Our Kids Are Truly Our Greatest Treasures

I missed the first three track meets.

At the time, I did not think much of it. I was busy with work, busy with responsibilities, busy with the ordinary pressure that comes with trying to keep life moving forward. There is always another call to take, another job to finish, another invoice to send, another problem to solve. I told myself that I was doing what needed to be done.

Then the next track meet came up.

My wife casually floated the idea that I should go. She did not pressure me. She did not make a big speech about it. She simply mentioned it, and like so many things in a busy household, the idea drifted into the background. I almost let it slip away again.

Luckily, something in me finally stopped.

I decided to take the day off and go.

And as I stood there watching the kids run, cheer, laugh, compete, stumble, recover, and celebrate, one thought hit me harder than I expected:

What have I been doing for the past three years?

It is strange how one ordinary day can change your perspective. A school track meet is not a grand event in the eyes of the world. There are no television cameras. There are no million-dollar contracts. There are no professional scouts standing on the sidelines. It is just kids being kids, parents cheering, teachers organizing, and families gathering together in a field under the open sky.

But in that moment, it felt like everything.

We are truly blessed in the Tri-Cities. We live in a place surrounded by mountains, trails, parks, fields, ice rinks, schools, lakes, rivers, and community spaces. But more than that, we live among families, friends, neighbours, coaches, teachers, volunteers, and children who bring all of those places to life.

Those of us with families, friends, and children are blessed most of all.

At the track meet, I was reminded of something simple but powerful: our kids give us the chance to experience childhood all over again. Not in exactly the same way, of course. We are not the ones running the race anymore. We are not the ones waiting nervously for our event. We are not the ones looking over at our parents, hoping they saw us cross the finish line.

But through them, we remember.

We remember the screaming, the cheering, the nervous excitement, the laughter, the disappointment, and the pride. We remember what it felt like to be young, to compete, to try, to fail, to win, and to be part of something. We remember the sound of kids yelling for their classmates. We remember the joy of a simple ribbon, a personal best, or just finishing the race.

Standing there as a parent, you realize that these moments are not small at all. They are the building blocks of a life. They are the memories our children will carry with them. They are also the memories we will carry with us as parents.

The smiles, the competition, the failures, the celebrations, the nervous energy, and the pure excitement are things we should embrace today and remember tomorrow.

I will never miss another track meet.

And that brings me to the larger point.

Go see your kids play hockey. Go watch them play soccer. Show up to lacrosse, baseball, basketball, dance recitals, music performances, choir concerts, school plays, art shows, and every little event you can possibly make. If your child is nervous, be there. If they are excited, be there. If they win, be there. If they lose, be there. If they barely participate but look over to see whether you are watching, be there.

They may not always say it, but they notice.

This is especially important for fathers.

Too many men are caught up working, grinding, building, fixing, chasing the next job, or carrying the weight of providing for their families. I understand that pressure completely. Work matters. Responsibility matters. Providing for your family matters.

But these days are not coming back.

There will always be more work. There will always be another bill. There will always be something that needs attention. But your child will only be eight once. They will only be ten once. They will only have this season, this team, this class, this performance, this race, this version of themselves one time.

One day, the track meets stop. The practices stop. The car rides stop. The little cleats, skates, jerseys, backpacks, instruments, and water bottles are packed away. One day, the child who looked for you in the crowd becomes an adult building a life of their own.

That is not a sad thing. That is the goal. We are raising them to grow, to become independent, to find their own path. But while they are still here, while they still want us there, while they still light up when they see us watching, we need to pay attention.

For me, I have come to the conclusion that I am currently living in the best years of my life.

Not because everything is easy. It is not. Life is busy. Business is stressful. Money can be tight. Schedules can be overwhelming. There are days when everything feels like too much.

But when I step back and look at what is actually around me, I see how rich this season of life really is.

I see my children growing. I see families gathering at fields and arenas. I see parents becoming friends. I see coaches giving their time. I see teachers helping kids believe in themselves. I see volunteers setting up cones, organizing games, keeping score, handing out snacks, and making sure children have a place to belong.

I see community.

And I realize that the sports community, the arts community, and the people of the Tri-Cities are fundamental to why this stage of life feels so meaningful.

These events are not just for the kids. They are for all of us. They pull us out of our routines. They bring us together. They give us a reason to talk to other parents, meet neighbours, support local programs, and feel connected to something bigger than our own individual lives.

In these moments, we make new friends. We build stronger community connections. We learn the names of the families we keep seeing at practices and events. We share stories on the sidelines. We cheer for each other’s children. We celebrate effort, not just victory.

That is how community is built.

It is not built only through big speeches, formal meetings, or official programs. It is built in small, repeated moments. It is built when parents show up. It is built when coaches volunteer. It is built when kids feel supported. It is built when families choose to be present.

As I get older, I find myself thinking more and more about how to encourage others to do the same. Get involved in one way or another. You do not have to be the loudest parent on the sidelines. You do not have to coach if that is not your thing. You do not have to volunteer for every event or join every committee.

But show up.

Support your kids. Support their friends. Support the programs that give them a place to grow. Support the teachers, coaches, organizers, and volunteers who help make these experiences possible.

Our kids are truly our greatest treasures.

Not in some cliché way. Not as a slogan. Not as something we say because it sounds nice. They really are. They are the heart of our families and the future of our communities. They remind us what joy looks like. They remind us to be present. They remind us that life is not only about work, bills, stress, and responsibility.

Life is also about standing on the sidelines, cheering until your voice is tired, watching your child run across a field, and realizing you almost missed something priceless.

I missed the first three track meets.

I am grateful I did not miss the fourth.

And I do not plan on missing another.