New Territory: When Your Kid Chooses a Sport You Know Nothing About

My husband played high-level hockey. I played competitive water polo. So naturally, we figured our kids would land somewhere in the world of ice rinks or swimming pools.

Plot twist: our daughter chose gymnastics.

Now, don’t get me wrong—we’re all for kids following their passions. But nothing quite prepares you for being tossed into a sport that feels like a foreign language. And not just any sport—one that involves four-hour practices, mysterious chalk rituals, and a leotard drawer that could rival a boutique.

Welcome to the World of Gymnastics

Gymnastics is not just a sport; it’s an ecosystem. It has its own vocabulary, gear, timelines, and culture. Watching my daughter flip, tumble, and glide across the floor fills me with pride. But I won’t lie—sometimes I feel like I’m the rookie on the sidelines trying to learn the rules of a game I didn’t know we were playing.

I’ve spent evenings quietly Googling terms like “kip,” “Yurchenko,” and “giant.” I’ve nodded along at meets like I know what’s happening, only to later ask my daughter, “Was that supposed to happen?”

When the Passion Isn't Familiar

It’s a weird place to be—so proud of your child, so in awe of what they’re achieving, and yet so completely out of your depth. In water polo, I knew the drills, the pressure, the training. My husband could skate circles around most dads and read a hockey play like a bedtime story.

But with gymnastics? We’re learning in real time. And while it’s humbling, it’s also kind of beautiful.

Because this isn’t about reliving our glory days through our kids. It’s about watching them carve out something that’s uniquely theirs.

Embracing the Unknown

So we show up. We cheer (loudly but respectfully—we’re learning). We ask questions. We wash the leotards, pack the snacks, and try not to forget the grips. We marvel at her determination and remind ourselves that it’s okay not to know everything.

Because maybe that’s the best part: getting to witness your child thrive in a space you didn’t pave for them. One they chose on their own.

We may not have the experience, but we have the front-row seats—and honestly, that’s more than enough