homework, without parents.
It was a world in which I felt both at home and challenged. Uplifted because we were a team that made up for a lack of talent with sacrifice and team spirit. Challenged because we played against teams that robbed us early on of the illusion that we would ever progress beyond the district league.
Our trainers - «Raini» and «Zacki» - had little knowledge of modern training theory, but they had a sense of humour and hearts as big as elephants. The lessons in the sports hall were zen-like moments of total dedication. I didn't waste a thought on curve discussions, French vocabulary or unsuccessful advances on classmates.
Although I had no talent, I was very close to myself and at the same time in good hands in a social organisation called the team. A group of semi-talented people, whose composition, cordiality and gruff tone reflected the working-class neighbourhood where I grew up.
I have to admit that I didn't become a good handball player during my years in the hall, but I was in a place beyond school where I had fun but also learnt something. About life, for example. «What do you learn from sport apart from toxic masculinity?» my wife asked pointedly. «A few things,» I replied. For example, that you're nothing on your own. That winning together is more fun and losing together hurts less. Incidentally, after promising starts, my children both ended their careers in football and basketball prematurely and turned to other hobbies.
One of the big tasks in life, I think today, is to find out what is really important to you - and not to your parents.
